Straddling the log, he started to get his baited hook in motion. The wriggling worms sank a little in the swirl. At first, he was unable to just master the difficult problem of how to influence the bait to float into the eddy. Twice he failed to accomplish this, but studying the rushing stream a little, he fancied that by a certain throw in the start he could gain his end.
Sure enough, it worked, and like a charm. The baited hook was drawn back into the foam-flecked eddy, and he saw it vanish from view. Then came a most tremendous jerk, that almost caused
him to lose his balance and the log to quiver, with sickening possibilities.
But Jerry glued his legs against the sides, just as he had been told to do with a refractory pony, and managed to recover his balance. The trout was a gamey one, and the swiftness of the current made the task of securing him doubly hard.
"I'll work, all right, for everything I hook here," panted Jerry, after ten minutes had passed, and he tossed his exhausted prize over to the bank.
But he would not give up. Where one such fine, fat fellow held out there was certainly a chance for more, so he continued his fishing.
Unknown to him, Will had also wandered up that steep hillside, searching for a new view of the wonderful cataract. Pushing through the dense thickets, he chanced to catch a glimpse of the lone fisherman.
"Now, that's what I call a picturesque sight! Look at the chap perched out on the very end of that log, with the water rushing below like a mill-race! Here's where I get you, my duck. Fancy to what ends a fisherman will go in order to enjoy his favorite sport."
Will seemed to forget entirely that he was willing to undertake just as long a pilgrimage and
buck up against as difficult problems simply to get one snapshot that appealed to his soul.