When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

“‘JUS’ A BULLHEAD’”

Snoopie’s flexible life appeared to you the model one.

“Hello, Snoop!” called you and Hen.

“Hello!” responded Snoopie, phlegmatically, desisting a moment from watching his cork, as he squatted over his pole.

“Caught anything yet?”

“Jus’ come,” vouchsafed Snoopie. “They ain’t bitin’ much. But yesterday—gee! you ought to’ve been here yesterday!”

No doubt; that usually was the way when you had to stay at home.

You tugged your bait from its tight lodgment; you peeled off your coat and tossed it aside as you would a scabbard; with feverish fingers, lest Hen should beat you, hopeful that you might even outdo Snoopie, you unwrapped your gallant pole of its line, and selecting a plump worm, slipped it, despite its protesting squirms, adown the hook.

The favorite stands at this resort were marked by their colonies of tinware—bait-cans cast away upon the grass and mud, some comparatively bright and recent, many very rusty and ancient, their unfragrant sighs horrifying the summer zephyrs. You sought your stand and threw in.