# Thubway Tham's Fithing Trip

Extracted from Detective Story magazine, 28 May 1921, pp. 28–40.
Thubway Tham's Fithing Trip
$^{by}$ Johnston McCulley
Author of the “Black Star” Stories, etc.
ENTERING Madison Square at the southwest corner, “Thubway Tham” sauntered along the cross street, crossed it about halfway, and collapsed on a bench.
Tham's eyes were narrowed as though sleep was about to claim him. A feeling of complete lassitude possessed and enveloped him. He felt like yawning, but he dreaded to expend energy enough to make the yawn possible.
It was a little late for a man to be a victim of spring fever. To tell the truth, Thubway Tham had endured his annual attack of spring fever a month or so before. This was a relapse, induced by the continual warm weather. And, as is the case with some disorders, the relapse proved to be worse than the initial attack.
Tham looked dreamily at the throngs that passed before him. He seemed to see these men and women as through a haze. Finally he managed the yawn, but immediately felt the lassitude again, The yawn, it appeared, did very little good and was not worth the effort.
“I feel lathy!” Thubway Tham admitted to himself without shame.
His head nodded, and Tham came to himself with a jerk. Was he going to fall asleep in Madison Square in the middle of the day? He noticed those who passed before him now, and it seemed that they all were lazy. The usual spring was gone from their steps, the haste from their manner. Their heads drooped and they seemed sleepy.
“It ith the weather,” Thubway Tham told himself, and, having decided the question, he crossed his legs, lighted a cigarette, and puffed slowly.
Tham did not feel like descending into the subway and indulging in the act known to the underworld and the police department as “lifting a leather.” Being a successful professional pickpocket, Tham knew that he should not go about his work half asleep unless he courted incarceration, trial, and conviction.
He did not wish to attend a show, not even a motion-picture entertainment. He did not want to go to a baseball game, nor did he care to parade the streets and look into the shop windows. To read even the sporting page of his favorite newspaper, he felt, would be too much of an effort.
“Thith ith the bunk!” Thubway Tham declared to himself inaudibly, crossing his legs the other way.
A man came along the walk and stopped at the end of the bench. Thubway Tham glanced up, and immediately his face was illuminated with a grin,
“If it ith not 'Nifty' Noel!” Tham exclaimed.
It was Nifty Noel, and Thubway Tham looked him over. As usual, Noel was arrayed in the finest of garments, Nifty Noel was a clever crook who worked all sorts of games instead of having a speciality, and it had been said of him that, when low in funds, he would go without food to purchase the very latest in cravats.
Now, Nifty Noel was dressed about a month ahead of the season, anticipating styles that had not yet become public property. He was a good-looking rascal, and not above swindling a woman. Thubway Tham, being a respectable and hard-working pickpocket, thought himself far above Noel in the aristocracy of the underworld. But he liked to talk to Noel now and then, always keeping him in his proper place, of course, and allowing no undue liberties.
“It theemth to me that I have not theen you for thome little time,” Tham declared.
Nifty Noel sat down on the bench. “I have been out of the city,” he replied. He extracted an amber cigarette holder from a pocket of the faultless waistcoat he wore, fitted a cigarette into it, and applied a flaming match to the end of the cigarette. Lighting a cigarette was simply starting a smoke with Thubway Tham, but with Nifty Noel it seemed to be some sort of ceremony.
“Out of the thity?” Tham questioned. “Can it be, Nifty, that the well-known and juthtly famouth polithe have been pethterin' you lately?”
“Nothing like it!” Noel replied with some indignation. “I have been on my annual fishing trip.”
“My goodneth! Annual fithin' trip!” Thubway Tham exclaimed. “You go on one regular?”
“Certainly,” said Nifty Noel. “I take a fishing trip every year. Tham, my boy, it is a great thing. You get out into the sun and the fresh air, and it's great sport. Oh, I'd not think of missing my regular fishing trip.”
“No?” Tham asked.
“No,” repeated Nifty Noel. “It braces a man up, sweeps the cobwebs out of his brain, and he comes back to his—er—work with a new snap. It's worth many times the price expended.”
Nifty Noel blew a cloud of smoke heavenward and Tham watched him critically.
“Maybe I need one,” Tham said. “I feel lathy!”
“There you are, Tham. Take a week fishing, and you'd be a new man. The old snap would come back, the old cleverness. Ah, it is a great thing!”
“You talk like an ath!” Thubway Tham declared. “But even an ath brayth thenth at timeth. I've never been on a fithin' trip.”
“Tham, you surprise me! I scarcely can believe it,” Nifty Noel declared.
