“Hallo!” said I, in reply. “Who are you? if I may be so bold as to inquire.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” answered my new acquaintance, cheerfully. “Everybody who sees me for the first time wants to know all about me. I don’t suppose I am much to look at—indeed, I know I am not, because I can see my reflection in the mirror over the mantle—but I am the boss boat on the rapids, and am worth more on a ‘carry’ than all the cedar and birch-bark canoes in America. I am the historian of the Wayring family, or, rather, of the youngest branch of it,” he added, with no little pride in his tones. “I carry secrets enough to sink any ordinary craft, and if I only had the power to communicate some of them to my master, perhaps he wouldn’t open his eyes! I am a canvas canoe, at your service.”
“Oh!” said I.
“Yes,” said he. “And unless my judgment is at fault, you are a fly-rod. I heard Joe say that his uncle was going to get one for him.”
“That is just what I am,” I made answer. “Nickel-plated ferrules and reel-seat, artistically wound with cane and silk, and lancewood throughout.”
My lofty speech did not have the effect I thought it would. The canvas canoe seemed to have rather an exalted opinion of himself, and I did not see why I should stay in the background for want of somebody to praise me, and so I praised myself; and that’s a bad thing to do. I only succeeded in exciting the merriment of every occupant of the room, for I heard derisive laughter on all sides of me.
“Don’t throw on airs, young fellow,” said the canvas canoe, as soon as he could speak. “You have come to the wrong shop for that sort of work. I wouldn’t boast until I had done something, if I were in your place. If there is any good in you, you will fare well in Joe’s hands, and he will do your bragging for you; but if you fail him when the pinch comes, you will most likely be chucked into the lake, or given away to the first little ragamuffin he can find who wants a rod that is good for nothing. So take a friend’s advice and hold your tongue until you have seen service.”
I felt somewhat abashed by this rebuke, for, of course, I was desirous of making a favorable impression upon those with whom I was to be associated all the days of my life. I thought I had made them despise me; but the next words uttered by the canvas canoe showed me that I need have no fears on that score.
“A boat and a rod generally go together, you know,” said he; “so I suppose that you and I will see much of each other hereafter.”
“And how about me?” piped a shrill voice close beside me.