THE STRATEGY OF TWO ANGLERS. 



453 



some way unknown to man or the devil, the 

 line had formed a half hitch over the tip 

 of the rod. A tightly singing leader and 

 line; a moment of agony; a sharp " snap," 

 and all was lost! A deep, muttered, heart- 

 felt ejaculation, far more forcible than ele- 

 gant, followed by a wild plunge into the 

 pool in the hope of grabbing something, 

 and a wet, tired and utterly disgusted an- 

 gler stood on the bank looking wofully at 

 the rapids flowing near, and now becom- 

 ing black with the shades of night. No 

 words in the English language — or any 

 other language — could express my feelings. 

 And so, gathering up my rod and string 

 of trout, which were all I was able to lug, 

 I wended my way campward, where I found 



a cheerful fire, and a pan of smoking trout 

 awaiting me. My chums had had equal 

 luck and had also lost the " King of the 

 waters." Thus ended a day the memory of 

 which will be with me as long as life lasts. 



In this blessed region there are no poison- 

 ous insects, of any description, to annoy; 

 and all would have been perfect if — Ah! 

 reader, how much an " if " may mean. 

 Never again will I get a chance like that. 

 Such things come only once in a lifetime. 

 The loss of that trout will be a regret to my 

 dying day. Yet why should I complain? 

 We could not have used him if I had suc- 

 ceeded in landing him. Besides I had had 

 the most exciting afternoon's fishing that 

 fortune has ever favored me with. 



THE STRATEGY OF TWO ANGLERS. 



GARDNER C. TEALL. 



" Well, I'm sure I don't know what we're 

 going to do for fish," said Kent, as he sat 

 on the steps of the old boat-house and took 

 his rod apart. 



" If there had been any we would have 

 caught some, you may depend on that, if 

 it's any consolation," the other replied. 



" I know. But to think of our coming 

 away out here, loaded with all sorts of 

 tackle, to a lake several miles long and 

 nearly as broad, with all sorts of bait under 

 our thumbs, from a grasshopper to a hop- 

 toad, with science and magnificent theories 

 at our command, yet not to get a sight of a 

 fish, dead or alive! They'll laugh at us." 



Evidently it was this fear that harrowed 

 Kent's soul. No angler likes to be laughed 

 at, for what he has not done. 



The boys maintained a meditative silence 

 for a few minutes and then Kent spoke 

 again : 



" Say, just for the fun of it, let's try it 

 again. What do you say? Just once more, 

 before we pack up." 



So the rods went together for, like 

 Barkis, the other was always "willin';" 

 and into the boat they piled and pushed out. 



Perhaps it was because the water was not 

 wet enough. At any rate the bass would 

 not bite, nor would the muskalonge strike. 



To add to it all, the wind blew the lake 

 surface into white caps, and " that fish " 

 kept out of the way in the most provoking 

 manner. 



The boys always spoke of " that fish " as 

 " he," because, after the first 4 days of their 

 angling (which was under the most un- 

 favorable conditions) without getting a 



strike, Kent and his friend had come to the 

 conclusion that there was but one fish in the 

 lake. They conceded this much merely be- 

 cause they had been taught that the exist- 

 ence of that which we call " nothing " can 

 only be demonstrated by a contrast of itself 

 with that other extata which we call " some- 

 thing." 



" Did you catch him? " the good people 

 at the house asked, when the boys returned. 



There was a painful silence broken only 

 by a miserere which emanated from a tune- 

 ful mouth-organ, in the possession of John, 

 and the party entered the house bearing 

 Gray's Elegy expressions on their coun- 

 tenances, relieved by an occasional Moody 

 and Sankey smile. 



Soon the day drew to a close, and, in 

 their last few hours, while the sun still 

 shone, they put in their time snapping the 

 kodak where one least expects a kodak to 

 be. Tiring of this. Kent returned to the 

 house and was soon engaged in perusing 

 " The Life and Adventures of Captain Mc- 

 Dougall, the Apollonite," written by his 

 daughter; while the other lad sauntered 

 down to the dam and, Svengalistic as it 

 may appear, was. within a few minutes, 

 actually fishing again! 



Minnow hooks and black linen thread 

 completed his outfit. He had learned to 

 make use of toad-stools, for bait, when it 

 came to a pinch. And now comes the 

 strange part of it all. 



No. he didn't catch any porpoises or 

 whales. Neither did he capture a turtle on 

 whose bark could be found carved words 

 of mysterious import, the raveling of which 



