That is to say, Doctor Allen Barnes was irritable until he had reeled up his line and climbed the bank below the dam site, and betaken himself to the side of the last hospital cot where lay the last victim of dynamic and dynamitical industry.

After that he was apt to forget angling and become an absorbed surgeon, and a very able one.
But on this particular day, when word came to him at the stream side that a stranger not of the force had arrived in town with a "bum leg"-- so reported the messenger, Foreman Flaherty--Doctor Barnes was wroth exceedingly, for at that moment he was fast in a noble trout that was far out in the white water, and giving him, as he himself would have phrased it, the time of his life.
"Tell him I can't come, Flaherty!" he called over his shoulder.

"I'm busy." "I reckon that's so, Doc," said the foreman.

"Why don't you haul him in?
That pole of yours ain't no good, it's too limber.

If I had him on mine I'd show you how to get him in." "Oh, you would, would you, dad burn you," remarked Doctor Barnes, who had small love for the human race at many times, and less at this moment.