"Aw—but I cawn't, you know—oblige me!" and he held out his umbrella toward me. The trout in the meantime was having his own way; the line was fast disappearing from the reel; suddenly it slacked, his troutship was returning, and rapidly. I supported Mr. Dide by seizing the back of his collar with one hand and relieved him of the umbrella, directing him to reel in the line. The fish was without doubt fatally hooked. Mr. Dide, laboring at the crank with a vigor that would have given a hundred revolutions a second to an ordinary grindstone, succeeded in retrieving the slack. As he did so the fish gave a leap half out of the water, and a struggle that brought the butt of the rod in contact with the fisherman's stomach. Something snapped—it was the tip. Still the hook held, the line could be trusted; if the leader and snell proved true the fish might yet be saved. I directed Mr. Dide to give no more line, but simply to hold the remains of his rod firmly and to stand still, if he could. He endeavored to follow instructions, and I took up my station a little lower down and to one side in shallower water, watching the brave exertions of the quarry to free itself. I bethought me that the umbrella, in the absence of my landing-net, might be put to profitable use. As the fish came my way I suddenly scooped him up from behind, together with an umbrella nearly full of water; the trout went over the edge some time before I could empty the novel device.
"That's the most extwaawdinawy pwoceeding I evah witnessed!" exclaimed Mr. Dide.
Certainly it was beyond anything in my own experience. I concluded that the only way to save the fish was to get to the bank. Mr. Dide declined my offer to take his rod, for which I commended him, but he was doubtful of his ability to stem the current and manage his tackle without my assistance, so I led him ashore and he dragged the trout. Seizing my opportunity, when the nearly exhausted victim was quiet, I lifted him out by the leader. He had hooked himself through the tongue, and so deeply that, notwithstanding his struggles, the wound was but little enlarged, and the use of a knife was required to release him.
Mr. Dide was so much delighted at his success that the damage to his rod was a matter of little importance. He would have continued to fish with the remains of it, but that I convinced him of the impossibility of casting a fly without a tip. He returned to camp and soon came back with the extra one. I concluded to prospect for openings in the brush. Having found one with a promising little eddy below it, I indicated the best place, in my judgment, at which the fly should be delivered. Mr. Dide undertook the feat and the fly caught in the willows behind him. I released it and the next effort resulted in a good hold upon the umbrella, which the gentleman insisted upon keeping over his head. I was constrained to advise him that the umbrella would better be put aside; he surrendered it to me hesitatingly, as if he might be at a loss without it. He splashed the fly into the water within a rod of the place I had suggested, but that was of no importance; a trout took it in a moment and in the next was flying high in air and eventually became entangled in the brush. I wondered whether first efforts were ordinarily attended with the results I had witnessed, or whether my protégé were specially skilled in awkwardness. After he had placed me and my apparel in jeopardy several times I took the rod and endeavored to show him how to make a cast; then I did not blame him so much. But he felt encouraged, and I betook myself to camp, leaving him to work out his own salvation. He came back before noon with the two trout; his rod was broken again and he was very wet, having evidently been up to his neck in water.
Seven Castles.
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE SOUTH FORK.