Paddling under Palmettos — page 211: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

204 Paddling Under Palmettos. “I’m not a fishmonger,” he said, as he looked at the pile of flapping bass in his boat, “and I know when I’ve got enough.” He did not like “bobbing.” It might do for a lazy “Cracker,” whose sole object was a desire to secure fish for dinner, but he preferred less fish and more sport. No one could ever induce him to try this method of fishing again. On the way back to camp he whipped the stream with a fly, and succeeded in tak- ing two good-sized “‘green trout,’ as they call the black bass down South, both of which he tossed back again to their native element, they being uninjured. _ All was comfortable that night. Their camp-fire being made with some slabs they found near by, some person having carried them up from the beach for burning, was very comfortable, indeed. All of them but Dick slept ashore. | He seemed to prefer his boat, as he knew just how everything lay there. Besides, he enjoyed the swinging movement of the little canoe, rocking upon the waves, and no doubt slept more comforta- bly there than the others on the shore. Every night on shore now they had to rig up a WGEOMIGEHOOKS