We emerged upon the lawn and sauntered up to the front of the house, where some half-dozen ladies were sitting on the long porch, doing worsted-work and reading novels. I saw my charmer among them, and, as she looked up from the book she was reading, and shot at me a mischievous glance from those thrilling eyes, I felt my coolness melting at the most alarming rate.
How I envied the easy, careless grace with which my friend sauntered up to the group! Why should I not be as graceful, as easy? I would make a desperate effort to "assume a virtue if I had it not." I, too, sauntered elegantly, lifted my hat killingly, and approached my charmer just as if I didn't realize that I was turning all the colors of the chameleon.
"Miss Knickerbocker," I began, "will you deign to accept the champion trout of the season?"
The string of glistening fish hung from the fine patent rod which I carried over my shoulder. I never could undo the tangle of how it all came about; but, in my embarrassment, I must have handled things not quite so gracefully as I intended—the line had become unwound, and the hook dangling at the end of it as I attempted to lower the rod caught in my coat collar behind, and the more I tugged the more it would not come out. I flushed and jerked, and tried to see the back of my head, while the ladies smiled encouragingly, rendering me more and more desperate, until I gave a fearful twitch, and the barb came flying out and across the porch, striking a prim maiden lady on the head.
More and more confused, I gave a sudden pull to relieve the lady, and succeeded in getting a very queer bite indeed. At first I thought, in my horror, that I had drawn the whole top of the unfortunate spinster's head off; but a second frightened look showed me that it was only her scalpette, or false front, or whatever the dear creatures call a half-wig, all frizzes and crimps. Almost faint with dismay at the glare of anger in the lady's eyes, and the view of the bald white spot on top of her head, I hurriedly drew the thing toward me to remove it from the hook, when a confounded little Spitz, seeing the spot, and thinking, doubtless, I was playing with him, made a dash at the wig, and in less time than it takes to tell it, that thing of beauty was a wreck forever. Its unfortunate owner, with a look which nearly annihilated me, fled up-stairs to her apartment.
Nor was my discomfiture then ended. That Spitz—that precious Spitz—belonged to Blue-Eyes; I tried to coax him to relinquish his game; he would not be persuaded, and, in the ardor of his pursuit, he swallowed the cruel hook. I had wanted to present her with a trout, and had only succeeded in hooking her favorite pet—"her darling, her dear, dear little Spitzy-witzy," as she called him, in tones of mingled endearment and anguish, as she flew to rescue him from his cruel fate.
"Oh, what can I do?" she sobbed, looking up at her brother.
"Cut him open and remove the hook," he answered gravely; "there is no other possible way of relieving the poor fellow."
"I wish I had swallowed it," I murmured, bitterly, throwing my fish into the grass of the lawn, and pulling at my mustache desperately in my despair of ever doing as other people do.
"I really wish you had," snapped Blue-Eyes, satirically, and with that I walked off and left them to take Spitz from around that fish-hook the best way they could.