XIII 



BIG TUNA 



IT took me five seasons at Catalina to catch a big 

 tuna, and the event was so thrilling that I had to 

 write to my fisherman friends about it. The result of 

 my eflfusions seem rather dubious. Robert H. Davis, 

 editor of Munsey's, repjies in this wise: "If you 

 went out with a mosquito-net to catch a mess of 

 minnows your story would read like Roman gladia- 

 tors seining the Tigris for whales." Now, I am at 

 a loss to know how to take that compliment. Davis 

 goes on to say more, and he also quotes me: "You 

 say 'the hard, diving fight of a tuna Uberates the 

 brute instinct in a man.' Well, Zane, it also Uber- 

 ates the qualities of a liar!" Davis does not love 

 the sweet, soft scent that breathes from off the sea. 

 Once on the Jersey coast I went tuna-fishing with 

 him. He was not happy on the boat. But once he 

 came up out of the cabin with a jaunty feather in 

 his hat. I admired it. I said: 



"Bob, I'll have to get something like that for my 

 hat." 



"Zane," he replied, piercingly, "what you need 

 for yoiu" hat is a head!" 



My friend Joe Bray, who pubUshes books in 

 Chicago, also reacts pecuharly to my fish stories. 



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