hailed him with a cheery "Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?"

"No, Mr. Franklin, I'm not," he answered.

"Well, now, I'm surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I should
expect to find attached to a rod and line--even watching a float."

"I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian,
for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you would
have heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as he
calls my food."

"Well, well!" laughed Winter. "Your ideas and mine clash in some
respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and after
it, or before it--I don't care which--let me have three hours whipping a
good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show a fine bag
from this very stretch of water."

"Why not ask Mr. Grant's permission? It would be interesting to learn
whether he will allow others to try their luck."

Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backed
fish which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows.




CHAPTER XIV