136 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Feb. I, 1913 
Waltonian Disciples and a Tale 
S uppose now, that all the world looked blue 
or light green in hue; suppose you had a 
three-ply expansion grouch and an outlook 
upon life with edges on it; suppose you couldn't 
smoke, eat or think without hurting your brain 
irrevocably, and on top of that make it a bitter 
cold winter day, wdth cruel winds sapping it to 
the gables and dancing jigs upon the window 
sill—I say, wdiat could there be in this world 
that would change the face of the map, brighten 
up the general outlook and bring peace and good 
will to the world? Cease wondering. 
Julius holds the golden key. 
Of course you don't know Julius as well 
as I do. If you did, you would understand, luit 
since you do not know Julius you will have to 
forego the pleasure of his acquaintance. It's too 
bad, but it can t he helped. You will have to 
try and bear it somehow. Yes, I know it's hard, 
but remember that it is good to live and know 
there is such a person in the world, even though 
you will never see him or hear his voice ten¬ 
derly tw'anging upon the lyre of philosophy. 
Julius is a discovery. T am quite certain he is 
a discovery; in fact, I am doubly certain, so 
don't corner me. You can't get it out of my 
brain that Julius is a discovery. 
And since he is a discovery, let me intro¬ 
duce you to the aforementioned disciple of Tzaak 
W'^alton, for he is a disciple even if he is not 
aware of the fact. Julius has hair either red 
or golden ; however, I do not feel that my word 
in this line should he taken as conclusive, for 
it seems that this hair is changeable in its effect. 
In other words, it has moods. And he has a 
home-grown mustache the color of spiritus of 
fermenti. Perhaps his nearness to this fatal 
drug has had effect upon the garniture that deco¬ 
rates the region under his nose. Leastaways that 
blur of inconsequency, flaming with the demon 
passion, touched by the fiery wand of Aurora 
fwhatever that is) will live when Julius is not, 
as a momento of what a man could carry through 
life and die a natural death—buried with amens 
and flowers. Otherwise Julius is all right. No 
man will know what stress of emotion has gone 
on within his noble dome, save the occasional 
glimpses of philosophy that will crop up at odd 
moments. It comes so natural, too. I am not 
going to garner my memory for a chapter of his 
witty sayings, but will append two. Now look 
out; 
“Pure thoughts are gems of the soul; evil 
thoughts are the nitro-glyceriue of the devil.” 
“Opportunity creeps up to you like a snail; 
when it gets by you, it runs like a jack rabbit.” 
Let me proceed with my tale. 
Suppose that all the world looked blue or 
light green in hue—bing! a hand would fall upon 
you like a thunderbolt from out the skies. It 
happened to me, and I withered beneath it like 
a flower beneath pelting rain. Cautiously I 
looked up to see a face wreathed in a leering 
grin, and a voice that bade me come to earth. 
It was Julius. 
“Say,, you old moss-back," said he, “rout 
out before I am called upon to pull you out. 
Do you know there are fish to be caught in the 
little old lake ten miles from here? Do you 
By ROBERT PAGE LINCOLN 
know that 1 have minnows, ice prong and every¬ 
thing but tackle, and that if your majesty will 
contribute said tackle and will honor me by 
coming along, I think before morning we will 
have some of the best enjoyment man ever was 
given a chance to make use of? To further ease 
your mind, let me make known to you that I 
have a sled and one horse, blankets and all 
other necessities. Will you come?” 
There you have the gist of it, to use the 
expression of the best seller. Of course I have 
padded it, since this is a literary masterpiece, and 
I want you to know how far superior I am in 
using the language. I have fished alongside of 
Julius for seasons, but I have never conceived 
of fishing with him through a hole in the ice 
for crappie. To tell the truth, I had been mourn¬ 
ing about the fact that there would be no fish¬ 
ing till the spring opened up, and I had been 
wondering what I should do with all my spare 
time. Lord knows, as Taft would say, how I 
have this spare time on my hands, but I have 
it. I light my pipe with spare time, and now I 
was going to use some of that time in fishing. 
At least, I thought so. 
“We will sleep in William's old barn,'’ I 
sug.gested, reading his thoughts. “W’hile I sit 
here and think it over, bring me the tackle 
boxes. I don't want to move for fear I will 
do something. I leave that pleasure to you. Is 
it cold outside?” 
It was cold. T knew it when I asked, but I 
wanted to hear a comforting remark from 
Julius. 
