Will bid the angler "good afternoon," and made a few general remarks on sport and the present unfavourable condition of the water, shrunk to mere ribbons of silver by a long summer drought. The fisherman was a stranger to Will--a handsome, stalwart man, with a heavy amber moustache, hard blue eyes, and a skin tanned red by hotter suns than English Augusts know. His disposition, also, as it seemed, reflected years of a tropic or subtropic existence, for this trivial meeting and momentary intrusion upon his solitude resulted in an explosion as sudden as unreasonable and unexpected. "Keep back, can't you?" he exclaimed, while the young keeper approached his side; "who 's going to catch fish with your lanky shadow across the water?" Will was up in arms instantly. "Do 'e think I doan't knaw my business? Theer 's my shadder 'pon the bank a mile behind you; an' I didn't ope my mouth till you'd fished the stickle to the bottom and missed two rises." This criticism angered the elder man, and he freed his tailfly fiercely from the rush-head that held it. "Mind your own affairs and get out of my sight, whoever you are. This river's not what it used to be by a good deal. Over-fished and poached, and not looked after, I'll swear." Thus, in ignorance, the sportsman uttered words of all most like to set Will Blanchard's temper loose--a task sufficiently easy at the best of times. "What the hell d' you knaw 'bout the river?" he flamed out. "And as to 'my affairs,' 't is my affairs, an' I be water-bailiff, an' I'll thank you for the number of your ticket--so now then!" "What's become of Morgan?" asked the other. "He 'm fust, I be second; and 't is my job to take the license numbers." "Pity you're such an uncivil young cub, then." "Gimme your ticket directly minute!" "I'm not going to." The keeper looked wicked enough by this time, but he made a great effort to hold himself in. "Why for not?" "Because I didn't take one." "That ban't gwaine to do for me." "Ban't it? Then you'll have to go without any reason. Now run away and don't bleat so loud." "Look here," retorted Will, going straight up to the fisherman, and taking his measure with a flashing eye, "You gimme your ticket number or your name an' address, else I'll make 'e." They counted nearly the same inches, but the angler was the elder, and a man of more powerful build and massive frame than his younger opponent. His blue eyes and full, broad face spoke a pugnacity not less pronounced than the keeper's own finer features indicated; and thus these two, destined for long years to bulk largely each upon the life of the other, stood eye to eye for the first time. Will's temper was nearly gone, and now another sneer set it loose with sudden and startling result. "Make me, my young moorcock? Two more words and I'll throw you across the river!"