"By Jove!" said Spalding, as he handed me the landing-net to take in
his third or fourth trout, "this is sport. You use the net, and I'll
trail them to you. Let us make hay while the sun shines. The other
boat will soon be along, and Smith will be for dipping his spoon into
my dish. I want to astonish him when he comes."
We had secured eight beautiful fish when the Doctor and Smith rounded
the point above us. We motioned them back, and their boat lay upon its
oars. Spalding kept on throwing his fly and trailing the trout to me
to secure with the landing-net."
"Hallo!" shouted Smith, "hold on there; fair play, my friends, give me
a hand in," and he fell to adjusting his rod and flies.
"Keep back, you lubber," replied Spalding; "what do _you_ know about
trout-fishing? You'll frighten them all away by your awkwardness."
"No you don't!" shouted Smith, his rod now adjusted. "Drop down,
boatman, and we'll see who is the lubber. Wait, Spalding! Don't throw,
if you are a true man, until we can take a fair start, and then the
one that comes out second best pays the piper."
The boat dropped down to the proper position, and the Doctor, who was
seated in the stern, held it in place by pressing his paddle into the
sand at the bottom, while the boatman handled the landing net.
"Now!" exclaimed Smith, as the flies dropped upon the water together
above the cold spring.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79