one's unspoken call, and its consolation would never fail.
The winter months and all other times when trout fishing is impossible are in a sense seasons of paralysis. One may be rather more independent of one's river friend than one would be in the unfortunate circumstances which I have just imagined; but, though others claim one's attention, excluding him from one's communication, he bears no malice. He never sulks, thinking himself slighted. If a common friend happens to engage one's attention, and the presence of the river is suggested, he will come cheerfully to make a third, stay as long as the others wish, promoting pleasant talk with all his might, and, at a hint, will fade unostentatiously away. He knows nothing of jealousy, nothing of priorities; he is humble, faithful, always cheerful, always fresh, always the most excellent of company. And one never dreams of despising him for his lack of spirit, which one would surely do—such is man—were he a human being. He is like a dog, without its sycophancy; like a pipe, without its perversity; like the supreme book, without itsHe is like the supreme book. Yet the supreme book demands physical effort. Eyes tire even of the supreme book. And the supreme book, too,
