RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
"SAINTON'S a jolly place, Dad," Bob Pepper assured his father, "and everyone says the fishing is simply topping."
Mr. Pepper frowned. "But I do not fish, Bob. I do not like fishing. I think it is a dull and stupid occupation."
"It's awfully pretty country," declared Bob changing his tactics. "Very healthy and all that, and I hear they feed you fighting cocks at the Angler's Arms.
This was a better argument, for Mr. Pepper had a keen appreciation of good food and drink. But he still hesitated. "I shall be horribly bored," he said. "There will be nothing to see as there is in Brighton."
Patience, his daughter, a slim girl of eighteen, who had been listening anxiously, broke in. "You will get heaps of bridge in the evening Dad. And Sainton is not far from Camford so that we could go over to a theatre or cinema any time you liked."
"And what am I to do with myself all day while you and Bob are fishing?" demanded her father.
"Couldn't you take someone with you?" suggested Bob. "Someone who would bicycle with you. How about Mr. Coppin?"
The gloom which had shadowed Mr. Pepper's round face lifted a little. "That is not a bad idea, my boy. I will take George Gally."
"George Gally," repeated Bob in a tone in of some dismay. As for Patience, a look of positive horror crossed her pretty face.
"Yes," said Mr. Pepper with decision. "I shall like to have George with us. An excellent, steady young man, and doing so well, too. I hope you will be very nice to him, Patience."
"I-I will try, Dad," promised Patience; then she beckoned to Bob, and brother and sister made their escape.
"You have done it now, Bob," said Patience tragically as they reached the garden. "If George Gally is coming that puts paid to any sort of a holiday."
"Oh, it's not so bad as that," vowed Bob comfortingly. "George is a bit of an ass, but—"
"George is much worse than an ass," interrupted his sister sharply. "He's a limpet. If he comes to Sainton I shall never get a minute to myself."
"To Mark, you mean," grinned Bob.
The colour rose in Patience's cheeks. "You're horrid, Bob," she exclaimed.
Bob, who was very fond of his elder sister, put an arm round her shoulders. "Don't worry, old thing. We'll drop him in the river and drown him or something. Anyhow, I'll see he don't worry you and Mark too much. And, perhaps he won't be able to come."
"He will come all right," declared Patience, and in this she was right, for when the day came for starting on their holiday, George Gally was waiting at the station. George was a pink and white young man. He had round, pale blue eyes, a snub nose, and his fair hair was smooth as brilliantine could make it.
"Bit too fine for fishing," said Bob. "Where's your rod, George?"
"I have not brought a rod. I do not fish," replied George loftily. "It has always seemed to me a dull and rather dirty past-time."
"That's because you don't know any better," replied Bob. "But Patience and I don't mind. It's always a mistake to have too many rods on the water."
"Is—is Miss Patience going to fish?" asked George in some dismay.
"I hope to," replied Patience sweetly. "That is what we are going for."
"Then I must get a rod," said George firmly. "Anything in which you are interested, Miss Patience, interests me."
THE Angler's Arms at Sainton proved to be all that Bob had said, and the excellence of the dinner that first night did much to reconcile Mr. Pepper to the change from his beloved Brighton. Next morning he and George went to Camford, where George intended to buy fishing tackle, and Patience and her brother walked up the river, which was a deep and fairly rapid stream carrying a heavy head of coarse fish.
Bob fixed up a rod for Patience, then set seriously to work to catch perch. Patience did not fish. She strolled along the bank looking as if she was expecting someone. She was not disappointed, for presently a lean, brown-faced young man, in every way a complete contrast to George Gally, came striding eagerly down the fisherman's path. Bob glanced round and grinned as he saw the two meet, then turned to watch his float again.
It was nearly lunch time before Patience rejoined him. "You're a dear, Bob," she said and kissed him.
Bob grinned. "Is it all right, old thing?"
Patience shook her head. "No, Bob, I am afraid it is going to be difficult. I do not know how I can manage a meeting between Father and Mark. It will never do for Mark to come to the hotel; for then Dad would want to know where we had met, and besides George would be sure to make himself unpleasant."
Bob nodded. "Yes, I expect there would be a row." He paused. "Tell you what, Pat. This land here belongs to Mark, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's a scheme. Let's fix up a fishing picnic. We'll take the boat from the hotel to carry the grub. Then when we've had a jolly good lunch and Dad's feeling happy, Mark might come along sort of casually, and ask if sport's good, and introduce himself as lord of the Manor and all that sort of rot. How'd that work?
Patience's eyes shone. "I think it's a splendid idea. I will tell Mark, Bob, and we will arrange it for to-morrow."
"If Dad will come it ought to work all right," said Bob.
DAD, they found, would come. Indeed the idea of a river picnic in which he could travel by boat quite appealed to him. The only fly in the ointment was that George, of course, had to come, too. Patience had herself attended to the lunch, which was all that could be desired. and while she set it out Bob put out a live bait for pike. The float had hardly reached mid-stream before it went down with a plop. "Got him," shouted Bob as he struck and the rod tent double while a big fish fought furiously.
