The Brass Bed

“Aren’t you hungry?” Harvey said.

“No, I’m not. I’m quite full of beer and not hungry at all.”

“How about you, Fran?”

“I am equally full of beer, and equally not hungry. I support Jolly’s suggestion that we wait until five or six o’clock and reconsider the bullheads at that time.”

“Speaking of bullheads,” I said, “it is long past time that we should have run the line again.”

“That’s right,” Harvey said, “I’d completely forgotten about it.”

“So had I until just now. Do you think we ought to run it?”

“It should be run, all right, but I admit I’m not in the mood.”

Jolly said, “I think it might be amusing to run the line.”

“Why don’t you and Felix go run it, then?” Fran said. “Harvey is not in the mood, and I am not interested, so I can see no objection to your amusing yourself in that way if you choose.”

“Will you permit me to run the line with you, Felix?” Jolly said.

“I don’t think Kirby would approve of it,” I said.

Her eyes were suddenly deep and dark and very quiet, and I tried to see what was in them, in the depths of them, but it was impossible.

“You are right,” she said. “Kirby would certainly disapprove and might even kick up nasty about it. However, perhaps he himself will be willing to go with me.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You’ve had quite a lot of beer. Do you think you could stay in the boat?”

“Certainly. Do you think I am drunk? I assure you that I am not. I am only a little giddy, which is not the same thing.”

“All right. I’ll go down and fish with the rod while you and Kirby are running the line.”

“That would be a satisfactory arrangement, I think. It will give Harvey a chance to kiss Fran and show her how it feels with whiskers.”

“I was thinking about that,” Fran said. “Please don’t feel impelled to hurry. Harvey is in fact exceptionally shy, which is an unusual and charming virtue but imposes difficulties.”

“I’m sure you will be able to handle the situation competently,” Jolly said. “I have absolute faith in you, and you must let me know how you come out. Come along, Felix. Now that I have decided to run the line, I am becoming quite anxious to get started.”

We went down the path to the gravel bar, and Kirby had just got a strike. The rod was bent far over and the line from the rod to the water was as taut as a fiddle string, and we stopped to see if he would land the cat or lose it. I admit that I was rather hoping that he would lose it, which was a very small way to feel, and I admit that also, but it was nevertheless the way I felt. He would pump the rod back with his biceps bulging, and then he would let it fall forward and quickly take in the slack line, and he did this very efficiently, as if he knew just how it should be done, and he slowly brought the cat in, and we kept standing there watching until it was all over. He lifted the fish out of the water and turned and held it up hanging from the end of the line for us to see, and it was truly a beauty, about twenty inches long and sleek and slim and shining.

“What do you think of this one?” he said.

“It’s a beauty,” I said. “Truly a beauty.”

“Yes,” Jolly said. “I admire the way you did that, Kirby. The way you brought him in and everything was really admirable. You are to be congratulated.”

“It’s just a matter of knowing how,” Kirby said. “Of course, there’s actually a kind of knack to it besides. Some people have it and some don’t.”

“I dare say that’s true,” Jolly said. “And now that you have succeeded in catching a catfish, perhaps you will be willing to take me in the boat to run the trot line. Felix has given us permission to do it.”

“Where is the trot line set?”

“Just downstream a way,” I said. “About half way to the bend. You can see the line where it comes out of the water.”

“Oh. Well, okay. I can’t see the fun in running a trot line, however. This is the kind of fishing that is really sport. It requires skill.”

“Sure,” I said. “A kind of knack as well as knowing how.”

He kneeled down on the gravel and started to take the shining cat off the hook, and Jolly and I went over and got the boat in the water, and I held it steady while she walked out carefully to the stern and sat down. I kept holding it until Kirby came over and sat down on the center seat between the oarlocks and pushed off with one of the oars. He didn’t do much about the rowing, using the oars mostly just to guide the boat, because the current took them along fairly fast, and pretty quickly they were quite a way downstream. It was cool on the river, and shady, and very quiet and pleasant.

I turned and went across the gravel bar to where Kirby had left the rod. I picked it up and started casting, and when I looked back downstream again, they had angled into the bank where the line was tied and had started working slowly along the line toward the opposite bank. Kirby pulled up the drop lines and checked them and had to replace the bait on several of the hooks, but this time there was no luck at all, not a single bullhead. I went back to casting and did not look at them again for quite a while, and when I looked at last, they were going on downstream in the boat and were by that time on the bend and almost out of sight. In one place the sunlight slanted down through the trees and across the water in a wide strip, and as they passed through the strip the light made a kind of pale blaze of Kirby’s yellow hair.