THE ARM OF THE LAW 131 
those richly-plumed wild duck in flight by Eyton 
Rock. I came to Cound all the more gladly for 
the recurring thought that already I held a Severn 
licence! But I did not get even a stray grayling. 
The water was beginning to run into order, and 
I had seen a good fish rise near Eyton Rock way, 
when down came the rain from the hills, as they 
say, and for a fortnight or so fly-fishing was 
impossible. 
Instead of fishing, therefore, I turned to and 
wrote some of this book. The landlord and 
landlady of one of the homeliest, cleanest-roomed, 
brightest-shining, most-severely polished little 
hotels in all the United Kingdom, showed sym- 
pathy in my literary labours, and placed every 
convenience most kindly at my disposal. Soon, 
what with pages of manuscript and sheaves of 
notes, the trout were rising all over the table. 
But I must return to my water-bailiffs from 
whom I have wandered. These functionaries 
come on you so quietly. The soft turf helps 
them. Usually you are so intent on your casting 
that the first sign of them to reach you is a cheery 
“Good morning, sir!” or “Good afternoon, 
sir!” If the water-bailiff is an Irishman, there 
will be added : “And it’s good sport I hope ye’ll 
be having!” It is all a preliminary canter; a 
sort of conversational hors d’euvre, leading up to 
the piece de resistance: ‘Will you kindly show 
me your licence, sir?” The nearest thing to 
the water-bailiff's quiet arrival on the scene that 
I remember was the advent of our Colonel, him- 