“All the thame, it ith tho!”
“Never been on a fishing trip! Imagine that!”
“Of courthe I went fithin' when I wath a boy,” Tham explained. “But now I don't thuppoth I could thkin a worm on a hook,”
“Worm?” queried Nifty Noel. “Ah, they don't use worms to any great extent now, Tham. Minnows now and then, but mostly manufactured bait—flies, spinners, that sort of thing, you understand.”
“But I don't underthtand,” Tham complained. “Anyhow, it ith nothin' in my young life.”
“A fishing trip would do you a world of good, Tham.”
“Where did you go, Nifty?”
“Maine,” said Nifty Noel. “There are country hotels where a man gets genuine grub, Tham, old-timer. Hot cakes, waffles, fried chicken, and without the restaurant taste. Coffee—oh, man!”
“You intereth me thtrangely,” Tham admitted.
“Like to eat, do you? Then you take the trip, Tham. Catch your own fish and have them sizzling hot for your breakfast. Go back to nature for a week, Tham, and when you return to our fair city you'll be so clever that the police will quit in disgust. It'll keep you from slowing up.”
“Yeth? Who thaid I wath commencin' to thlow up?” Thubway Tham demanded angrily. “Boy, when I thtart to thlow up you'll be dead and buried. I don't need any fithin' trip to blow the cobwebth out of my brain, becauthe there ith no cobwebth there.”
“It'd do you good,” Noel repeated. He arose, affixed another cigarette in his amber holder, bowed to Thubway Tham, and strolled on toward Fifth Avenue after the manner of a beau of the Parisian boulevards.
Thubway Tham looked after him, his lips curled in scorn. He told himself that he disliked Nifty Noel more every time he passed the time of day with him. Nifty was not an honest man, and he was not the sort of proper crook. “Neither fith nor fowl,” Tham declared.
Fish—there it was again! Thubway Tham halt closed his eyes and allowed his memory to work. He traveled back to barefooted boyhood, when he had cut a pole and attached a cheap line, hook, and sinker, and, with an old tomato can filled with wriggling angleworms, had started out.
The catch in those days generally was composed of a couple of bullpouts, a few bony perch, and half a dozen sunfish of assorted sizes. Tham never had done the sort of fishing that causes men to rave and neglect their businesses and professions. He did not know one fly from another, or how to attach one. He never had used a reel. Once, he remembered, he had hooked a hungry bass who had not disdained a worm. But the only trout he knew had been served on a platter already cooked.
Tham's reverie was interrupted.
“Hello, Tham!” said a voice beside him.
Tham raised his head, and for the second time his face was illuminated with a smile, Detective Craddock stood before him.
It came upon Tham that he had not seen Craddock for some days, but he had supposed that the detective had been busy in court, or was engaged on a bit of special work. Craddock and Tham understood each other perfectly, They were friends, but Craddock was hoping to catch Tham “with the goods” and have him sent up the river for a long term, and Tham was determined that he should do nothing of the sort. Tham did not underestimate Craddock, however, and he always felt more comfortable when he knew where the detective was and what he was doing.
“Tho I thee your ugly fathe again,” Tham said.
“You certainly do, Tham,” Craddock replied. “What seems to be the matter with you?”
“There ith nothing the matter with me,” Tham declared. “What maketh you athk?”
“You're looking puny,” Craddock said.
“It ith jutht that I am lathy. It ith the weather,” Tham explained.
“I hope that is all, old-timer,” Craddock said.
“What elthe could it be?”
“There has been a lot of sickness lately,” Craddock told him. “And I'd hate to see you get sick, Tham. I don't want you to shuffle off before I have a chance to nab you right and see you in stir.”
“Tho?” Tham sneered. “I'll die of old age long before that time, Craddock. Where have you been lately? I haven't theen you for thome time. Houndin' thome poor thimp, I thuppothe. Been in court?”
“Ah, no!” said Craddock, grinning and sitting down on the bench. “Merit aways is rewarded, old-timer, sooner or later, though some men declare to the contrary.”
“You talk like an ath!” Tham complained.
“The powers that be gave me a little vacation, Tham. I caught a gentleman well known in burglary circles, got battered up a bit in the fight with him, and I was slipped ten days sick leave with pay.”
“Tho?”
“Yes,” said Craddock. “It is the first time such a thing has happened in years.”
“And what did you do with thith ten dayth reward of merit? Atlantic City?” Tham asked.
“Not so, Tham. No Atlantic City for mine. Nothing of the sort. I took a real vacation, Tham, for those ten days. I went up in Maine.”
