THE ARM OF THE LAW - 135 
my friend waded into the water, was just about 
to settle down to good, hard casting, when a 
gentle voice from the bank said: “I suppose you 
have a fishing licence ?” 
One can imagine that some men with a turn 
for humour and a dislike for being “ put-upon” 
would have said, “Yes, I’ve got a licence. If 
you're the water-bailiff you might have asked to 
see it when I was on the bank. If you do want 
to see it I suggest that you come in and look at 
it here.” My friend, however, is of most placid 
temper, so he waded to the bank and displayed 
the document. But he appreciated the inwardness 
of the situation. Some day, perhaps, that bailiff 
will try the game on a less amiable individual, in 
which case he may have to wait awhile. 
The nearest I got to being “for it” was 
too funny to be serious and too serious to be 
funny. I was by myself in a remote little village. 
On arrival I went to the post office, and asked for 
all the necessary fishing licences. One of the staff 
explained that they did not handle fishing licences, 
and referred me to a local gentleman, the repre- 
sentative of the squire through whose land the 
river ran. So I went off to the estate agent’s 
residence, two miles away through lovely country, 
only to find the good man out. However, I had 
been informed that the permit was half a crown 
per week, a merely nominal charge for first-rate 
fishing on good water; so I left name, address, 
and the necessary fee, with one of the staff, and 
in due course the permit to fish arrived. Stupidly, 
