“And I loathe it. But, as the Persian poet says, ‘Failure is the child of doubt, and the grandfather of success.’”
“Pardy! Pardy!” Rose smiled. Those Oriental quotations were family properties, and a source of some bewilderment to the educated stranger.
“Now, dear, see how I hold the rod—lightly. Yes, so, without tension. Don’t make too much physical effort. Let the rod do its share. Don’t insist on doing all, and too much yourself.”
Rose took the rod, and Tom began his lesson. But the gods were good, and, after a few awkward casts, a salmon, more eager than his kind, made a mad bolt for the fly, and was off like a crazy thing, across the stream.
“Turn your rod! Down! Sit down! Tip up! Up! That is rare,” said Lyndsay. “If that salmon were to keep on running, there would be no salmon for you. Quick, boys!” for before the anchor was up, the wild fish had run off two thirds of the reel. Now they were away after him at fullest speed.
“Reel! reel!” cried Tom. “Reel up!”
“But I am tired! Oh, I shall lose him!”
However, after he had made another run, Rose began to get in the line, then the fish stopped a moment, and again was away.
Meanwhile, the canoe, in crossing and recrossing, had come close to the swift water below the pool.
“We have got to go down the rapids, sir.”