“And did you?” cried Rodd.
“I felt as if the words would choke me at first, but just then I seemed to see the trout hot and brown upon a dish and my father, sick and pale, looking at them longingly, and that made me speak to the other guard, who was scowling at me. And as I spoke a grim smile came over his face, and his eyes twinkled, and he showed his teeth. ‘All right, youngster,’ he said. ‘Got a rod?’ I shook my head. ‘No line? No flies?’ I shook my head again and again. ‘All right, young ’un,’ he said. ‘You come to me two hours before sundown; I shall be on duty then. I’ll set you up with a bit of tackle. But I say, you Frenchies don’t know how to throw a fly!’ ‘I used to,’ I replied, ‘at home, in France.’ ‘Lor’, did you?’ he said. ‘Hear that, Billy? I never knew as a Frenchman knew how to fish. But that’s all right, youngster—only my ignorance. A fisherman’s a fisherman the wide world round.’”
“Well?” said Rodd, for his companion had stopped.
“Well?” said Morny.
“Go on.”
“What about?”
“Well, you are a chap! Don’t you know I was always very fond of fishing?”
“I know you like fishing, for I saw you enjoying it that day when—”
“Steady!” cried Rodd.
“I’ve done,” said Morny.