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permanent 
smile— 
so characteristic of Hotel 
Majestic guests—is a tribute 
to perfect satisfaction in all 
the details which make “The 
House of Contentment.” 
The famous Hotel Majestic 
Orchestra whose inimitable 
dance music is familiar to 
millions through radio broad- 
casting —the splendid Art 
Gallery—the luxurious 
Lounge and Ball Rooms— 
These are but externals. The 
indefinable charm of _ the 
Majestic lies in its atmos- 
phere of well-bred  refine- 
ment, the brilliance and 
gaiety of its social life, and 
the spell of its delightful lo- 
cation—overlooking Central 
Park; out cof ithe Citys 
ceaseless roar yet within a 
few minutes of the shops and 
theatres. 
And the vogue of the Ma- 
jestic Hotel Restaurant re- 
flects the superb cuisine 
supervised by M. Edouard 
Panchard—a distinct revela- 
tion in good cheer. 
Special facilities are offered 
for banquets and social 
events 
Reservations should be made 
in advance whenever 
possible 
SEND FOR ATTRACTIVE 
BROCHURE 
Majestic Iyotel 
RESTAURANTS 
2 West 72nd Street 
Entire block fronting Central Park 
New York 
Telephone Endicott 1900 

In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 


took the tail fly, a Parmachenee Belle, 
when it was partly under water. Sev- 
eral times I had strikes on the trolling 
rod, but failed to hook the fish, what- 
ever it was. Dark rain clouds were 
commencing to hurtle by overhead, and 
the wind appeared to be coming harder 
in black, ugly squalls. After netting 
three or four more speckles on the fly 
rod I decided it was time to go home. 
Crossing back to the north shore from 
a point opposite the inlet where I had 
been fishing, I purposely reeled up con- 
siderable line on the steel rod to avoid 
getting fouled on a shoal which ex- 
tended out into the Pond some fifty 
yards beyond the mouth of the inlet. 
I had just settled down to casting 
again, keeping the boat off shore by 
rowing with my left hand, when the 
rod lying in the stern gave a sudden 
mighty bound. Dropping the fly rod 
pellmell, I seized it as it was about to 
go overboard and gave a jerk that 
nearly dislocated the seat under me. 
For an instant I caught a silver flash 
in the water where the bait ought to be. 
The reel screeched, and the line went 
sailing out at a terrific rate. Next 
moment a land-locked salmon broke 
water in a dazzling leap. 
To my thrilled and startled gaze he 
looked half as long as the oar. When 
he hit the water again the fun com- 
menced in deadly earnest. 
In his furious rushes the salmon ran 
out practically every foot of line on 
the reel. I had no chance to check him, 
which was probably just as well, for 
my left hand was busy with the oar 
keeping the boat out in deep water. 
Three times he jumped into midair, and 
three times my heart jumped into my 
throat, in the fear he would shake him- 
self free. 
For the next fifteen minutes it was 
simply a case of holding on grimly and 
tiring him out. We kept milling around 
in a cirle, and several times I thought 
my wrist was going to crack, as I had 
no chance to relieve the strain with my 
left hand. 
Slowly but surely, however, in spite 
of all I could do with one oar, the 
wind was drifting me down the nar- 
row channel towards the outlet of the 
Pond. Once in that cul-de-sac, I felt 
certain that eventually the Salmon 
would get mixed up in the branches 
of some submerged tree with which the 
shore was lined on both sides and I 
would lose him. A _ sinking feeling 
struck me in the pit of the stomach. 
The wind was inexorable and there 
was only one alternative if I wanted 
to save the fish. 
Dropping the oar, I began to reel in 
until through the flash and film of tur- 
bulent water I could see a great shad- 
owy form diving and twisting at the 
end of the line. Water magnifies and 
It will identify you. 
magnifies especially a fish of any size; 
but although I was fully aware of this 
fact, the sight of that long, olive- 
tinted, downward nosing body gave me 
a fresh attack of salmon fever! With 
a sharp jerk on the oar I swung the 
boat broadside to the wind and seized 
the landing net. Gently I urged the 
salmon towards the surface. When he 
finally came within reach I leaned far 
out, straining with my right arm 
against the dead weight, and carefully 
slid the net under him. At this criti- 
cal moment something happened that 
turned my blood cold. As I started to 
lift the net handle, which was wet, 
slipped through my fingers and, flop! 
overboard it went! 
My sensations at that particular in- 
stant may better be imagined than de- 
scribed. I was fairly desperate. By 
the grace of the gods, however, the 
water where the net had gone down 
was not more than four feet deep. 
And as I looked back I could see the 
handle, about two inches of it, stick- 
ing out above the surface. The fright 
of being dashed at with the net, how- 
ever, had endowed old Sebago with a 
fresh lease of life. Once more the reel 
sang, and for fully five or six minutes 
longer I circled the boat in the narrow 
space where I was caught, anticipating 
a gloomy and heartrending culmina- 
tion of the hard-fought conflict. 
I had resolved, however, to get that 
net again if I drowned in the attempt. 
So, by slow degrees, I worked towards 
this end and finally, after a lot more 
milling around, got to windward of the 
place where I could see the handle 
sticking out. Then I turned, and as 
the boat went sailing by before a snarl- 
ing little squall I made a frantic grab 
and jerked the net back to safety. 
That was a joyful moment. With- 
out the net I knew I had but small 
chance of saving the fish. Had there 
been a beach or shoal place free from 
submerged dead tree tops, I might 
have gotten him in and gilled him with 
my hand. But out in deeper water, 
with the wind slapping the boat around, 
an attempt to seize him would un- 
doubtedly have spelled disaster. I 
could now feel very perceptibly that 
the fish was weakening. He no longer 
made any rushes, but kept coming to 
the surface and drifting on his side. 
I recovered my lost line, and within 
twelve or fifteen feet of shore dipped 
the net under him, dropped the rod 
and lifted with both hands. 
A second later he lay flopping and 
thrashing in the bottom of the boat. I 
pounced on him like a hawk. A sharp © 
blow on the head with a stick I carried 
for the purpose laid him out limp and 
quivering. I was limp and quivering 
myself, for that matter. When I had 
removed the hook from his mouth I- 
took out my watch. It was twenty-five 
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