228 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
foolish because of the sun. When fly-fishing, 
one may stand some time in practically the same 
position, and if the trout are rising one is apt to 
be oblivious of other matters. My legs began to 
burn, but still I went on, until an accident com- 
pelled me to stop. Sport was good, and I sat 
down on the bank-side to exult over my catch. 
Whether it was because I weigh a good deal or 
because the ground just at that particular spot was 
cracking I know not. Anyhow, something gave 
way and I fell flop into the river! Fortunately it 
was shallow, but, as against that, there was a sharp 
stone, with which my left knee came into sudden 
contact, ripping the flesh severely. My limbs 
were now the colour of “where the rainbow 
ends,” and I had no alternative but to return at a 
crawling pace to the farm. How good and kind 
were Mr, and Mrs. Ross, and their family. 
They bandaged me up, and generally put me 
under repair: but there was no sleep for me that 
night, The legs still burned from the heat of the 
sun, the wound on the left knee reminded me 
that it is not always safe for a fat fellow to sit 
down by the side of the river. 
Further fishing being impossible, I went back 
to Johannesburg. With the optimism of thirty 
years I then began to bicycle, until a friend (Mr. 
Birch, chief clerk then on Lord Milner’s staff) 
insisted on my seeing a medical man. Mr. Birch 
spoke of the possibilities of gangrene and other 
cheerful prospects. Therefore I went to a 
Johannesburg doctor—an old friend, who married 
