The Detroit times., 1913-03-20
CHAPTER XIV.
The Lone Fisherman.

trout are tradition rather tnan q
prospect In Sundaymans Greek. Some
-ideed. consider them myth Hope
springs eternal in the human breast
however. and fisherman. duly equip
ned, might have been observed testing
the upper reaches OF the stream on the
morning OF July 10. Although his rod
and tackle were of the best, his ap
parel was rough, not To say scrubby
An old SLOUGH hat was drawn down
over his forehead, and staring blue
glasses sheltered his eyes against the
sun. which was sufficiently obscured--
for most tastes--by a blanket OF gray
cloud, promising rain. Under archine
willow. and by promising rock, his
brown hackle flickered temptingly
placed by nm expert hand. But, ex
cept for one sunfish who had exhibited
suicidal curiosity, there was none "a
admire his proficiency. One individ
ual. indeed, had witnessed IL, hut with
ont admiration--an urchin angling un-
der q bridge for bullheads
Wat yer gettin' with that rig?
he had inquired with the cynicism OF
the professional.
"Oh, some snags. and an occasional
branch, and now and then milk
weed" returned the angler amiably.
well, you can't fish below the mex
bend," the urchin informed him.
Them folks that bought Hogs Hav-
en- has wire-fenced of the creek"
u had just as lief get tangled in
wire fence as any other kind replied
the angler with CHEEKY pessimism,
whipping his fly into shaded spot
where q trout would surely have been
lurking II the entire salmo family
hadn't departed for the Happy Fish
Ing Grounds. several generations back.
In consequence OF the pernicious ac'
tlvities displayed by an acquisitive
sportsman with an outfit Of dynamite
In sticks.
Suit yerself," retorted the boy.
"You won't get nothin'. anyhow
The rumble of a vehicle distracted
his attention, and be looked up TO OBJ
serve with curiosity a carriage full OF
strangers pass across the bridge The
strangers were all in black. The
angler had looked up. too; but imme-
diately looked away again, and turned
TO continue his hopeful progress to-
ward the bend. Not until he had
rounded the curve did he pause for
:
lzaak Walton, he waded out upon the
bank, produced q glass, and applied Il
TO his eyes, turning il upon the willow
grove on the borders of the Blair es-
tate. The briefest of surveys satisfied
him, and he resumed his fishing and
his waiting. He was waiting for the
funeral service Of Wilfrid Blair.
Notices In the Boston and New York
napers had formally designated the
burial as Private That invaluable
rid, Lawyer Adam Balm. who seemed
10 have his fingers on the pulse OF all
( the county's activities, had informed
lent that telegraphic summons had
one out to few near relatives, and
hat the relatives. together with a
clergyman, were expected that morn
ing. That is why Chester Kent, fam.
Gus master OF the art of fly fishing,
was whipping a dead" stream.
For patient hour longer his quest
ing flies explored unresponsive hooks
and corners. At the end OF that time
he sighted figure coming from
Hedgerow House, and lodged into a
covert Of sumac. The glass brought
ont clearly the features Of Alexander
Blair. set. stern, and pale. Blair walk
ed swiftly 20 the willow thicket where
lay Captain Hogg and his unnamed
victims, looked down into the raw
fresh excavation, and turned away
Another man. issuing from the house,
Joined him. From his gestures Alex
ander Blair seemed to be explaining
and directing. Finally both returned
to the house.
Handling the whole business him
self" commented Kent, II like his
courage, anyway"
Half an hour afterward the little
Funeral procession moxed-from- the
house. There was no hearse. Six men |
carried the coffin. They were all |
strangers to Kent. and their clothes
gave obvious testimony of city origin |
Half dozen other men, and three wo. |
men, heavily yelled. followed. Kent |
thrust his glass into his pocket and |
lifted his rod again. BY the time the
clergyman had begun the service Kent
was close to the obstructing fence. He
could hear the faint solemn murmur
OF the words. Then came the lower.
Ing OF the casket. The onlooker mark.
ed the black and silver sumptuousness
OF 1t. and thought OF the rough hem |
lock box that enclosed the anonymous |
body In Annalaka church yard. And. |
- his fly met the water, he smiled a |
~ 112 YEARS OLD HE CHOPS