Tod rather laughed at Jerry's equipment. His own cheap brass reel
and jointed cane pole, with heavy linen line, was only an excuse.
Throw-lines with a half dozen hooks were his favorites, and a big
catfish his highest aim. As soon as the boat hit the dam he began
getting out his lines. Jerry jumped lightly over the bow.

"Shall I tie you up?" he called over his shoulder.

"Never mind, Jerry. I think I'll work in toward the shore a bit
first, and, anyway, she can't drift upstream." So Jerry went on his
way out toward the middle of the dam.

It was really a monstrous affair, that dam. The old part was built
on and from solid rock, being really a jutting out of a lime stone
cliff which had stood high and dry before the water had been dammed
up by the heavy timber cribs cutting across the original stream.
Concrete abutments secured these timbers and linked the walls of
stone with the huge gates opening into the millrace that fed the
water to the ponderous undershot millwheel. Just now the gates were
open and the water rushed through with deafening force. Jerry made
his way across the stonework section, having a hard time in the
water-worn crevices, slimed over with recent overflows, for when the
millgates were closed, Plum Run thundered over this part of the dam
in a spectacular waterfall.

He had hardly reached the flat concrete before he noticed that the
roar from the millrace had ceased; the gates had been closed. All
the better; this part of the river was shallow; when the water rose,
big fish would be coming in to scour over the fresh feeding grounds.
So he moved a little nearer shore and quickly trimmed his lines. He