The fish, I seemed to know it, wouldn't bite.
When I was still fretting over the annoyance of the
disappointment I heard Frank Rolls blowing his whistle
in front of the other cottages. I counted thirty whistles
altogether. Then I fell into a light doze--not exactly
sleep, but a sort of _doze_--I can find no other word
for it. It was clear to me that the other "boys" had
thrown the thing over. There was no use in my trying to
go out alone. I stayed where I was, my doze lasting till
ten o'clock.
When I walked up town later in the morning I couldn't
help being struck by the signs in the butcher's shops
and the restaurants, FISH, FRESH FISH, FRESH LAKE FISH.
Where in blazes do they get those fish anyway?
XIV. Back from the Land
I have just come back now with the closing in of autumn
--to the city. I have hung up my hoe in my study; my
spade is put away behind the piano. I have with me seven
pounds of Paris Green that I had over. Anybody who wants
it may have it. I didn't like to bury it for fear of its
poisoning the ground. I didn't like to throw it away for
fear of its destroying cattle. I was afraid to leave it
in my summer place for fear that it might poison the
tramps who generally break in in November.
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