TALES OF FISHES 



that never was there an Englishman on earth like 

 the one I portrayed in my novel. But my critics 

 never fished with Lord L.! 



These English friends went with me to the station 

 to bid me good-by and good luck. We were to part 

 there, they to take ship for London, and I to take 

 train for the headwaters of the Panuco River, down 

 which unknown streams I was to find my way through 

 jungle to the Gulf. Here I was told that C. had 

 lost his only son in the Boer War,- and since then 

 had never been able to rest or sleep or remain in 

 one place. That stunned me, for I remembered 

 that he had seemed to live only to forget himself, 

 to think of others. It was a great lesson to me. 

 And now, since I have not heard from him during 

 the four years of the world war, I seem to divine 

 that he has "gone west"; he has taken his last 

 restless, helpful journey, along with the best and 

 noblest of England's blood. 



Because this fish-story has so little of fish in it 

 does not prove that a man cannot fish for other game 

 than fish. I remember when I was a boy that I 

 went with my brother — the R. C. and the Reddy 

 of the accompanying pages — to fish for bass at Dil- 

 lon's Falls in Ohio. Alas for Bill Dilg and Bob 

 Davis, who never saw this blue-blooded home of 

 bronze-back black-bass! In the heat of the day my 

 brother and I jabbed our poles into the bank, and 

 set off to amuse ourselves some other way for a 

 while. When we returned my pole was pulled down 

 and wabbling so as to make a commotion in the 

 water. Quickly I grasped it and pulled, while 



IS 



