If he
was ever going to learn how to take care of himself, a man past
thirty-five should know. Would he come home and put on dry
clothing? But when had Jimmy taken care of himself? Dannie felt
that he should go back, bring him home, and make him dress
quickly.
A sharp pain shot across Dannie's swollen face. His lips shut
firmly. No! Jimmy had struck him. And Jimmy was in the wrong. The
fish was his, and he had a right to it. No man living would have
given it up to Jimmy, after he had changed poles. And slipped
away with a boy and gotten those minnows, too! And wouldn't offer
him even one. Much good they had done him. Caught a catfish on a
dead one! Wonder if he would take the catfish to town and have
its picture taken! Mighty fine fish, too, that channel cat! If it
hadn't been for the Black Bass, they would have wondered and
exclaimed over it, and carefully weighed it, and commented on the
gamy fight it made. Just the same he was glad, that he landed the
Bass. And he got it fairly. If Jimmy's old catfish mixed up with
his line, he could not help that. He baited, hooked, played, and
landed the Bass all right, and without any minnows either.
When he reached the top of the hill he realized that he was going
to look back. In spite of Jimmy's selfishness, in spite of the
blow, in spite of the ugly lie, Jimmy had been his lifelong
partner, and his only friend, and stiffen his neck as he would,
Dannie felt his head turning.
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