TALES OF FISHES 



bow-shaped head and a narrow tail. The distance 

 was pretty far, and I had no certainty to go by, yet 

 I yelled: 



"Dolphin!" 



Sam was not so sure, but he looked mighty hope- 

 ful. The fish sounded and ran in on me, then 

 darted here and there, then began to leap and 

 thresh upon the surface. He was hard to lead — a 

 very strong fish for his light weight. I never 

 handled a fish more carefully. He came up on a 

 low swell, heading toward us, and he cut the water 

 for fifty feet, with only his dorsal, a gleam of gold, 

 showing in the sunlight. 



Next he jumped five times, and I could hear the 

 wrestling sound he made when he shook himself. 

 I had no idea what he might do next, and if he had 

 not been securely hooked would have gotten off. 

 I tried hard to keep the line taut and was not al- 

 ways successful. Like the waahoo, he performed 

 tricks new to me. One was an awkward diving leap 

 that somehow jerked the line in a way to alarm 

 me. When he quit his tumbling and rushing I led 

 him close to the boat. 



This has always been to me one of the rewards 

 of fishing. It quite outweighs that doubtful moment 

 for me when the fish lies in the boat or helpless on 

 the moss. Then I am always sorry, and more often 

 than not let the fish go alive. 



My first sight of a dolphin near at hand was one 

 to remember. The fish fiashed gold — deep rich gold 

 — with little flecks of blue and white. Then the 

 very next flash there were greens and yellows — 

 changing, colorful, brilliant bars. In that back- 



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