that there was no hitch. We both stepped ashore.
The head man worked his fish above me, and, it being a small
10-pounder, soon threw it in again, and his mate was free to come down
to me. We all knew it was a kelt, and get him to spurt or be lively I
could not. He lay low and solid till patience had done its perfect
work, and in he came. There was an end of my back-ache when the rod
and I could straighten ourselves and leave the men to tail out the
fish. They hurled him in regardless of his feelings, and, indeed, like
gentlemen whose honour had been sorely wounded.

"Eighteen pounds, wasn't he?" I ventured to remark very humbly as they
turned their contemptuous back on the fish floundering awhile in the
shallow. "Weel, saxteen punds, maybe," was the reply. These kelts,
anyhow, left us no time for further operations. The sun had been so
effective that it had changed the outlook all around in a few hours by
restoring the land to its original green and brown. Business done, as
"Toby, M.P.," puts it--four landings, six pulls, two fish hooked and
lost, one of them, of course, the fish of this or any other season. I
shall always maintain it was a "fish." That night I had a chat with a
brother angler, who had made a grand bag, and he introduced me to his
friend who had enjoyed the success of the novice in killing a beautiful
fish of 22 lb.

There was not long to wait on Saturday morning. The first line to be
put out was at the left hand, baited with sand eel, and I had barely
touched the next to lift it from its groove when the winch at the left
screamed as if hurt. The fish was on, but it was proclaimed at once an
insignificant one. Still, the rites and ceremonies must be duly
observed; the boat must go to shore, the angler must step over the
thwarts and stand on _terra firma_. All this trouble for a kelt of
about 6 lb. After the lapse of an hour Tom Thumb gave signal. The
gudgeon, which had a wobbling spin, had been touched twice already by
short comers; now it was fairly taken just as the boat was turned on
its zigzag course. For anything I could feel it might be a trout. It
ran out a few yards, and meekly came in to slow winching. The same
lack of spirit was maintained even when I landed, but a surprise came
as I retired further up the brae, for the fish sharply resented the
liberty I was taking with him, as if he objected to my contempt. In
truth, he inspired my respect during the next ten minutes--r