22 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



go fishing; and it is exciting, moreover, just to sit as 

 I was sitting on the wharf, with all the nerves of 

 your body concentrated in the tip of your right fore- 

 finger, under the pressure of your line. For how 

 do you know but that the next instant you may 

 get a bite? And how do you know what the fish 

 may be? 



When you whip a trout stream for trout — why, 

 you expect trout ; when you troll a pond for pickerel, 

 you expect pickerel ; but when you sit on a wharf 

 with your line far out in big, deep waters — why, you 

 can expect almost anything — except shoes ! 



Shoes ? Yes, old shoes ! 



As I sat there on the wharf of Buzzards Bay, 

 there was suddenly a sharp tug at my line. A short 

 quick snap, and I hooked him, and began quickly 

 hauling him in. 



How heavily he came ! How dead and stupid ! 

 Even a flounder or a cod would show more fight 

 than this ; and very naturally, for on the end of my 

 line hung an old shoe ! 



"Well," I thought, "I have fished for soles, and 

 down on the Savannah I have fished for 'gators, but 

 I never fished for shoes before" ; and taking hold of 

 my big fish (for it must have been a No. 12 shoe), 

 I was about to feel for the hook when I heard a 

 strange grunting noise inside, and nearly tumbled 

 overboard at sight of two big eyes and a monstrous 

 head filling the whole inside of the shoe! 



