id-current, or
marooned on a rock above a swirling eddy, while I am in a similar
situation beyond calling distance, but so long as a bend in the river does
not cut us off, we are "together," and very companionable togetherness it
is, too. When I see Jonathan wildly waving to attract my attention, I know
he has either just caught a big bass or else just lost one, and this gives
me something to smile over as I wonder which it is. After a time, if I am
catching shiners and no bass, and Jonathan doesn't seem to be moving, I
infer that his luck is better than mine, and drift along toward him. Or it
may be the other way around, and he comes to look me up. Bass are the most
uncertain of fish, and no one can predict when they will elect to bite, or
where. Sometimes they are in the still water, deep or shallow according to
their caprice; sometimes they hang on the edges of the rapids; sometimes
they are in the dark, smooth eddies below the great boulders; sometimes in
the clear depths around the rocks near shore. Each day afresh,--indeed,
each morning and each afternoon,--the fisherman must try, and try, and try,
until he discovers what their choice has been for that special time. Yet
no fisherman who has once drawn out a good bass from a certain bit of
water can help feeling, next time, that there is another waiting for him
there. That is one of the reasons why he is always hopeful, and so always
happy. The fish he has caught, at this well-remembered spot and that, rise
up out of the past and flick their tails at him; and all the stretches
between--stretches of water that have never for him held anything but
shiners, stretches of time diversified by not even a nibble--sink into
pleasant insignificance.

We banked our fire, stowed everything in the tent that a thunderstorm
would hurt, and splashed out into the river. There it lay in all its
bright, swift beauty, and we stood a moment, looking, feeling the push of
the water about our knees and the warmth of the sun on our shoulders.

"It makes a difference, sleeping out in it all," I said. "You feel as if
it belonged to you so much more. I quite own the river this morning, don't
you?"

"Quite. But not the bass in it. Bet you don't catch one!"

"Bet I beat you!"

"Bass, mind you. Sunfish don't count. You're always catching sunfish."

"They count in the pan. But I'll beat you on bass. I know some places--"

"Who doesn't? All right, go ahead!"

We were off; Jonathan, as usua