When the train grumbled away from the platform and went its way,
it left man standing there, a fish-basket slung from one
shoulder, a trout rod carefully wrapped in its case in his hand,
a box which looked suspiciously like a case of some bottled joy
at his feet, and a loose-lipped smile upon his face.
"Howdy, Miss Georgie?" he called unctuously through the open
door.
Miss Georgie barely glanced at him from under her lashes, and her
shoulders indulged themselves in an almost imperceptible twitch.
"How do you do, Mr. Baumberger?" she responded coolly, and very,
very gently pushed the door shut just as he had made up his mind
to enter.
CHAPTER VIII
THE AMIABLE ANGLER
Baumberger--Johannes was the name he answered to when any of his
family called, though to the rest of the world he was simply
Baumberger--was what he himself called a true sport. Women, he
maintained, were very much like trout; and so, when this
particular woman calmly turned her back upon the smile cast at
her, he did not linger there angling uselessly, but betook
himself to the store, where his worldly position, rather than his
charming personality, might be counted upon to bring him his meed
of appreciation.
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