nd almost immediately said, "Certainly, what can I do?"

"Spare the life of that trout--"

"It is a singular request," she replied, "and one," she smiled,
"self-sacrificing indeed for an angler to grant, for he weighs at least
three pounds. However, since he seems a friend of yours, here goes--"
And with the gladdest, most grateful sound in the world, the happy
smack of a fish back home again in the water, after an appalling three
minutes spent on land, that prophetic trout was once more an active
unit in God's populous universe.

"Now that's good of you," I said, with thankful eyes, "and shows a kind
heart."

"And kind hearts, they say, are more than coronets," she replied
merrily, indulging in that derisive quotation which seems to be the
final reward of the greatest poets.

For a moment there was a silence, during which I confess to wondering
what I should say next. However, she supplied my place.

"But of course," she said, "you owe it to me, after this touching
display of humanitarianism, to entertain me with your reason for
interposing between me and my just trout. Was it one of those
wonderful talking fishes out of the Arabian Nights, or are you merely
an angler yourself, and did you begrudge such a record catch to a girl?"

"I see," I replied, "that you will understand me. That trout was, so
to speak, out of the Arabian Nights. Only five minutes ago it was a
May-day madness of mine to think that he leaped out of the water and
gave me a highly important message. So I begged his life from a mere
fancy. It was just a whim, which I trust you will excuse."

"A whim! So you are a follower of the great god Whim," she replied,
with somewhat of an eager interest in her voice. "How nice it is to
meet a fellow-worshipper!"

"Do women ever have whims?" I respectfully asked.

"I don't know about other women," she replied. "Indeed, I'm afraid I'm
unnatural enough to take no interest in them at all. But, as for
me,--well, what nonsense! Tell me some more about the trout. What was
the wonderful message he seemed to give you? Or perhaps I oughtn't to
ask?"

"I'm afraid," I said, "it would hardly translate into anything
approaching common-sense."

"Did I ask for common-sense?" she retorted. It was true, she hadn't.
But then I couldn't, with any respect for her, tell her the trout's
message, or, with any respect for myself, recall those atrocious
doggerel lines. In my dilemma, I caught sight of a prett