“My goodneth!” Tham gasped.
“On a little fishing trip.”
“Thay!” Tham cried. “Nifty Noel wath talkin' to me right here jutht a few minuteth ago, and he thaid the thame thing. Tho both you and Nifty Noel went fithin', did you? And when Nifty Noel cometh back he runth right onto me. That ith nithe.”
“What do you mean, Tham?”
“Tho Nifty Noel ith goin' to be your thool pigeon, ith he?” Tham demanded, “He ith goin' to try to land me for you, ih he? Let him try it, Craddock! Jutht let him try it. Why, the foolith thimp! The fathion plate! The dude!”
Craddock threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
“Tham, you may have your opinion of Nifty Noel, and possibly you are right,” the detective said. “But I didn't think that you had such a poor opinion of me, Tham. I am innocent, I assure you. My vacation was not marred by the near presence of Nifty Noel or any of his ilk. Maine, my boy, is quite a place. There is more than one fishing spot in it.”
“Maybe tho,” said Tham, not quite certain.
“And when I do pick out a stool pigeon to help me land you—which I won't, because I can do it all by myself in time——”
“It will take thome time,” Tham interrupted.
“If I should pick a stool pigeon, as I was going to say, he will not be Nifty Noel. Word of honor!”
“Very well,” said Tham. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Oh, man!” Detective Craddock gasped. “The beauties I caught! Bass, Tham—and trout!”
“Tharkth and whaleth, I thuppothe!” Tham said,
“It's the life, Tham. If I was a rich man I'd run all over the world fishing. Boy, you want to get away some time and go up there. Go after the finny fighters, Tham, old-timer. Tackle the fresh-water fries! Search for the piscatorial paragons!”
“That Maine air theemth to have a peculiar effect,” Tham observed. “You talk like the preth agent of a thircuth!”
“I would I had a greater vocabulary, my boy,” Craddock said.
“You belong in Mattewan, if you athk me.”
“That remark shows that you do not understand,” Craddock informed him. “Your ear is not attuned to the music of the reel. You have never felt the tug that means a two-pounder has taken your dare. To see the flash of silvery scales in the sun——”
“My goodneth!” Tham exclaimed.
“Ah, boy, that's the life!”
Craddock sighed. Thubway Tham lighted a fresh cigarette and puffed for a moment in silence,
“Well I must be going down the street,” Craddock said, getting up from the bench. “I'll see you again, Tham, and tell you about some of the big ones I caught.”
“Not if I thee you comin',” Thubway Tham said.
II.
Tham told himself that there must be something in this fish stuff. He felt as if he needed a little vacation himself. Craddock had returned from the wilds fresh and full of snap. Tham, languid and careless, did not want to clash with the detective when he would be at a disadvantage.
Why not take a little fishing trip and let Craddock wear off some of his enthusiasm? It might not be a bad idea at all, Thubway Tham thought. And he knew a sort of railroad information bureau over on Broadway, where the man behind the counter would tell him what he wished to know.
Tham got up from the bench, yawned, and shuffled toward the street. It would do no harm, at least, to go to the information bureau and ask a few questions. It would serve to kill time, anyway, he decided.
Never before had Thubway Tham encountered an information-bureau man as a prospective customer for a railroad. Within a quarter of an hour Thubway Tham was convinced that he should go to Maine, that the railroad would consider it an honor to carry him at the usual rate; that the State of Maine rather expected him and would be bitterly disappointed if he did not arrive. And, as for fish—the fish were refusing other persons' good bait every day and waiting for that to be cast by Thubway Tham.
At the end of twenty minutes Tham had his pockets filled with booklets and his mind with information. He also was filled with enthusiasm. He could not understand how it happened that he never had gone to Maine to fish before.
Tham happened to be in funds for the moment, thanks to a couple of fat wallets he had “lifted” a few days before. So he did not hesitate, except to learn from the information man, as a last thing, that it was not necessary to carry paraphernalia with him. Fishing tackle could be purchased on the ground, Tham was given to understand. Not being a regulation fishing fiend, Tham knew nothing at all of such things as pet rods and lucky spinners.
Two days later Tham descended from the train at a little Maine village, It was nine o'clock in the morning, Tham had breakfasted well, and he vas in high spirits. He stood on the platform, his bag in his hand, and glanced around. Half a dozen village loiterers were there, and a few persons were taking the train. Tham was the only one who had got off.
There approached him a man with a badge on his cap, who intimated that he drove the one and only bus to the hotel out on the lake, for which Thubway Tham was bound. Tham got into the rickety bus and snorted with glee when he saw the two horses that were supposed to pull it.
