CATCHING AND SPEARING SUCKERS 
THE FIFTH INSTALMENT OF A SERIES OF STORIES DEPICTING THE 
SIMPLE JOY OF FISHING AS EXEMPLIFIED THROUGH THE EYES OF YOUTH 
By LEONARD HULIT, Associate Editor of FOREST AND STREAM 
N ear the town of S., in central New 
Jersey, there runs a tiny stream of 
water. At that point it is not more 
than four feet wide but is very active, 
being a spring-fed stream. Its course 
is due east and runs on through what 
has for generations been known as the 
Great Meadow and Turkey Swamp. 
Perhaps not a half mile of its course 
but is augmented by other streams flow- 
ing into it, until it assumes the 
dignity of a creek about five 
miles from its source. It com- 
prises the drainage system of a 
large section of wild as well as 
good farming land along its 
course. At the time written of 
there were seven flourishing 
flour and saw-mills receiving 
power from the stream, supply- 
ing the needs of a thrifty and 
populous community. Below 
these the stream broadens out 
and is known as Manasquan 
River, which has always been 
productive of much fish life and 
a favorite resort for anglers. 
The little hamlet where Matt 
lived with his aunt had suffered 
under several rather lugubrious 
names such as Spattown, Fid- 
dlers Green, and Buckshutem. 
There were but few houses and 
one small country store and for 
many years it knew no change 
either in numbers or appear- 
ance. The store, as in all such 
places, was the meeting place 
in the evenings of men as well 
as of larger boys and gossip complimen- 
tary and otherwise was rife concerning 
neighborhood affairs. 
T he evening following the perch fish- 
ing expedition Matt had been sent 
to the store for some commodity, 
carrying a small basket of eggs with 
which to pay for his purchases. Seated 
on a box in the store was a boy named 
Southard, older and much larger than 
Matt, who was at times inclined to be 
quarrelsome and something of a bully. 
‘‘Gettin* a little high and mighty with 
your fishin’, ain’t yer. Matt?” he asked 
as the boy came through the door. 
“Seems if men wouldn’t want a freckle 
face taggpn’ along with ’em anyhow; 
ketched any suckers, yet?” “No; I 
ain’t,” came the answer with some spir- 
it. “I ain’t tried yet, didn’t know you’d 
bite.” This witty sally was greeted with 
a roar of laughter by all present except 
Southard who quick as flash kicked the 
basket from the hand of Matt, sending 
the eggs in all directions. For a moment 
the boy stood aghast, then, grabbing 
with both hands the curly hair of his 
tormentor, he sent his head back with 
a wicked thump against the counter. 
Both went to the floor snarling like a 
pair of cats. Matt holding like grim 
death to the locks of his antagonist. 
Strong hands, however, soon separated 
the combatants and Matt, crestfallen at 
his misfortune, stood looking ruefully 
at the wreckage. 
His mental vision instantly conjuring 
up Aunt Mary and her wrath, for well 
he knew how hard it would be to con- 
vince her of his exact part in the af- 
fair. The storekeeper was naturally 
angry over the melee, soundly berating 
the larger boy for his attack and not 
altogether excusing Matt for his pert- 
ness of speech. The two boys were com- 
pelled to clean up the debris. 
“How many eggs did you have and 
what were you sent for?” he asked a 
little shortly, his mind being still in a 
trifle ruffled condition. Matt told him 
and counting the unbroken eggs he pro- 
ceeded to tie up the articles wanted and 
put them in Matt’s basket. “I’m going 
to put the balance of this matter in your 
father’s account,” he said, turning to the 
larger boy, “an’ when he asks me about 
it I’ll tell him the whole story.” “He 
called me a sucker an’ ” “I didn’t 
call you no sucker,” broke in Matt 
sharply, “I said I didn’t know if you’d 
bite like one, but you did.” Here was 
open rebellion again, the boys stood glar- 
ing at each other. Suddenly Southard 
turned on his heel and without 
another word strode from the 
store. Matt lingered for a few 
minutes, then went out. Instead 
of going the usual way he cut 
across an apple orchard back of 
the store, then down a hedge 
which grew along a back lot and 
so home; meanwhile he had kept 
ear and eyes open for sight or 
sound of his enemy, for well he 
knew, as he expressed it, a “wal- 
lopin’ was waitin’ for him an’ 
he didn’t know as he wanted to 
be trimmed.” Before going into 
the house he sat down on the 
wood pile and reviewed the 
whole affair. At first he thought 
he would say nothing to his aunt 
about it, but then he reflected 
that it was sure to reach her 
ears somehow and he determined 
to tell her all, just as it hap- 
pened. Aunt Mary was sitting 
on the porch, for the evening 
was warm. She had seen him 
when he went to the woodpile, 
but had not called to him. 
“Seems like it took you a mortal 
while just to go to the store,” she re- 
marked, as he sat down on the edge of 
the porch floor and shoved the basket 
back of him. “Well,” he said, “it’s warm 
an’ I didn’t hurry none.” Then after a 
pause: “ ’Sides that I had a fight” 
Aunt Mary’s feet came down with a 
thump and she sat bolt upright in her 
chair. “Matt Buckley,” she said with 
energy, “has it got so you can’t go to 
the store without gitten twisted into a 
snarl with somebody over the land knows 
what?” “I guess if somebody kicked a 
basket of eggs plum’ outen’ your hand 
’thout cause you’d a twisted into a 
snarl, too,” he answered, “ ’sides that, 
’twas your eggs I fit over.” Then he 
told her his story and how the store- 
keeper had charged the value of the 
broken eggs to Southard’s father. “I 
wont have nothin’ o’ mine charged to no- 
body,” she answered wrathfully, “just 
Matt holding one of his monster eels up for view 
