by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER VIII. THE AMIABLE ANGLER
Baumberger--Johannes was the name he answered to when any of his familycalled, though to the rest of the world he was simply Baumberger--waswhat he himself called a true sport. Women, he maintained, were verymuch like trout; and so, when this particular woman calmly turnedher back upon the smile cast at her, he did not linger there anglinguselessly, but betook himself to the store, where his worldly position,rather than his charming personality, might be counted upon to bring himhis meed of appreciation.
Good Indian and Jack, sitting side by side upon the porch and sayingvery little, he passed by with a careless nod, as being not worth hisattention. Saunders, glancing up from the absorbing last chapter of"The Brokenhearted Bride," also received a nod, and returned itapathetically. Pete Hamilton, however, got a flabby handshake, a wheezylaugh, and the announcement that he was down from Shoshone for a good,gamy tussle with that four-pounder he had lost last time.
"And I don't go back till I get him--not if I stay here a week," hedeclared, with jocular savagery. "Took half my leader and my pet fly--Igot him with a peacock-bodied gray hackle that I revised to suit my ownnotions--and, by the great immortal Jehosaphat, he looked like a whalewhen he jumped up clear of the riffle, turned over, and--" His flabby,white hand made a soaring movement to indicate the manner in which thefour-pounder had vanished.
"Better take a day off and go with me, Pete," he suggested, getting anunwieldy-looking pipe from the pocket of his canvas fishing-coat, andopening his eyes at a trout-fly snagged in the mouthpiece. "Now, howdid that fly come there?" he asked aggrievedly, while he released itdaintily for all his fingers looked so fat and awkward. He stuck thepipe in the corner of his mouth, and held up the fly with that interestwhich seems fatuous to one who has no sporting blood in his veins.
"Last time I used that fly was when I was down here three weeks ago--theday I lost the big one. Ain't it a beauty, eh? Tied it myself. And, bythe great immortal Jehosaphat, it fetches me the rainbows, too. Goodmind to try it on the big one. Don't see how I didn't miss it out of mybook--I must be getting absent-minded. Sign of old age, that. Failingpowers and the like." He shook his head reprovingly and grinned, as ifhe considered the idea something of a joke. "Have to buck up--a lawyercan't afford to grow absent-minded. He's liable to wake up some day andfind himself without his practice."
He got his fly-book from the basket swinging at his left hip, openedit, turned the leaves with the caressing touch one gives to a cherishedthing, and very carefully placed the fly upon the page where itbelonged; gazed gloatingly down at the tiny, tufted hooks, with theirfrail-looking five inches of gut leader, and then returned the bookfondly to the basket.
"Think I'll go on down to the Harts'," he said, "so as to be that muchcloser to the stream. Daylight is going to find me whipping the riffles,Peter. You won't come along? You better. Plenty of--ah--snake medicine,"he hinted, chuckling so that the whole, deep chest of him vibrated. "No?Well, you can let me have a horse, I suppose--that cow-backed sorrelwill do--he's gentle, I know. I think I'll go out and beg an invitationfrom that Hart boy--never can remember those kids by name--Gene, is it,or Jack?"
He went out upon the porch, laid a hand upon Jack's shoulder, and beameddown upon him with what would have passed easily for real affectionwhile he announced that he was going to beg supper and a bed at theranch, and wanted to know, as a solicitous after-thought, if Jack'smother had company, or anything that would make his presence a burden.
"Nobody's there--and, if there was, it wouldn't matter," Jack assuredhim carelessly. "Go on down, if you want to. It'll be all right withmother."
"One thing I like about fishing down here," chuckled Baumberger, his fatfingers still resting lightly upon Jack's shoulder, "is the pleasure ofeating my fish at your house. There ain't another man, woman, or childin all Idaho can fry trout like your mother. You needn't tell her Isaid so--but it's a fact, just the same. She sure is a genius with thefrying-pan, my boy."
He turned and called in to Pete, to know if he might have the sorrelsaddled right away. Since Pete looked upon Baumberger with something ofthe awed admiration which he would bestow upon the President, he feltconvinced that his horses were to be congratulated that any one of themfound favor in his eyes.
Pete, therefore, came as near to roaring at Saunders as his good natureand his laziness would permit, and waited in the doorway until Saundershad, with visible reluctance, laid down his book and started toward thestable.
"Needn't bother to bring the horse down here, my man," Baumberger calledafter him. "I'll get him at the stable and start from there. Well, wishme luck, Pete--and say! I'll expect you to make a day of it with meSunday. No excuses, now. I'm going to stay over that long, anyhow.Promised myself three good days--maybe more. A man's got to break awayfrom his work once in a while. If I didn't, life wouldn't be worthliving. I'm willing to grind--but I've got to have my playtime, too.Say, I want you to try this rod of mine Sunday. You'll want one like ityourself, if I'm any good at guessing. Just got it, you know--it's theone I was talking to yuh about last time I was down.
"W-ell--I reckon my means of conveyance is ready for me--so long, Peter,till Sunday. See you at supper, boys."
He hooked a thumb under the shoulder-strap of his basket, pulled it to amore comfortable position, waved his hand in a farewell, which includedevery living thing within sight of him, and went away up the narrow,winding trail through the sagebrush to the stable, humming somethingunder his breath with the same impulse of satisfaction with life whichsets a cat purring.
Some time later, he appeared, in the same jovial mood, at the Hartranch, and found there the welcome which he had counted upon--thewelcome which all men received there upon demand.
When Evadna and Jack rode up, they found Mr. Baumberger taking his easein Peaceful's armchair on the porch, discussing, with animated gravity,the ins and outs of county politics; his fishing-basket lying on itsflat side close to his chair, his rod leaning against the house athis elbow, his heavy pipe dragging down one corner of his loose-lippedmouth; his whole gross person surrounded by an atmosphere of prosperityleading the simple life transiently and by choice, and of lazy enjoymentin his own physical and mental well-being.