But the vehicle could move, That found, and not at a slow rate of speed, either. Tham sat on the back seat, gripping the edge of it with both hands, His bag bounced around at his feet. The driver sat in the front seat and shouted at his crow-bait horses.
They left the village and entered the woods, and the horses were allowed to walk up a hill. The driver turned his head halfway toward his lone passenger and spoke:
“Stranger hereabouts?”
“Yeth,” Tham said. “I jutht come up to get thome fithin'.”
“A lot of city fellers do that,” the driver said as though uttering a complaint. “There's quite a mess of 'em out to the hotel. One of 'em's named Joshua Simlon. Yeh'll meet him, I reckon. He's a pest.”
“What ith the matter with Jothua Thimlon?” Thubway Tham wanted to know.
“Jest a pest, that's all, Thinks he's the only man in the world who knows a fish when he sees one. He's rich, and comes up here every year, so folks jest let him rare and rant.”
“I've theen the Jothua Thimlon thort of guyth before,” Tham mentioned. “He needth to be handled.”
“And there ain't a man at the hotel with nerve enough to handle him,” the driver declared. “They're scared of him because he's rich.”
“What a thilly idea!” Tham said. “Jutht becauthe a man hath coin ith no reathon to be afraid of him. Men with loth of coin are the greateth thimpth in the world, the eathieth to handle.”
“I suppose you wouldn't be afraid of him, eh?”
“Afraid of thith Jothua Thimlon?” Thubway Tham asked. “Why thould I be? Man, I have been clothe to rich men all my life. My buthineth puth me in touch with them conthtantly.”
Tham chuckled at his own remarks as the other turned his head and gave some attention to his horses.
“Well, I hope yeh tackle him and get the best of it,” the driver said. “I'd laugh to see it.”
The team gathered speed, and the old vehicle rounded a curve in the woods and emerged upon a better road. In the distance was the lake with a couple of streams flowing into it, and the hotel.
Tham descended from the bus like a metropolitan, paid the driver, let a man have his grip, and entered the hostelry. As a hotel, it was not much for looks, Thubway Tham decided. But he was fair—he did not expect to find here in the woods the ornate splendor of a metropolitan hostelry. Moreover, he had come to fish. All he asked of the hotel was food and a place to sleep.
He registered with a flourish, mentioned that he had made a reservation by wire, and glanced around the lobby.
“Come for the fishing?” the landlord asked.
“Yeth,” Tham replied. “Jutht made up my mind to take a few dayth off and ruthed away. Didn't even bring my thtuff.”
“Tackle, you mean? You can get everything in the annex—we keep a stock of supplies there. And you are just in time for the contest, too.”
“Contetht?” Tham asked with raised brows.
“Annual fishin' contest,” said the landlord. “We have an annual fishin' contest every year.”
“I grathp you,” said Tham. “An annual contetht every year. Motht lodgeth have a weekly meetin' every week, too. What about thith contetht?”
“The hotel offers a prize to the person who brings in the most fish, counting by weight,” the landlord explained. “The contestants start from the front porch an hour before daylight, and must be in by seven in the evening. They can fish any place they like. All kinds of fish are counted in the total—gross weight wins the prize.”
“I thee!” said Tham. “Tho I am in time for the contetht. That ith nithe.”
“Joshua Simlon will win the prize, I suppose,” the landlord mentioned. “He's won it for the last three years regular.”
“Doeth he uthe a theine or a dredge?” Tham asked.
“Oh, nothing but hook and line, of course! But he seems to know the places to find 'em.”
“Maybe he won't win thith year,” Tham said insinuatingly. “What ith the prithe?”
“Swell fishing rod, with silver plate engraved and settin' forth how the rod was won,” the landlord replied. “All complete in a morocco carrying case.
“I grathp you,” said Tham. “One of them thwell rodth with which no man ever could catch a fith. I'll think thome about thith contetht.”
Safe in his room and removing the stains of travel, Thubway Tham chuckled again. Whether he caught a fish or not, his trip promised to be interesting. He was beginning to suspect that the information agent had lied a little. The hotel was not so gorgeous as Tham had been allowed to expect, nor the lake so large. But there was fresh air and woods and sunshine.
Having put up his horses, the driver of the bus wandered down to the shore of the lake to the little dock where the fishermen returned, and paved the way for excitement for Thubway Tham, though Tham did not know it.
