The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1915-11-12
(Coneinued1f

water. for the black fellow doesn't like the seasicky rollers any more than his hunter does. Besides, what WAS more important, bait had left the shailows and gone out of the reach of the mud. 1t was a day for poker, the telling of tales or reading and snoozing or tinker ing in the boathouse. @
 And tinkering in the boathoJfse was precisely what Uncle Billy was doing. Ranged along the top of his work shelf were dozens of spark plugs. Next to bringing home a fou- pounder he liked to tinker His attitude and out look were identical to those of the viii lage doctor-no matter how well you looked or felt, something wrong could be found going on in your insides.
 Only Uncle Billy acquired no profit frs his diagnoses With grease enudged hand he nursed his stubbly unshaven chin,
 sGast it, seven plugs, m not one of I'm wuth a darn. Whut's folks sellin' these days, anyhow2 Search me- said a voice from the rreas doorway
 @By dings;-Uncle Billy 'wipsd his fingers on a piece of waste and trot- ted to the door f didn't know they want no sech thing es ghost! How y efteher.s? $ mornin' Well, well! A Iivin- gale outside. Rainin' barb wire ,nl pitchforks. No. bass in smaller wa ter t'morrow. We'll try Homing dock n. mebbe tn wreck in Sand bay. Oh, pshawI I can't row you, MT. Gran ford Got a party No idea how long she's goin t stay neither Why d'n't y write meg
 .IOne at a time, Bills one at time, Go back to your work I'll tell you all know when I've prowled about And kind of soaked this picture into my soul"
 Cranford shook the water off his hat and stamped his feet.
 He had come cross lots, through the 1 high grass, and the very skwunch- skwunch of the wet leather oIi his feet was music, an obligato to. the slap swish, slap-swish of the river which sprawled oyer and about the runway sIoping down from the boathouse doors
 This was air, washed clean, clear from the heavens, undefled by smoke or dust or contact with living things, nectarous, Gods own
 He leaned against the Jamb, breath ing. breathing, with little smack of
 
 go. He wanted the good of it in his veins, in his marrow. In another day he would forget that he had ever been anything but an outdoor man, of sim pie habits, simple thoughts
 How well he knew every nook and corner of these wonderful waters! Flu rope, Asia Africa and the south sea isles, North and South America he knew, but none of them called like this quiet but ruak ked spot Often while sitting on the balconies or verandas of notable foreign hotels his thought had annihilated the distance
 He could see boat after boat coming in toward evening, the catch thrown carelessIy on the dock; he could hear the banter of the bronzed guides, the bragging of the fishermen and the ho- tel bartenders polite Well, what luck today, sir?'' Uncle Billy, vainly pretending to squint at the business end of a spark \ plug held between his eyes and the light watched his young friend GOV ertIy.
 Didn't look as fit as usual Been staying up late and lying abed morn 1ngs. Two or thr-~- days on the water would tHke that look out of his face.
 Lester ir From Reed'+?' asked Cranford presently
 ~ YestidAy &
 9aAny one got him?"
 s'Nope. III have him around at tn hotel after supper He'll be tickled t death t row. yosz- He's in luck Two good fishermen Ia one season. He's tn best guide up here. Mighty good 0 you t stick t me all these years Bu' yi see. it don't make no difference t you who rows You know where go 'n' how t Asa, Il, when you don't gii 'em nobudGy does.
 csranforl laughed. and instantly il occurred to him that this was the frs time he had laughed honestly siI months
 Whut he don't know bout birds n fish Why, tn game commissioners could go t school with him 'n' 1arn hull lot. Bring tn gunsT'
 Yes
 Lots O black duck thfs year. Tn nallard aip.- showed up
 Who is tie lady you are rowing?"
 Uncle Billy laid down the spark pIu; gently. You'll think I'm stufsn' you but I afn'-- Mr. Cranford. Say, I't like t seq you 1u, her in tn same boa on a day when they ain't bitin' fast
 'tOh-ho! Or with the old love, ol with the new., Do you mean to tel me that you have at last found a we man who knows how to strike a bass !?
 Guess so. Ony woman I ever Sc who gifts m. out at Pidgin An whel she strikes 'em she ain't maxim no ef fort t hist 'ern down t Oswego."
 Cranford shouted, "BiIly, you're goo, er- my soul"
 An< you're good fer sore eyes, MI Crapford. Ffshed you when y Mor short pants. Your paw was some fish erman. tell youv'
 He, was a good man to his son Billy
 Cranford stepped away from the gas