North of Boston

THEY aint much happened sence the last riting. Driv down to Maine and ended up with Jeputy Sherff Rick Jackson '27 at Jefferson. Come morning we went fishing. Trod acrost a pasture and come to a bunch of big hemlocks. Brook dived down over small falls and made a fifty-foot pool in the shade. Bubbles from the falls was diamonds as they swum in and out of the light.

Rigged our rods and started to cast. Them flies lit as easy as a drop of dew sliding into the buzzom of a rose. Not being no fish liar I can't claim that twelve-inch trout took them flies and walked acrost that pool on their tails. We tried every fly in the book. Nothing come of it. Not a rise.

Took down the rods. Lay in the grass and soaked sun. Watched sum crows put it to a fox. Then it was all quiet again with only the falls in our ears.

To the car and driv the back roads. Mud ruts was drying, last snow was going in the black growth, folks was spreading manure. You could feel spring coming in by leaps and bounds, just like a torn cat chasing a fish cart.

Wheeled into Union for a milk shake and see Paul Jones, local think tank doctor. I ast him why me and Rick had had such a happy morning doing nothing. Paul he snaps, "Obvious, when two men who enjoyed friendship in college, on proper occasions continue such association for recreational purposes, they subconsciously return to the days of youth and for a few hours lay aside cares of business, community and family. Most beneficial. No charge."

I guess Paul hit the truth right between the eyes. Except for two milk shakes and one catridge we didn't spend a penny awl morning, but I don't know when I had a better time. Wish sum of you fellers could of ben along. You might of liked it.