The bus driver mentioned to half a dozen gentlemen, all of whom hated the sight of Joshua Simlon, that there was a new arrival at the hotel. He was a city man and had come to fish, the driver explained. Moreover, he was the sort that was afraid of nobody—a small man with eyes that glittered. He had mentioned specifically that he had been in close touch with rich men all his life, and that they did not throw any jolt of fright into him.
Whereupon the fishermen who hated Joshua Simlon held a long, whispered conversation that had to do with Thubway Tham, and decided to look him over. They went slowly to the hotel with their morning catches, and just then Joshua Simlon came in with twice as many fish as any other man had and began boasting. The other fishermen glared at him and turned away, and then looked furtively at one another like a crowd of conspirators.
Thubway Tham sat alone at a table in a corner of the dining room at luncheon. He was looked over carefully by half a dozen men who fondly believed that they could read men aright. After the meal, when Tham strolled down toward the lake, two of these men accosted him and introduced themselves.
After preliminary conversational skirmishing they approached the subjects of the fishing contest and Joshua Simlon.
“Joshua Simlon is unbearable,” one of them declared. “In the city he is a decent sort, but let him get out here where he can smell the fish and he turns maniac. He's a nut on fish.”
“He isn't human,” the other declared, “He's won the prize for three years running, and I suppose he'll carry it away to-morrow.”
“How doeth it come,” Thubway Tham asked, “that he alwayth catcheth the motht fith?”
“Mr. Tham, it is like this,” said the first. “None of us dare bring in a bigger catch.”
“Why not?”
“If he ever lost that prize he'd be worse than ever, Mr. Tham. He'd treat the man who won to a string of words that would cut. He has a wicked tongue, Mr. Tham. And he'd never forget the man who defeated him—never!”
“Well, what about it?” Tham wanted to know.
“It is like this, Mr. Tham—only guests at the hotel are eligible to the contest. And—er—all of us have business dealings now and then with Joshua Simlon. He'd just about wreck the man who dared win that prize.”
“Well, my goodneth!” Tham exclaimed.
“But perhaps he does not have a business grip on you, Mr. Tham. Perhaps he could not injure you, if he wished to do so.”
“He thertainly could not,” Tham replied. “I ain't afraid of all the Jothua Thimlonth in the world.”
“Then, Mr, Tham, if only you could defeat him and win the prize, it would be great! Last year, one of the men had him beaten. But he lost his nerve and threw a dozen big fish back into the lake. Afraid to win, you see.”
“I thee!”
“And we'd certainly rejoice if somebody did get the best of Joshua Simlon.”
“But thith ith my firtht day here,” Tham protested. “I have not been fithin' thinthe I wath a boy. How do you suppothe I can win that prithe?”
They glanced around, then stepped nearer to him and spoke in lower tones,
“Blow for blow!” one of them whispered. “Possibly it is a crooked thing to do, but we feel that we are justified, especially in the case of Joshua Simlon. We'll appoint a place, Mr. Tham, and several of us will meet you there late in the afternoon and divide our catches with you. The fish you catch, together with what we give you, will let you win over Joshua Simlon easily.”
“I wouldn't do it,” Tham declared, “if wath not thuch a thimp. But, ath it ith, I'll do it!”
They gave voice to expressions of glee and slapped Thubway Tham on the back. And then they whispered again, and concluded plans for the conspiracy.
“Do you see that place over there where a creek empties into the lake?” one of them asked Tham. “You fish wherever you like until the middle of the afternoon, and then row your boat over there. We'll get to you through the woods without being seen, and give you our fish. Then you can come in with the biggest catch.”
Thubway Tham grinned at them.
“I grathp you!” he said.
III.
Late that afternoon Thubway Tham proceeded to the store in the hotel annex and purchased his supplies. The man behind the counter was rather surprised at the purchases. Thubway Tham, harking back to the days of his boyhood, bought an ordinary cane fishing pole, a couple of cheap lines, some sinkers, a cork, and a dozen hooks.
“Yeh expect to go into the contest with them sort of contraptions?” the dealer asked.
“What elthe would I uthe?” Tham questioned.
“Gosh, man! A swell rod, and silk line, and reel, and spinners and spoons and flies.”
Thubway Tham glared at him. “I went fithin' before you wath born,” he announced,
There was nothing more said. Tham got his purchases to his room, and there he strung a line and attached hook, sinker, and cork, Then he went out of the hotel again, prowled around until he met a ragged small boy, and made a deal with him. The boy's eyes glistened when he saw the bill Tham gave him.
Before dawn the guests were aroused and given breakfast. And then they gathered on the wide porch in front of the hotel, so that the judges might number the contestants and examine their tackle. Joshua Simlon occupied the center of the stage. It was as though he had been a schoolmaster and the others pupils.
