When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

“Darn him! he ate all my bait, anyhow!” you declared. “See?”

“‘BITIN’ AGAIN’”

With utmost speed you fitted another worm and very smoothly let down exactly in the same spot.

Scarcely had the cork settled when it resumed its erratic movements. Its persecutor, whatsoever he might be, was a persistent chap.

“Bitin’ again?” inquired Snoopie, noting your strained attitude.

You nodded; the moment was too vital to admit of conversation.

“I got him! I got him! I—”

You had exulted too soon. Out like a feather you had whisked the meddlesome fellow, but in mid-air, unable to maintain the sudden pace, he parted company with the impaling steel. Down he dropped, and while the lightened hook went on without him he dived into the shallows where mud meets water.

You abandoned your pole; you plunged after him. Upon hands and knees you wallowed and grappled with him. With fish instinct, he was wriggling for the deeps and safety. You grasped him. He slid through your clutch. You grabbed at him again and obtained a pinching hold on his tail. He broke the hold and was off.