158 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
schools, some of the best in the land, were men- 
tioned, one by one. None seemed to satisfy. 
The father’s anxiety appeared great. All were 
only too desirous to help in a case so deserving 
of the -loftiest advice. A stage further was 
advanced. The father announced that what he 
really wanted was a school where they gave the 
boys beer and plenty of Rugby football. Beer 
there must be, he insisted, ‘This rather puzzled 
the intellectuals. It was an item which they had 
not seriously considered. They-could all tell him 
of schools where Rugby football was played indeed, 
but of a school where home-brewed beer was dis- 
pensed, as part of the curriculum, they could not 
be sure. The father stuck to his point. ‘Let 
the lad have a little beer at school with plenty of 
Rugby football, and then he will have to look 
after himself,” he said. Somebody inquired: 
“And how old is your son now, sir?”’ The 
reply was unexpected: “At present the lad is 
two years old.” The company decided that the 
matter was not pressing. 
Generally, when March browns, red palmers 
and all the rest of it have had their due in the 
way of conversation in the smoking room after 
dinner, somebody branches off into humorous 
reminiscences. A good many have stayed in my 
memory. 
One concerned a revival meeting. A man 
down at heel, but possessed of extraordinary inner 
fervour, kept saying in a loud voice: ‘ Amen. 
Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” A lady next to 