Simlon occupied the first five minutes with disparaging remarks to his immediate friends. And then he noticed Thubway Tham. Standing in front of Tham, Mr. Simlon regarded him from hat to shoes, and then glanced at Tham's primitive fishing outfit.
“Expect to catch anything with that?” Joshua Simlon asked.
“I thertainly do,” Tham replied.
“A few minnows maybe,” said Simlon. “No real fish.”
At that instant a small boy appeared and handed Tham a can filled with worms
“There they be, mister,” he reported. “They're the fattest ones I could find.”
“They are very nithe,” Tham replied.
Joshua Simlon snorted. “Worms!” he exclaimed. “Worms for bait. It's an insult to every decent fish in the lake. Going after suckers, Mr. Tham?”
“I underthtand that ith what you do in town,” Tham retorted.
There were a few half-hidden snickers, and Joshua Simlon's face flushed.
“Trying to be impertinent, my man?” he asked.
“Never mind that 'my man' thtuft!” Tham replied with some anger in his voice. “You ain't tho much! Go after your own fith and let me alone. If I want to uthe wormth it will take more than you to thtop me!”
Here was rank rebellion. Simlon's face turned almost purple, and the others grinned with unholy glee. Here was a man who dared stand up to Joshua Simlon and talk to him straight! Here was a sight worth seeing.
Simlon said nothing more. The signal was given, and the contestants left the porch and hurried toward the shore of the lake. The first pink streak of dawn was showing in the east.
Thubway Tham had not rowed a boat for a good many years, and he did not wish to make a spectacle of himself, especially in the presence of the sarcastic and belittling Joshua Simlon.
And so he managed to loiter behind the others. He found the boat that had been assigned to him, put his tackle into it, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and so managed to delay himself until all the others were out on the bosom of the lake.
The other boats scattered, each man going toward his favorite fishing ground. Thubway Tham started straight out into the middle of the lake, his oars skipping and splashing water. Tham discovered rowing a boat was not the easiest sport in the world for a man out of training.
Tham did not know one end of the fishing grounds from the other. He had no favorite spot. He had not studied the lake or the streams that flowed into it. Stopping a moment and glancing around, he decided to row immediately to the mouth of the creek, where the others were to find him later in the day. The principal reason for this decision lay in the fact that the creek was near and Tham's hands were developing blisters.
He finally managed to reach the mouth of the creek. The water was shaded by trees; it was cool and pleasant. Tham anchored the boat near the shore in the shade of an overhanging tree, looked around, drew a deep breath, and told himself that it was a pleasant spot. He unwrapped his cheap line from his cheap pole and gave all his attention to impaling a worm on the hook.
As every true follower of the sport knows, fish are peculiar beings with no sense at all at times. For a time they will crowd in a certain area, and then suddenly they will desert it. And just as suddenly they will return again.
As he had done in his boyhood, Thubway Tham spat upon the worm for luck, cast, and watched his cork bobbing gently on the ripples of the stream. A thrill of joy ran through him. His spirit had jumped the years; he was a boy and fishing again.
His cork bobbed faster, disappeared in the depths. Thubway Tham, his heart hammering at his ribs, jerked. He found instantly that he had a fight on his hands. For the second time in his life he had located a big bass who did not disdain to bite at a fat worm.
That was but the beginning. The bass, it proved, had gone momentarily insane. The fish had decided to feed in the mouth of the little creek, which they had evaded for years, and they had a sudden hunger for fat angleworms.
Tham made a good catch before the middle of the day. Then he rested for a time and ate the luncheon the hotel had furnished and began fishing again. The shadows lengthened, and presently one of the conspirators slipped through the woods and hailed him. This particular conspirator's eyes bulged when he saw the fish Tham had to his credit honestly.
“Better than Joshua Simlon ever did!” he declared. “But you'd better take these. We want to be sure that you beat him.”
Tham accepted the fish and put them on his string. One by one the conspirators approached him and left their share, and then crept back through the woods to find their boats again. And at the proper time Thubway Tham raised his anchor and began the slow and painful row across the Jake to the hotel.
He was well within the time limit, but was the last man in. The hated Joshua Simlon was just before him, boasting of the catch he had made. Tham drove his boat to the wharf, and one of the hotel attendants made it fast. Joshua Simlon realized all at once that men were not listening to him, but were looking past him, their eyes wide.
