“‘And what’s become o’ Bill?’ says I. ‘Hangin’ round the place yet, is he?’
“‘William Trout is very well, thanky; if it’s him you’re alludin’ to,’ says the old codger, mighty solemn.
“‘William Trout?’ says I, kinder questioning.
“‘Yes, William,’ says he, waggin’ his head like a good fellow. ‘It ain’t fittin’ and proper to be puttin’ no nicknames on a fish o’ his heft and trainin’. But come along and take a look at William.’
“Well, we went down to the pool, and Old Man Freeman cupped his hand and slapped the water. There was a sunbeam pourin’ down through a break in the leaves overhead, and hittin’ the water so that right in the middle was a space all bright and shinin’, and around it a band of still and shadowy surface. The big trout must ’a’ been feelin’ his oats that day, for as he shot out of the shadow and into the brightness he gave a leap. Jerusalem! Talk about prisms and rainbows! There he was for jest a second, archin’ like the bow and blazin’ like a sunset, with the gleamin’ drops fallin’ from him in a shower of jewels. Then, splash! He was under again, and the water near the old man’s hand was a boilin’ swirl. This time I didn’t even gasp. I hadn’t breath enough left. I jest stood there, shakin’.”
“But how big was he?” persisted Poke.
Lon hesitated an instant. “I—well, I ain’t sayin’ what my guess would be—and it’d have to be a guess. If I told the whole truth—or what I believe’s the truth—none o’ you’d believe me. I dunno’s Ananias ever went fishin’, but there’s them as’d figger he’d ’a’ had a special gift that way. And I never sot out to qualify in the Ananias class.”
“But you must have some notion?”
“Yes; I have a notion,” Lon said slowly. “It’s a notion that I’ve seen ‘lakers’ paraded as big fish that weren’t as husky chaps as Old Man Freeman’s square-tail William Trout. But that’s as fur as I’ll go.”
There was a moment’s silence in the group about the fire. Sam ended it.