'Then if ye see it the nex' thing ye orter see 's a doctor. There's sumthin' wrong with you sumwheres.' 'Only one thing the matter o' me,' said Mose with a little twinge of remorse. 'I'm jest a natural born perfec' dum fool. Never c'u'd b'lieve there was any sech fish.' 'Nobody ever said there was any sech fish,' said Uncle Eb. 'He's done more t' you 'n he ever done t' me. Never served me no sech trick as thet. If I was you I'd never ask nobody t' b'lieve it 'S a leetle tew much.' Mose went slowly and picked up his hat. Then he returned to the bank and looked regretfully at the water. 'Never see the beat o' thet,' he went on. 'Never see sech power 'n a fish. Knocks the spots off any fish I ever hearn of.' 'Ye riled him with that big tackle o' yourn,' said Uncle Eb. 'He wouldn't stan' it.' 'Feel jest as if I'd hed holt uv a wil' cat,' said Mose. 'Tuk the hull thing--pole an' all--quicker 'n lightnin'. Nice a bit o' hickory as a man ever see. Gol' durned if I ever heem o' the like o' that, ever.' He sat down a moment on the bank. 'Got t' rest a minute,' he remarked. 'Feel kind o' wopsy after thet squabble.' They soon went away. And when Mose told the story of 'the swallered pole' he got the same sort of reputation he had given to others. Only it was real and large and lasting. 'Wha' d' ye think uv it?' he asked, when he had finished. 'Wall,' said Ransom Walker, 'wouldn't want t' say right out plain t' yer face.' ''Twouldn't he p'lite,' said Uncle Eb soberly. 'Sound a leetle ha'sh,' Tip Taylor added. 'Thet fish has jerked the fear o' God out o' ye--thet's the way it looks t' me,' said Carlyle Barber. 'Yer up 'n the air, Mose,' said another. 'Need a sinker on ye.' They bullied him--they talked him down, demurring mildly, but firmly. 'Tell ye what I'll do,' said Mose sheepishly, 'I'll b'lieve you fellers if you'll b'lieve me.' 'What, swop even? Not much!' said one, with emphasis. ''Twouldn't be fair. Ye've ast us t' b'lieve a genuwine out 'n out impossibility.' Mose lifted his hat and scratched his head thoughtfully. There was a look of embarrassment in his face. 'Might a ben dreamin',' said he slowly. 'I swear it's gittin' so here 'n this town a feller can't hardly b'lieve himself.' 'Fur 's my experience goes,' said Ransom Walker, 'he'd be a fool 'f he did.' ''Minds me o' the time I went fishin' with Ab Thomas,' said Uncle Eb. 'He ketched an ol' socker the fast thing. I went off by myself 'n got a good sized fish, but 'twant s' big 's hisn. So I tuk 'n opened his mouth n poured in a lot o' fine shot. When I come back Ab he looked at my fish 'n begun t' brag. When we weighed 'em mine was a leetle heavier. '“What!” says he. “'Tain't possible thet leetle cuss uv a trout 's heavier 'n mine.” ''Tis sarrin,' I said. '“Dummed deceivin' business,” said he as he hefted 'em both. “Gittin' so ye can't hardly b'lieve the stillyards.”' Chapter 11