Mr. Pepper, who had been stretched on the grass. jumped nimbly to his feet. "Hold on, Bob," he cried. "Don't let him get away."
Bob, with an altruism beyond all praise, put the rod into his father's hands. "You land him, Dad," he said rather breathlessly.
Mr. Pepper seized the rod in both hands, raised the point and began to haul as if he were engaged in a tug of war.
"Steady, sir!" came a sharp voice behind him. Mark Merton, who had been watching from the trees behind the group had chosen this rather unpropitious moment to join the party. "Don't hold him so hard. You can't pull a fish that size out of the water as if he were a minnow."
"Do be quiet, Mark," whispered Patience urgently in Merton's ear, but it was too late. The damage was done. The line, strained beyond endurance, had snapped and the big pike with a heavy plunge vanished into the depths.
Mr. Pepper swung upon Mark. "Confound it, sir, why did you want to shove your oar in? If you hadn't taken my attention from the fish I would have landed it. Who are you and what do you want?"
Mark had a temper of his own. "My name is Merton," he answered rather curtly. "I farm this land. I am very sorry you think I am to blame for your losing the fish, but if you had taken my advice, and not held him so hard you would not have lost him. He was all of ten pounds, too."
"I didn't ask for your advice," retorted Mr. Pepper sharply, "and I did not need it. I will wish you good day."
Mark's tanned face went rather red, but he caught an imploring glance from Patience. "Good day, sir," was all he said, and strode off back into the trees.
"That's torn it," whispered Bob to his sister. "Why didn't you tell him to wait till after lunch?"
"I did," replied Patience bitterly. "Now, whatever shall we do?"
"Sit tight," advised Bob, and stepping forward took the rod from his father. "Don't worry about it, Dad." he said. "Plenty more fish in the river. I'll put on a new trace and hook and next time you'll have better luck."
Mr. Pepper was fuming. "If that fellow hadn't interfered it would have been all right," he vowed. "He took off my attention just at the critical moment."
"He was a pushing, bumptious sort of person, put in George Gally. "But you dressed him down properly, Mr. Pepper and I feel sure we have seen the last of him. He finished with a shriek, for Bob, stepping backwards, had trodded heavily on his toe. "You should be more careful, Bob," said his father severely, and just then Patience created a happy diversion by announcing that luncheon was ready.
UNDER the influence of cold chicken and ham, salad and claret, Mr. Pepper's ill temper waned, and George forgot his injured toe. They went on to cold cherry tart and clotted cream and finished with a thermos of hot coffee and just a spot of whisky, Then Mr. Pepper announced that he would rest for a little and composed his plump form on a rug and cushions taken from the boat. "Don't forget to keep an eye on your rod, Dad," said Bob before he moved off, and Mr. Pepper sleepily replied that it would be all right. He would keep a watchful eye on the float.
The sun shone warmly, insects hummed drowsily. In three minutes Mr. Pepper was sound asleep and George Gully also dozed off. Patience finished repacking the luncheon basket, then glanced at the sleepers. Her lips curled with scorn as she noticed George's wide-open-mouth and ungraceful pose, then she followed her brother's example and also moved away—but in the opposite direction.
For a long time the gaudy float bobbed gently in the stream, then it checked, sank, vanished. Mr. Pepper, dreaming that a flying machine was droning overhead, woke to a very real drone, and suddenly realized that the line was clicking off the reel. He sprang up, wide awake in a moment. "A fish!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Now I'll show them."
Bob had left the rod in the boat which was moored against the bank. Mr. Pepper jumped into the boat, snatched up the rod and raised the point. The fish, feeling the barb, came to the surface, splashing heavily. "My goodness, but it's a big one!" gasped Mr. Pepper, then as the great pike plunged downwards again he saw that there was hardly any line left on the reel and realized that his only chance of saving what little remained was to get the boat loose. "George!" he cried. "George! Unfasten the boat!"
George struggled clumsily down the bank and cast off the rope. "Shall I come and row?" he asked.
"Yes," gasped Mr. Pepper, but at that moment the fish made a desperate rush and jerked the boat away from the bank. Mr. Pepper heard a loud splash and a strangled yell as George, instead of stepping into the boat stepped into the river. But he was too busy even to turn round and George, scrambling out with his new silver-grey flannels clinging tightly to his plump form, saw the boat being rapidly dragged out into mid-stream.
"Fishing's a rotten business," he said sourly as he shook himself like a wet dog, but Mr. Pepper was of a different opinion. "Why it's bigger than the first one," he said to himself. I'll show them something. I'll teach them how to handle a fish."
Experience had taught him not to pull too hard and happily the tackle was stout and the fish hard hooked. Yet, in point of fact, Mr. Pepper was not playing the pike but on the contrary the monster was playing him. He tried to reel in the line, but the fish made another rush, tearing the line off the reel at such a rate that the handle barked Mr. Pepper's knuckles. He swore under his breath, but tightened his lips. He meant to have this whopper, if it took him all the rest of the afternoon.
