“To my prize. To the king,” he answered waving his hand airily towards the gasping fish.
Acting upon this, he, to her wonder, packed up his rod, placed his trout in the basket, and took a comfortable seat a little to the right of her.
Truly the gods were with him. Had they not listened to his invocation? Otherwise he must have stood upon the bank and given over his whole thought to the matter of casting a bit of feather upon the waters. He could have studied the sky only as it was reflected in the stream, and only as much of her as he could catch from the corner of his eye. And always there would have been the danger of an entangling alliance between his hook and her gown with the consequent embarrassment of showing ill before her. He must have been born under Pisces.
Again and again she cast her line for Aunt Philomela without success. But what Aunt Philomela lost, he gained. He won a new memory of her at every strong-limbed movement. He prayed for failure. Surely, he thought, that estimable lady would cheerfully surrender the mere item of a delectable morsel or two for such pictures as these.
But Miss Van Patten herself did not relish the position as much as she might. She was conscious of being watched and this, unless a girl be vain, is not pleasant no matter how delicately the watching is done. So she slowly reeled in her line.
“Surely, you don’t mean to deprive Aunt Philomela of her fish?” he hastened to protest.
“I think she would rather have me finish her accounts,” she affirmed.
“If we tried a few moments longer—”
“I have noticed,” she declared, continuing to reel in her line, “that when at the beginning you land a big fish, the little fishes cease to bite.”
He felt guilty, as though he had been the means of depriving her of her sport. As she left the bank he took her pole and dismembered it for her, prolonging the task as long as possible. He wished now that he had not caught his fish so soon. The ideal way to fish with her, he thought, would be to have a trout concealed in one’s pocket and so with no responsibility dabble with the fly until the opportune moment for going home arrived and then deftly hook the fish upon the line and produce it. The pity of life was that no sooner had one prettily solved some problem by experience than the opportunity for using it was gone. It might well be that Mr. Van Patten would never have again so convenient a taste for trout.