Look at the man! That's the fourth time he's landed his line in a bush! He'll fall into that pool if he's not--mercy!--there he goes! Did you ever see such a genius for clumsiness ?" She was moving forward through the trees as she spoke; Duane called after her in a warning voice: "Don't try to do anything to disturb him.

It's not good sport; he's a mighty decent sort, I tell you." "I won't play any tricks on your good young man," she said with a shrug of contempt, and sauntered off toward the Gray Water.

Her path, however, crossed Grandcourt's, and as she stepped upon the footbridge she glanced down, where, wading gingerly in mid-stream, Delancy floundered and panted and barely contrived to maintain a precarious footing, while sending his flies sprawling down the rapids.
"Good-morning," she nodded, as he caught sight of her.

He attempted to take off his cap, slipped, wallowed, and recovered his balance by miracle alone.
"There's a thumping big trout under that bridge," he informed her eagerly; "he ran downstream just now, but I can't seem to raise him." "You splash too much.

You'd probably raise him if you raised less of something else." "Is that it ?" he inquired innocently.