The old man jumped up from his seat, and embraced him with rapture, protesting that he could not fail to win the harp, if he chose to be a candidate. Our hero, having practised but little on the harp since he left London, felt considerable diffidence in becoming a competitor among proficients in music, but resolved, at any rate to avail himself of the instructions of his friend Ianto Gwyn.
Intensely anxious to meet his mistress once more, he sought an early opportunity of a walk through the streets; but instead of the desired one, it was his lot to meet Powell the magistrate, who gave him a jocular and right hearty welcome. They were soon joined by two other high bloods of the town, one a wealthy attorney, named Phillips, and the other a reverend and right-portly son of the church, who shone more at the punch-bowl than in the pulpit. They all adjourned to the parlour of the Three Cocks, where the best of wine was soon in request, and a gay scene of conviviality and good fellowship ensued.
Twm’s fame had of course preceded him, for Powell’s tongue had been busy in his praise, although he had done him no more than justice, and those four worthies soon understanding each other, they spent a pretty jolly time of it. Being all lads of the turf, the practice of betting was familiar to them; and the lawyer offered to oppose Twm in a match of angling for five pounds; and the bet should be, that “whoever fished the largest weight, no matter of what kind, in half an hour, should be declared the winner.” Our hero, although a poor angler, accepted the wager, and Powell, as the umpire, wrote down the terms of it, which was signed by each.
Possessing himself of angling paraphernalia, he repaired with them to the bridge, and had the upper side of it assigned to him, while Phillips had the lower. The latter displayed a grand morocco pocket-book, filled in the neatest order with the most choice artificial flies, of every description, and soon had his handsome rod in order; while the former had nothing better than what could be procured at a shop. The lawyer landed fish after fish, with great rapidity, and when half the given time had expired, Twm found himself much in arrears, and the continued good fortune of his antagonist left him, apparently, no chance of ultimate success.
“Confound these good-for-nothing flies! fetch me a beef steak!” cried he at last, and gave money for that purpose to a by-stander, who immediately brought the article wanted.
“There’s a Cardy angler, fishing for trout with a beef steak!” cried the Breconians, with an exulting laugh. Twm made no reply, but fastened several hooks in different parts of a strong line, to each of which he attached a small piece of beef; and, watching the movement of a flock of ducks that floated in luxurious ease down the Usk, he threw the whole among them.
Loud was the clamour of the aquatic crew, as they hustled each other, in their eagerness to partake of the showered feast, which they soon gobbled, and were drawn up to the top of the bridge by the singular angler above, amid the shouts of laughter of the numerous spectators.
This feat was greeted by the by-standers with shouts of derision, as they thought that Twm, in thus trifling, had practically confessed his inability to win the wager. Powell called time, saying that the half hour had struck. Phillips, as the conscious winner, produced a goodly show of trout, and, as Twm had caught but four small fish, said it would be idle to weigh them.
“Not so,” replied our wag, “let the written terms of the bet be read, and you will find that my ducks have a right to be weighed against your boasted trout, aye! and shall make them kick the beam.”
Phillips started at such an assertion made in earnest, and Powell read, “Whoever fished the largest weight, no matter of what kind, would be declared the winner,” and as umpire, awarded the five pounds to our hero.