The pike started down stream, towing the boat and Mr. Pepper behind it. Mr. Pepper had sense enough to keep his rod as near perpendicular as possible and now that the boat was moving freely the fish was unable to take any more line.
"Bless the beast! Will he never stop?" gasped Mr. Pepper. Big drops of perspiration were streaming down his forehead nearly blinding him, but he had not a hand free to reach a handkerchief. All he could do was to hang on and hope that sooner or later the infernal fish would be tired out.
The pike, however, showed no signs of fatigue, but kept steadily on down stream, and suddenly Mr. Pepper became conscious of a deep, drumming sound, and remembered the weir which was only just round the next curve. He made a fresh attempt to check or turn the fish, but it was of no avail. The creature kept right on, and in another minute or so the boat had rounded the bend, and there was the weir only a hundred yards away. The thunder of the fall was terrifying.
"I suppose I shall lose him, after all," said Mr. Pepper bitterly, and prepared to lay down the rod and pick up the oars. Then he made a discovery that really terrified him. The oars were not in the boat, and he remembered that George Gally had taken them out and driven them into the mud in order to tie the boat to them.
The current was quickening, the boat's pace increasing. Mr. Pepper saw himself plunging over the weir into the foaming pool below, and yelled with all his might—"George! George!"
George was on the bank opposite, squelching along with his shoes full of water. But George could do nothing and said so.
"Fetch the oars, you idiot!" shouted Mr. Pepper.
"There isn't time," George shrieked back "Jump overboard and swim—it's your only chance.
"Much chance I should have in this stream," retorted Mr. Pepper, grimly, as he watched the distance lessen rapidly between the boat and the glassy rim of the fall. A sort of recklessness seized him. If he had to die he would die fighting, and he began to reel in again as hard as he could.
"Dad! Dad!" The voice was that of Patience, and her father, glancing round, saw her running up the bank from below the weir. The lean, brown young man whom he had snubbed so severely before lunch was with her. The latter carried a fishing rod, and Mr. Pepper noticed the purposeful expression on his face. Not that he took much hope from that, for even if this young man could swim, it was too late for him to reach the boat before it went over the weir.
But Mark Merton had other ideas than swimming. Taking his stand on the bank, he let out his line from his reel and made a rapid cast. The line hissed through the air, and with a sharp click a leaden weight attached to the end landed in the boat. Mr. Pepper grabbed it with one hand, while with the other he still clutched the rod. "Sit down and hold on tight," ordered Mark, and Mr. Pepper meekly obeyed.
Mark began to wind in, and the boat swung across the current. Mark's stout rod bent with the strain, but Mark's tackle was of the best, and the line held. Mr. Pepper hardly dared to breathe as the boat drew slowly across the worst of the stream. The moment it was near enough, Mark stepped waist deep into the river and hauled it to the bank.
"That's all right," he said, calmly. "You've still got your fish on, Mr. Pepper. You can stand up now and land him. I'll hold the boat."
Mr. Pepper trembling a little from nervous strain, stood up and raised his rod point, and the big pike, sulking deep below the surface, began to plunge heavily.
"Reel in slowly," directed Mark. "That's the ticket. You're doing fine."
Mr. Pepper reeled, and the pike, still resisting doggedly, came to the top, lashing the water with its mighty tail. Mr. Pepper gasped at the size of it.
"It's all right," Mark said. "You've tired him out. He can't do much now. Draw him alongside the boat. And, Patience, give me the net."
Patience handed over the landing net, then held the boat while Mark got into it.
The pike made a last effort. "I can't hold him!" panted Mr. Pepper.
"You can," replied Mark, firmly. "You've done the whole thing yourself and you're going to finish it. Reel in!"
Mr. Pepper reeled, and this time the fish came right in. Next moment Mark had deftly slipped the net under it and lifted it bodily out of the water. "Sixteen pounds if he's an ounce!" was his verdict. "The best pike taken this year. I congratulate, you, Mr. Pepper."
Mr. Pepper looked suddenly remorseful. "I am afraid I was rude to you before luncheon, Mr.—"
"Merton is my name—Mark Merton. But you were not rude at all, Mr. Pepper. I had no business to interfere. It is I who ought to apologize—not you."
Mr. Pepper smiled. "That is very handsome of you, Mr. Merton. But you are wet, and I must not keep you standing. Will you come with me to the hotel in the boat and get a change?"
"My house is much closer than the hotel, Mr. Pepper," replied Mark. "It is just behind the tree on the hill. I suggest that you all come up there and let me give you tea, and later I could give you a lesson in casting."
"Very kind of you, I'm sure," said Mr. Pepper. "But George Gally, here, is wetter than you."
"I can find him a change," said Mark, genially.
George scowled. "I'm going back to the hotel," he announced and without another word made off.
Mr. Pepper watched him go. "Poor George! I am afraid he has not much initiative," he said. "He will never make a fisherman."
Mark winked at Patience. "Perhaps not," he said, gravely, as he turned and led the way uphill.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.