The lawyer followed in the canoe, but more slowly, as the
current was against him, and often turned the boat round. By dint of
strenuous efforts he gained the bridge, and found the supposed Ben
leaning over it.
"I see you've drownded your man," he remarked with a laugh.
"Yes," replied Coristine; "we had a spill."
"Had any luck?"
"Pretty fair," the lawyer answered, exhibiting his treasures.
"Perch, and chub, and shiners, and them good-for-nawthun tag ends of all
creation, suckers."
"Is that what they are?" asked the disappointed fisherman, holding up
the spoil of Wilkinson's rod.
"That's jest what they are, flabby, bony, white-livered, or'nary
suckers. Niggers and Injuns won't touch 'em, ony in the spring; they'd
liefer eat mudcats."
The lawyer tied his dug-out to the stake, while Ben, who informed him
that his name was Toner, got a willow twig with a crotch at the thick
end, and strung his fish on it through the gills.
"I guess you'd better fire them suckers into the drink," he said, but
Coristine interposed to save them from such a fate.
"They are my friend's catch," he said, "and I'll let him do what he
likes with them.
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