136 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
I left it at that ; and went on fishing. One even- 
ing the sea-trout were moving, and I was getting 
sport. Just as I had landed a sea-trout, two 
gentlemen came to the bank. ‘Nice fish this,” 
said I. “Yes,” said they. One of them seemed 
particularly interested. Courteous, polished, dis- 
tinguished-looking, he seemed like an ambassador 
on holiday, staying at a country house, perhaps, 
and just out for a walk. No doubt the gentleman 
with him was his private secretary. I spoke most 
respectfully to them, but as the sea-trout were still 
showing I was in hopes of increasing the bag, I 
started casting again, when a chill came over the 
proceedings. 
The distinguished-looking one said : “‘ Would 
you mind showing me your licence, sir?” (a 
slight variant on the usual formula). 
“Certainly,” said I, calmly producing the half- 
crown permit to fish for a week. ‘“ Here it is.” 
He glanced at it. A touch of the autocrat 
entered into his bearing as he said: “Oh, this is 
not enough! This is merely a permit to fish from 
a gentleman’s land. You ought to havea sea-trout 
licence! You have just caught a sea-trout |” 
As, only a minute ago, I had triumphantly 
exhibited a sea-trout in his august presence, this 
last statement of his was indisputable. It would 
be first-rate evidence in the police court. Visions 
of standing in the dock, answering to a charge 
of “in that he wilfully and maliciously...” 
floated before my mind; and there would be 
nothing for it but to plead guilty. 
