CHAPTER XIV
A STATE OF MIND
Up the narrow valley, over the unbroken sweep of treetops, arose tumbled peaks; and above the Golden Dome, pushing straight upward into the flawless blue of heaven, towered a cloud, its inky convolutions edged with silver.
Jones inspected the thunderhead with disapproval; Ellis offered his rod, and, being refused, began some clever casting, the artistic beauty of which was lost upon Jones.
One trout only investigated the red-and-white fly; and, that fish safely creeled, Ellis turned to his companion:
"Three years ago, when I last came here, this reach was more prolific. But there's a pool above that I'll warrant. Shall we move?"