Ven: I see no fly, and it is eight minutes past the hour.
Pisc: Nay, my most particular scholar, would you hold me to a minute? No man may be so nice as to the moment of its coming. We shall see it in good time, never fear. Hand me your rod; a pretty tool indeed, but ill-balanced and something too limber for our manner of fishing. See, this is mine; stiff, springy, and lovable. I use no other. With this rod, no matter how bloweth the wind, I will lay my fly on a sixpence at twenty-five yards in the first throw. It is to yours, scholar, as the day is to the night.
Ven: Indeed, master, I have so little of the art that I can find no difference between them. The tackle-maker hath served me ill, for he sold me this same rod as a perfect copy of your own.
Pisc: These tackle-makers are for the most part arrant knaves. But, scholar, I see that you have already tied on your fly; and a detached badger—a most unworthy contrivance. Trust me, this is not what honest fishermen are used to do.
Ven: Nay, master, never scold me; I did but wish to be ready.
Pisc: Trust me, you do but waste your time; for while it hath been computed that there are no less than seven thousand six hundred and forty-three different sorts of fly tied by these same
