they have a sympathy
with each other, whether it is that the one suspects that he has got
into trouble owing to some diabolical treachery on the part of the
other and is out of temper; whether it is that they know all about it,
and were taught in their childhood that fouled lines are generally
broken lines, so much I know not; but be it in sea fishing or fresh
water fishing, two fish hooked and struggling within sight by instinct
often make towards each other.

This happened in our case. My fish was the smaller, and would have
been the sooner played out if the barbel that my friend had on his hook
would have allowed it; but just as I was winching in, with the
intention of getting it into the net with all possible speed, my
friend's fish made a deliberate dart to starboard, and the result was a
foul. To have attempted playing them with our rods would have been
ruin, therefore we dropped them, and by getting the two lines in my own
hand and using them as one, I managed to haul in the brace of fish by
sheer strength, and the somewhat novel feat was accomplished of getting
into the landing net a 3-lb. and a 5-lb. barbel upon lines that were
entangled. As our lines were of the fine Nottingham description, and
the gut fine also, this was to say the least a piece of good fortune.
There will, I know, be some reader who has been in the predicament here
described, and I feel that he smiles at the thought of the fearful work
of disentangling those clinging, wet, white, undressed silk lines. I
will tell him. We cut them.

The shoal below took time to reflect upon the circumstance of which
they had no doubt been witnesses, and we had no further touch of them
for several minutes. Then they came on again with an inspiring
regularity, distributing their favours alternately to myself and
friend. For an hour a barbel came to net every five minutes; and there
was no chance of loss, as the fish simply gulped at the worms and went
off with them at once, and the hook had to be removed sometimes with a
disgorger. In the very midst of the sport I thought I would make an
experiment in the matter of baits. I had my own box of gentles. One,
I suppose, never goes afloat or engages in any bottom fishing whatever
without this reserve, if the maggots are in season. Hawkins also
happened to have a small supply of stale greaves.

"Don't do it, mister!" Hawkins pleaded pathetically, when he saw me
stringing on a bunch of gentles. "Leave