He drew the line still closer towards his itching fingers. He grasped it. He gave it a tug and in another second had tossed upon the grass the largest trout ever taken from Schuyler brook.
She clapped her hands in applause.
“He’s a beauty,” she cried enthusiastically.
“Pretty fair,” he confessed modestly.
“And you handled him so well!” she praised.
“Thank you.”
“And to think you captured him with a Scarlet Beauty. I have never been able to get a rise with that fly.”
“On a bright day,” he replied sagely, “and in slow waters, they seem to work very well.”
“Your judgment was sound,” she admitted.
“It was the judgment of the gods.”