“You do as I tell you, and all will be right. There’s no call for you to be mistrustful. You may rest assured that I am sending you to the proper party. See her, and if she can’t do the job herself she’ll find somebody who can.”
The gipsy nodded assent to this proposition, and as the vehicle he drove came in sight of a road-side commercial hotel he brought his pony to a standstill.
Peace alighted, wished his companion good night, and entered the hostelry, where he remained till morning.
By early dawn he was up and doing. He swallowed a hasty breakfast, and took his departure, making his way direct for the river’s side.
He unmoored his boat, and pulled it between three and four miles down the stream. He then began to angle with all the keen relish of a persevering sportsman.
He was tolerably successful, and drew out a number of fish, some of which were of good size. There were other persons in boats engaged in a similar occupation, and in the due course of time Peace managed to scrape acquaintance with those who were nearest to him.
One was an old gentleman, who was a good companion, being loquacious and full of anecdote. He was, he informed our hero, devoted to the sport, and the extraordinary “takes” of fish that had at various times fallen to his share were perfectly astounding.
Peace had the prudence to hear all he said, and say but little in return. He did not know a great deal about angling, and he was therefore anxious not to betray his ignorance.
He, however, affected to believe all his companion said, for it was his “game,” as he termed it, to make as many friends as possible. Certainly, under the existing, circumstances, this was the wisest course to pursue.
He said in reply to the old gentleman that he enjoyed the sport, but could not boast of being a particularly skilful angler, but he was willing to learn.