"Where's any ole fish?" he inquired, scornfully.

"Oh, my goodness!" Heinie Krusemeyer moaned. "_Can't_ you shut up?"

"Look!" whispered the girl who stood nearest to Ramsey. She pointed.
"There's one. Right down there by Willis's hook. Don't you see him?"

Ramsey was impressed enough to whisper. "Is there? I don't see him. I
can't--"

The girl came closer to him, and, the better to show him, leaned out
over the edge of the bank, and, for safety in maintaining her balance,
rested her left hand upon his shoulder while she pointed with her right.
Thereupon something happened to Ramsey. The touch upon his shoulder was
almost nothing, and he had never taken the slightest interest in Milla
Rust (to whom that small warm hand belonged), though she was the class
beauty, and long established in the office. Now, all at once, a peculiar
and heretofore entirely unfamiliar sensation suddenly became important
in the upper part of his chest. For a moment he held his breath, an
involuntary action;--he seemed to be standing in a shower of flowers.

"Don't you see it, Ramsey?" Milla whispered. "It's a great big one. Why,
it must be as long as--as your shoe! Look!"

Ramsey saw nothing but the thick round curl on Milla's shoulder. Milla
had a group of curls on each of her shoulders, for she got her modes at
the Movies and had that sort of prettiness: large, gentle, calculating
eyes, and a full, softly modelled face, implacably sweet. Ramsey was
accustomed to all this charm, and Milla had never before been of more