Joshua Simlon turned. He saw Thubway Tham getting out of the boat and slipping into his coat. He saw the attendant lifting out string after string of magnificent bass, fat bullheads, perch, trout, sunfish. Thubway Tham said nothing. He busied himself lighting a cigarette and acknowledging to himself that he scarcely had smoked all day.
It was apparent to those gathered at the wharf that Joshua Simlon's catch was insignificant compared to that of Thubway Tham. Simlon himself noticed that at once. His practiced eye told him that Tham had twice the weight of fish, at least.
“Some catch!” one of the conspirators exclaimed.
“Tho, tho!” replied Tham. “I could have done better, I thuppothe, if I had been here thome time and had got acquainted with thingth. But it ith not tho bad. Jutht wormth, too. Jutht wormth, and a cheap line and thinker. If I had bronght a regular rod and a reel Heaven knowth what I would have done.”
Joshua Simlon's face purpled with wrath. He stalked forward.
“Did you use a seine?” he sneered.
“No theine,” said Thubway Tham, “Thothe fith came to my hook becauthe I wath courteouth to them. It alwayth payth to be courteouth to everything and everybody.”
Simlon flushed again. “Must have bought them,” he said.
“Thay!” Tham gasped. “Do you mean to inthinuate that I am a crook? Jutht becauthe you don't know how to fith——”
That the crowning insult. Joshua Simlon's face grew white now instead of red. His hands became fists. His breathing suddenly was labored.
“You—you——” he sputtered.
“Thay it!” Tham invited. “Thore becauthe you didn't get the prithe, are you? Want to get it every year for life? You're a punk fitherman, if anybody athkth me. Too much reel and not enough fith brainth. Not enough courtethy.”
Joshua Simlon choked. So did the others, but they choked because of delight. Simlon was too angry to notice it. He had eyes only for Thubway Tham. He glared at him, and Tham glared back and puffed at his cigarette. And then Joshua Simlon went into eruption like a volcano. Tham had heard men “dressed down” before, but never with such consummate skill. Simlon talked at length and to the point. His barbed words got beneath Tham's skin in a manner of speaking.
So Tham decided to answer him, and they engaged in repartee. Any of the conspirators could have told Tham to avoid that. Tham found that he was outclassed. Joshua Simlon's words burned. And when they finally came to the hotel and went to their several rooms Tham was trembling with rage.
“The big thimp!” Tham muttered as he bathed and dressed for the big fish dinner. “Talk to me like that, will he? Who doeth he think I am?”
Walking back and forth across the room, Tham thought of revenge. Joshua Simlon was a big man in the city, and Tham could not hope to overcome him in his own field. He had dark thoughts for a moment of engaging a certain crowd of gangsters to do things to Joshua Simlon, but he discarded the idea almost immediately. As a matter of honor Tham should take revenge himself.
So he immediately considered ways and means. He had noticed that Joshua Simlon carried a fat morocco wallet in his hip pocket. That in itself was enough to class the man as a simp, Tham told himself. It would serve Joshua Simlon right if Tham touched him for that wallet. It also probably would reimburse Tham for his little vacation trip and give him a profit also.
Tham felt sure that there was wealth in the wallet, for once or twice he had seen Joshua Simlon reach back and touch it. That is something almost every man will do, and professional pickpockets watch for that little, generally unconscious act. If he could get that wallet he would feel that Joshua Simlon had been repaid.
But Tham did not lift leathers except in the subway. That was his field, and he did not care to enter any other. He would have laughed to scorn the idea that he was superstitious, but he was nevertheless.
Yet Tham decided to get that wallet at the first opportunity. He watched Joshua Simlon through dinner. Joshua took care to ignore Thubway Tham. He acted as though Tham did not exist, and there had been no fishing contest. As far as Joshua was concerned there had not been.
After dinner Tham was presented with the prize, and during this ceremony, in which formerly he had played the leading part, Joshua Simlon turned his back and talked to an acquaintance. And afterward he continued to ignore Thubway Tham in a way that men like Joshua Simlon know and which is particularly painful to the victim.
All this served to increase Tham's determination to capture the fat wallet of Joshua Simlon. He dreamed of the wallet that night. He thought of it at breakfast. And he told himself that it was one thing to “lift a leather” in a crowded subway car and quite another to do the same bit of work out in the open, at a place where five men were a big crowd.
He heard Joshua remark that he intended leaving in a week's time, and Thubway Tham decided to do the same.
A week later Thubway Tham promised to return the following year, and he rode to the station in the rickety bus with Joshua and two others. Joshua ignored him, but the driver winked at him and also chuckled all the way in, for which Tham was grateful.
