second thoughts I am compelled to say that it was exactly like a guffaw. In short, it was a guffaw. Purfling never budged. I trusted that he had not heard me,
I approached him on my stomach through the grass, and when abreast of him bade him a cheery good afternoon. His eyes moved slowly till he saw me. "Ah," he said, "it was you. Don't come any nearer, please. There is a nice fish here. I've been over him for the last hour." "Feeding?" I asked. "No," he said shortly. "Have you risen him?" I asked, solely to annoy. "No," he said, more shortly. Purfling arouses something hellish in my nature. "What fly have you tried?" I asked. He became even more rigid than before. He was silent. I was ignored. His left shoulder said plainly, "Please, go away." "Put an alder over him," I said, "and have him out." That touched him, for he sighed. I was no longer ignored. I was pitied. I do not mind whether Purfling pities or ignores me, but perhaps his pity is the more complimentary. I lit a cigarette and remained close to Purfling. "Do you mind," I asked in my most servile way, "if I stay and watch you fish. I have never seen you fish, Purfling." Flattery could not reach this man. "Please stay," he said. "You have as much right in this meadow as I." At that moment a motor-
