“Bite! You mean that something's bitten him?” asked the young man, for he could not see the figure of the colonel, who, just then, in allowing the bass to have a run, had followed him up stream.
“No, he's catchin' a fish—he's got a strike—a big one! Don't isturb him.”
“But I must see him. I've come a long distance to—”
“Distance or closeness don't make no mattah of diffunce to de colonel when he's got a bite, sah! I'm sorry, but I can't let yo' go any closer, an' I'se got to go an' land de fish. Aftah dat, if you wants to hab a word wif de colonel, well, maybe he'll see yo', sah,” and Shag, with a warning gesture, like that of a traffic policeman halting a line of automobiles, started toward the colonel, who was still playing his fish.
Harry Bartlett, for he it was who had thus somewhat rudely interrupted the detective's fishing, stopped in the shade of the willows, somewhat chagrined. He had come a long way for a talk, and now to be thus held back by a colored man who seemed to have no idea of the importance of the mission was provoking.
But there was something authoritative in Shag's manner, and, being a business man, Harry Bartlett knew better than to make an inauspicious approach. It would be as bad as slicing his golf ball on the drive.
So he waited beside the silent stream, not so silent as it had been, for it was disturbed by the movements, up and down, of Colonel Ashley, who was playing his fish with consummate skill.
Seeing a little green book on the grass where it had fallen, Harry Bartlett picked it up. Idly opening the pages, he read:
“There is also a fish called a sticklebag, a fish without
scales, but he hath his body fenced with several prickles.
I know not where he dwells in winter, nor what he is good
for in summer, but only to make sport for boys and women
anglers, and to feed other fish that be fish of prey, as
trout in particular, who will bite at him as at a penk, and
better, if your hook be rightly baited with him; for he may
be so baited, as, his tail turning like a sail of a
windmill, will make him turn more quick than any penk or
minnow can.”
“I guess I've got the right man,” said Harry Bartlett with a smile.