But Julius favored me with a withering 
look and routed out everything T had stored 
away. I hoped vaguely that Julius would some 
day fall and crack his head. I would miss his 
infallible philosophy, but 1 could at least bring 
wreaths to lay on his grave. When he threw 
out a reel with a clang on the floor, I could 
even see a robin twittering on his gravestone. 
But he found the right box after much need¬ 
less work. I charged him to put each and every 
piece of fishing paraphernalia he had thrown out 
on the floor back into its original place, care¬ 
fully and befittingly. He did. 
I opened the box, and with the revealing of 
the various baits, books and lines, memory came 
back to me of lilypads and shallows. I was 
again casting for the pugnacious ones and it 
was summer and the warm sun was shining 
brightly from the clear blue sky above. I could 
hear the waters gently lapping the sides of the 
boat, T could hear the whirr of the reel and 
the phunpi'ig' of the bait into the pockets, guided 
carel.illy into place through some well-governed 
instinct. .Hi. and once more I saw the gamy 
fellow rise and snap up my offering. I had him 
on the harb and the water was being cut blade¬ 
like from right to left. I saw him brought up 
to the side of the boat. 'My comoanion was 
.leaning forward, eagerly, with the net. his eyes 
alight, giving me advice and cautioning me to 
be careful. 
“T have got pork sausage, cheese and beer 
out i.i the sled ” said Julius. “We certainly will 
not starve. Y'hen I go fishing, believe me, one 
of tl.e first things I attend to is the eats.” 
I came to earth. 
“Yes,” I said, “and some of the occasions 
you might refer to are not the most brilliant to 
say the least. You will remember—but never 
mind. How many quarts of food did you bring 
with you this time?” 
But Julius would not listen, so I sighed re¬ 
flectively, selected the lines and the hooks, asked 
Julius how many minnows he had with him, and 
found that there w'ere seventy-five, and then 
prepared for the start. We started about 4 
o'clock in the afternoon, hope seated in ribald 
magnificence between us, and evil thoughts gurg¬ 
ling in the feed pail behind. Julius insisted 
upon singing rag-time to take the chill away, and 
T pulled the horse blanket up closer to escape 
the cold. I do not know what Julius’ voice re¬ 
minds me of; it certainly is not inspiring, but 
it has a homely fervor in it that bubbles over 
with unsubdued mirth and hilarity. There is no 
dividing line between his philosophy and his 
singing. 
It was late when we got to the lake and the 
farm, but w'e got tbe horse into the barn, fed 
him up, and pulled down some hay for him, then 
we debated on what we would do. Julius hung 
up the lantern, and by the light of it we gratified 
our protesting inner men with offerings in the 
form of cheese sandwiches. Then Julius de¬ 
cided a drink would go nicely, and after he had 
had a drink, he decided be would sing for my 
benefit. I regarded him in sleepy and indifferent 
silence. The hay loft was a place of inspira¬ 
tion, a sort of soothing reminder of summer 
days, lying full length in the new-mown meadow 
grass, with eyes shaded, looking up into the in¬ 
imitable blue of the arched heavens. Without 
it was cold, but within it was warm and agree¬ 
able, and amply clad as we were and with 
blankets to cover us, we scorned the flattering 
attentions of the red-nosed king, winter. Some 
time thereafter the humble son of the sod, who 
owned the hay loft and all the hay therein, 
scenting things, came up to tell us that we could 
not have the lantern burning; it would set the 
barn on fire. Julius took the cue and handed 
over the bottle, and suddenly the devoted one 
forgot what he had come up for and waxed 
intelli.gent, and gradually hilarious as the elixir 
tore through his vitals. Figuratively being a 
prohibitionist, I was immune to the attentions 
of the demon, drink. Julius and the farmer, 
however, met and embraced at the altar of 
friendship, and soon they were talking more or 
less about horses and politics, weather condi¬ 
tions and fishing through the ice. I pricked 
up my ears when he told Julius of having caught 
thirty crappies that very day out beyond the 
point. This aroused my fancy and I went to 
sleep. 
I remember that the lantern was burning 
brightly and vividly at that time; in the morn¬ 
ing it was still burning. 
Even a farmer will forget in time of need. 
I awoke while it was yet early, roused Julius 
and found him most unwilling to get up. How¬ 
ever after wrestling with him and sitting on him 
and otherwise misusing him for about ten 
minutes, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, plainly 
