F L Y-F ISHING in THE SCHUYLKILL RIVER 



a figure-eight contortion of his body, he actually 

 tore the hook out of his mouth, and it came back 

 to me with a piece of flesh clinging to it. 



"Boys, what do you think about the way I 

 handled that fish? Was I right or wrong in my 

 treatment of him? " 



Gills promptly responded: 



" No, Doc, you did n't use him right. There are 

 but two ways of treating such a rascal; one is to 

 wear him out by patience, just as a mule-driver 

 does a sulking animal, — sits down and eats his 

 dinner, the mule's obstinacy usually winding up 

 with the driver's last mouthful; or, if that does 

 not answer the purpose, still continue the mule- 

 driver's methods, — pull the mule backward by the 

 tail, he 's bound to go ahead. Just so with the 

 bass ; chuck a small boulder behind him, and he 's 

 sure to jump into daylight." 



" Nonsense," said Mendy, " you are both adrift. 

 Doc, you should have held that bass and never let 

 him reach bottom." 



"Nonsense back in your teeth, Mendy; I 

 couldn't hold him." 



" Then you should n't fish for the likes of him. 

 A man who goes a-fishing for black bass with 

 tackle that won't hold a five-pounder is about on 

 a par with the man who roils a pool with three 

 thrashing flies bunched * buzz.' " 



This last remark started Gills on the warpath. 



99 



