
THE CROSS ROD 
Built by Casters 
for Casters 
The builders of this rod are 
the largest purchasers of cane 
in this country, the finest being 
reserved for rod-making. 
The Cross rod is built by 
hand, the most skillful crafts- 
men being employed in this 
work. Each rod is tested by an 
expert for action, balance and 
actual casting qualities. 
The Cross rod presents to the 
angler the maximum backbone 
length and 
This combined with an 
and power for 
weight. 
amenability to the touch makes 
them particularly adapted to 
dry fly use. 
The discrimination exercised 
in the selection of materials and 
the skilled craftsmanship em- 
ployed in the construction of 
the Cross rod endow them with 
an individuality far removed 
from the quantity production 
class. 
Write for book on rod 
and rod making. 
Cross Rod & Tackle Co. 
LYNN 



Send for Sportmen’s Book Catalog. 
Forest and Stream Publishing Co., 
227 West 57th St., New York 
Our Celebrated Wet Trout Flies, on Loop- 
ed Gut, or on Eyed Hooks. Size 12, 45c; 
Size 10, 50c; Size 8, 55¢ per dozen. Dry 
Flies on Looped Gut, or on Eyed Hooks. 
Size 12, 70c; Size 10, 75c; Size 8, 80c per 
dozen. 
Catalogue of Flies, Leaders, Rods, Reels, 
Lines, etc., Post Free. 
WHITE BROTHERS 
61 Lord St. Liverpool, England 


In writing to 

Flies € Flies| 




this, one fine morning. As I knew 
nothing of the sport, we went out with 
some professionals at it. Once upon a 
time, stone-crabbers depended upon 
“crab-hooks,” which was no more than 
a short rod, with two prongs fastened 
at its extremity. The method is now 
almost obsolete. Your business-like 
fisherman of to-day employs a contriv- 
ance which is not unlike the lobster 
pots of New England—and every bit 
as efficient. It is by no means unusual 
for the crews to use from fifty to one 
hundred of these traps, and as one trap 
may easily land a dozen crabs in a day, 
the difficulties and discomforts of the 
job are more than matched by financial 
returns. We knew one crabber who 
caught ninety dozen in a day! The 
stone crab, incidentally, is more of a 
deepwater denizen, than of the shal- 
lows. 
A 

An ideas of the seriousness of fires 
in the Everglades may be gained from 
the statement of a deputy fire warden 
that over thirty sections of land, ex- 
tending from the Miami Canal at Hia- 
leah to the Broward county line have 
been burned over. The fire burns the 
peatlike soil down to the rock or to the 
water level and renders it absolutely 
worthless. The warden says the fire 
has been raging since October 20, and 
he estimates that the damage it has 
done has amounted to $10,000 a day.— 
Tampa Times. 
TOITUIUUTUITUVUUUUTUIEUTTU UCU 
ND so our Adventures in Comrade- 
ship reached at least a temporary 
conclusion. In a snug Pullman we were 
headed hcmeward, as brown almost as 
Tommy Tiger himself, and quite as ac- 
climated to a life which we often wished 
might have gone on and on, forever. 
6 ONS ee is in the observation car, 
telling some of his exploits to an 
interested audience: I am reading two 
letters which, crumpled from much 
handling and numerous perusals, were 
| waiting for me at Miami, General De- 
livery, that night we returned from the 
’Glades. 
I ask your indulgence, as you look 
over my shoulder and re-read them 
with me. They form an essential doc- 
umentary detail of this story; they are, 
in fact, its summing up, its conclu- 
sion, its vindication, its promise that a 
Great Experiment bore fruit. 
The first letter is from Mother, and 
reads: 
“The final arrangements have 
been made for Sonny to go at once 
to his college on your return. I 
do not aniticipate any hardships 
for him because of the mid-term 
idea. 
“J have his trunk all ready for 

Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 
It will identify you. 
him—the new kind he wanted so 
badly, and it was with tremendous 
pride—and not a few tears, I con- 
fess—I arranged his clothing... 
all such terribly grown-up togs, you 
know. . 
“Bring him back safely to m 
arms and my love. I sometimes 
wonder how I could look on, com- 
placently, when I knew he was 
handling firearms, and seeking dan- 
gerous places for the sport which 
the two of you adore. 
“T will not touch upon our little 
compact. Here is one of his let- 
ters—written to me in a spirit of 
strict confidence, but which I feel 
you have a divine right to see. 
(Never let him know that I sent it 
to you.) It is filled with those 
intensely personal intimacies of 
speech which a boy is willing to 
voice only to his Mother—no one 
else... ever! 
“This letter is your reward. You 
have earned it, bravely and desery- 
edly. He has said all that I would 
say, so much better than ever I 
could, in my most sentimental 
mood.” 
And this is Sonnyboy’s note, just as 
he wrote it hastily on a fragment of 
discolored paper, torn from a bag. It 
was evidently composed during one of 
our trips: 
“Dearest Mother: 
“T want you to know that I think 
Father is the most wonderful man 
in the world. We’ve been out every 
day, rain or shine, on some sort of 
cruise or fishing jaunt. 
“T used to think—I don’t know 
why, that Father didn’t want to 
bother with me . . . didn’t love me, 
perhaps. I seemed to annoy him— 
always asking so many questions 
and wanting to go out with him 
when he went on his trips. 
“But it was ME, I guess. The 
one reason I’m not so keen on go- 
ing away to College, is because I 
won’t see him so often. I’d rather 
be with my Father than with any- 
body else in the world. Of course, 
that doesn’t mean) YOU. 
you'll always be first. But he’s a 
man... you understand. I feel 
awfully sorry for boys who have 
Fathers that don’t understand 
them and don’t pal with them.” 
1h palms and the pines of the Flor- 
ida countryside, as seen through 
the car window, become blurred. There 
—I am sniffing again! Slowly I fold 
the letters and tuck them in my pocket. 
It is done with reverence, with infinite 
respect. They are the last, happy lines 
in the last chapter of a story I might 
never have written, had not the Big 
Outdoors collaborated with me. 
(The End) 
Page 172 
