—fishing tight line. I seat myself com- 
fortable, then stoop over and gently 
lay my hand on the pole, ready to be 
electrified at the first nibble. I get the 
nibble, jerk, and suffering cats! I’ve 
hooked the bottom of the river! Upon 
the bank, my lantern hooked on my 
arm, I’m trying to pry open those 
iron jaws, while his “squawking” and 
“squashing” is music to my ears. Bless- 
ings on you, old mud cat! 
Peaceful! That’s the word, and the 
thoughts of it now brings me peaceful 
dreams. With latest tackle, a turbulent 
stream and all that goes with trout fish- 
ing, your repose comes after a hard 
day’s hiking. With the old cane Johnny 
it’s all respose. I’ll leave it to the fel- 
lows—if they will tell the truth. 
But there’s room for argument.’ And 
I’m not arguing, just defending the old 
Johnny pole. It’s like a certain old 
hat you’ve worn, and learned to love, 
and you remember it; or maybe an old 
gun, perhaps a muzzle-loader, or an old 
girl! Why forget these old loves, why 
deride them, why even compare them? 
For the things that used to be are far 
different from the things of now. 
But, Mister Editor, I for one have 
laid them both on the shelf—the old 
cane Johnny and the split bamboo. And 
while I am yet a little on the sunny side 
of forty I suppose it’s only dreams for 
me from now on. An accident while on 
a hunting trip has put me out of the 
running so that I will fish no more. If 
I ever do it will be with a Johnny cane; 
the streams will see me no more for- 
ever. It’s hard to say that never again 
will I cross an icy mountain current, 
in over my knees, and pull a cutthroat 
up the rapids. I’ll miss the forest pri- 
meval that I have learned to know so 
well, the giant fir, pine and tamarack, 
the log cabins far up in the fastnesses 
of the Rockies and the Sierras, the 
snow-capped peaks staring sentinellike 
across the way, the wild hucl:ieberries, 
the starry western skies over me, the 
roar of the mountain stream, and the 
yelp of the coyote on a distant bluff 
or across the lake. It’s curtains for 
all that. But, then, again some day, I 
may try the still-fishing game. If so 
I will be delighted to hear again the 
whippoorwill down the fence row, watch 
the fireflies come and go across the 
swamp, and listen to the bellowing of 
the daddy bullfrogs in the breaks along 
the river bank. And if I do, why, of 
course, I will have with me again, as 
in the good old days gone by, the old 
cane Johnny to help me pass the time 
away. 

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HE one absolutely un- 
selfish friend that man can 
have in this selfish world, the 
one that never deserts him, the 
one that never proves ungrate- 
ful or treacherous, is his dog.” 
— Senator Vest. 
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EXT to the comfort- 
ing companionship 
of a good dog, comes the 
companionable comfort of 
a good breakfast to begin 
the day of sport. 
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Over the pancakes pour 
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steaming hot coffee. 
There’s plenty of Dex- 
trose in Karo — enough 
energy-food to keep you 
on the trails ’tull dinner 
hour. 
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In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream, It will identify you, 
