The mercantile fisheries have been pretty well whipped of late years, and the fish are artful--they are uncommonly artful, Val.

Indeed, I'm not quite clear at this present moment as to the kind of fly they'll rise to most readily.
I'm half inclined to be doubtful whether your gaudy pheasant-feather, your brougham and lavender-kid business is the right thing for your angler.

It has been overdone, Val, considerably overdone; and I shouldn't wonder if a sober little brown fly--a shabby old chap in a rusty greatcoat, with a cotton umbrella under his arm--wouldn't do the trick better.

That sort of thing would look rich, you see, Val--rich and eccentric; and I think on occasions--with a _very_ downy bird--I'd even go so far as a halfp'orth of snuff in a screw of paper.

I really think a pinch of snuff out of a bit of paper, taken at the right moment, might turn the tide of a transaction." Impressed by the brilliancy of this idea, Captain Paget abandoned himself for the moment to profound meditation, seated in his favourite chair, and with his legs extended before the cheerful blaze.