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V 
MIKE WAS PROUD OF THE MESS OF 
FISH THE “LITTLE CAPTAIN” 
CAUGHT AND THEIR NEXT PORT 
WAS THE FRYING-PAN 
formation has taken place in a few 
weeks? And you have neglected Son- 
nyboy for years. The boy heart is for¬ 
giving. It holds no malice, no clois¬ 
tered remembrance of the things which 
were denied. All he needed was an 
arm thrown around him ... a few 
kind words ... a little companion¬ 
ship ... a little trust ... a little 
love. 
“To him, the important phase of his 
vacation is not the vacation at all— 
not the fishing—the fun. ... It is the 
proud realization that you look upon 
him as man enough to be WANTED. 
His happiness is unselfish. Always he 
unconsciously effaces himself, that you 
what you think and say and do, may 
be placed with head touching- the stars. 
‘Father thinks enough of him to 
REALLY want him along!’ 
“I am studying the snap-shot. How 
he has grown! What a manly little 
chap he is! Your inclination—and I 
think it is the tendencey of ALL 
Fathers . . . was to hold Sonnyboy 
back to clumsy, amount-to-nothing, 
scatter-brained kid-hood, TOO LONG. 
Fathers never think boys grow up. 
And oh, how a growing lad does like 
to feel that there’s a touch of the man 
in him and that he is old enough to 
begin to be respected and to assume 
responsibilities. 
“You are giving Sonnyboy that joy¬ 
ous hour! And he would rather have 
WE MADE OURSELVES VERY MUCH AT 
HOME IN “CAMP MYSTERY.” AND GRUB 
HOLR WAS INVARIABLY ACCOMPANIED 
B\ THE AGE-OLD CONFLICT WITH CAN¬ 
OPENING 
YOU think him worthy, than even his 
Mother and all the rest of the world. 
“Separation from the both of you is 
robbed of its anxiety and its loneliness. 
MY TWO BOYS are chums together! 
God bless and protect and guard over 
them.” 
I have never believed myself a senti¬ 
mentalist, although the belief now 
strikes deep that every lover of the 
outdoors must be one. A man can’t 
have a craving, an affection for, Na¬ 
ture, and be wholly insensible to senti¬ 
ment. The two go together. In my 
own case, the reclaiming of Sonnyboy 
made me a flagrant sentimentalist. I 
found myself growing alternately hot 
and cold, on many occasions, as I 
thought of how close I had come to 
never knowing my own boy when he 
WAS a boy. Later it is of no avail. 
Youth is terribly, inexorably fleet. A 
Father must take advantage of these 
precious, flying hours, or he will have 
a lifetime of bitter regret. There is 
1 m 
Page 297 
THE MOUTH OF A FRESH-WATER 
CREEK, ACROSS WHICH CERTAIN 
SCOUNDRELS HAD FASTENED NETS 
AS LOW TIDE APPROACHED. FISH 
THAT HAD GONE UP-STREAM TO 
FEED,, COULD NOT ESCAPE, AND 
FELL EASY VICTIMS. PLEASE PAGE 
THE GAME WARDEN. 
A FINE CATCH OF SPECKLED SEA 
TROUT, CAUGHT DURING ONE SWIFT 
SESSION. WE ENVIED EVERY MO¬ 
TOR-BOAT EXPEDITION THAT PASS¬ 
ED US. EN ROUTE TO THE GROUNDS 
no recalling boyhood, save in memory. 
And suppose memory is pierced through 
and through with pangs of conscience? 
What then? 
Fathers . . . take possession of the 
boy heart whilst there is time. Fill 
every nook and cranny of it. Be 
chums. 
In the process, you are very apt to 
discover, with an utterly overwhelming- 
glow of satisfaction, that the compan¬ 
ionship gives YOU back some of 
YOUR Youth! 
But all this moralizing has little to 
do with mangrove snappers! 
I shoved the letter in a coat pocket, 
shook my head, as though coming up 
from a cold plunge, and looked around. 
Everything was as quiet, as peace¬ 
ful, in that sheltered little place as 
might have been a lagoon in a tropic 
land, a thousand miles from civiliza¬ 
tion. The sedate blue heron had finally 
winged off over the mangroves. 
“Ef yo’ all don’t catch one NOW,” 
Mike was expostulating, “den dey ain’t 
no cotchin’ nohow. But I done tol’ yo’ 
Daddy dat we better cotch Sheeps- 
head.” 
I examined Sonnyboy’s line. The 
No. 9, and a 4% hook should bring him 
luck. I rigged up a similar hand-line 
for myself, and accepted Mike’s sug¬ 
gestion to use Conch. 
Sonnyby’s hand gripped my shoul¬ 
der as his hook slipped over the side of 
the rowboat. I noticed, at the same 
moment, that Mike had given him a 
transparent leader, twelve inches in 
length, and practically invisible in the 
water. Ah! so that had been respon¬ 
sible for the whispered consultation, 
eh? 
“Look at them!” Sonnyboy’s grip on 
my shoulder seemed to say. 
(Continued on page 314) 
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