Now Tham had his mind fixed firmly upon the wallet. If he did not get it he was disgraced, he told himself. Should any man give him such a clever tongue lashing as Joshua Simlon had given him and escape unpunished? No!
Tham watched for chances on the train, but could get none. All the way to New York, Thubway Tham, throwing the idea of sleep aside, tried to think of some scheme whereby he could get near Simlon while that man did not know it. Tham began to grow desperate. That wallet would give him revenge and a profit, and Tham wanted both.
They reached the city in the morning. Tham encountered Joshua Simlon in the wash room, Joshua admitted his presence.
“Hope to see you up there next year,” he muttered. “I'll show you whether I know anything about fish or not! I still think you used a seine.”
“What you think,” Tham retorted, “will never be on the front page of the newthpaperth.”
“That used to be an exclusive hotel and camp,” Joshua said. He insinuated that it was so no longer.
“Ekluthive?” said Tham. “Maybe tho.”
“I think I'll change fishing grounds next year.”
“Maybe it would be a good thing,” Tham replied. “Try thome plathe where the fith are amateurth. Thethe profethional fith are hard to catch. Jump on thome poor hick fith that never thaw a rod and reel. That ith my advithe.”
“When I ask your advice,” Joshua said slightingly, “I'll be out of my senses, and the world out of lawyers.”
“If you wait that long there won't be any fith left—I'll catch them all long before that.”
“Think you're smart, don't you?”
“Jutht tho, tho,” said Tham.
They were alone in the wash room. Joshua treated Tham to another display of verbal fireworks. Tham found himself outclassed, and he went back to his section enraged and more determined than ever to get the fat wallet of Joshua Simlon.
The train rolled into the station, and Thubway Tham had hopes of doing his nefarious work in the crowd around the entrance. But luck seemed to be against him. A porter got in his way. Joshua Simlon darted into the crowd and was lost.
Thubway Tham felt it a tragedy. He went slowly toward his beloved subway, vowing to catch Joshua Simlon some day, somewhere, and have his revenge. Joshua, he supposed, even now was riding toward his home in a limousine,
But Joshua was not. Joshua Simlon, being the sort of man he was, had not telegraphed his arrival. He intended walking into his offices unannounced and seeing how his hirelings were acting. So he caught a subway express.
Thubway Tham's eyes glowed when he saw that. He got into the same car. Here Tham was on ground he knew well, the place where he did his work. He was in his element, and Joshua Simlon was out of it.
Best of all, Joshua did not see him. He was standing close to one of the doors, and it was evident that he had forgotten fishing and had his mind busy already with pressing business problems. Thubway Tham crept closer in the jam of human beings. Station after station flashed past.
The express approached the station at which Tham should leave it to make his way to the lodging house, conducted by Mr. “Nosey” Moore, where he resided. Tham watched Joshua carefully. But Joshua was contemplating the ceiling of the car, and his brow was wrinkled with thought.
Thubway Tham pressed closer. The train dashed into the station and rattled to a stop, people pressed forward, Tham lurched against Joshua Simlon for an instant, one of his hands made a lightninglike movement—and then Thubway Tham was on the platform and hurrying toward the stairs that would take him to the street.
His heart sang. He had done it! Revenge and profit were his! Joshua Simlon would never know who had done this thing, but Tham knew it and would rejoice in the knowledge.
Up to the street he skipped and hurried along it. The proper thing, of course, would be to extract the currency and get rid of the wallet as quickly as possible. But Tham could not do it there, and he was bothered because of the grip he carried.
He hurried to the lodging house and up the stairs. Nosey Moore was sitting behind the battered counter in the office.
“Glad to see you back, Tham!” he shouted. “Have a good trip?”
“Yeth!” Tham answered. “I'll tell you about it later, Nothey. I'm in a hurry now.”
Up the next flight of stairs he darted and along the hall to his room. He unlocked the door and entered, locked the door behind him, made sure that the shades were drawn at the windows, and took the wallet from his pocket.
It certainly was a fat wallet and seemed to be of peculiar construction. Made to order, Tham supposed. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a small fortune in it. Joshua Simlon certainly had seemed to guard it carefully.
A moment of anticipation—and then he opened the wallet.
The next instant it was on the floor, and Thubway Tham was muttering curses. It was no wallet at all—it was Joshua Simlon's fly book!
And at the same moment Joshua Simlon in his office was raging because the book was gone, and with it some flies of his own invention. Any real fisherman will know how he raged. But Thubway Tham did not know that. He thought that Joshua Simlon had conquered in the end.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1958, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 65 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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