The fish on the far end of the line didn't seem to put up much of a struggle, but the old man reeled it in slowly and carefully, giving out line from time to time, then taking it back. He seemed completely absorbed. Not until the fish had been worked close to the dock was there a brief minor commotion near the surface. Then McAllen was down on one knee, holding the rod high with one hand, reaching out for his catch with the other. Barney had a glimpse of an unimpressive green and silver disk, reddish froggy eyes. "_Very_ nice crappie!" McAllen informed him with a broad smile. "Now--" He placed the rod on the dock, reached down with his other hand. The fish's tail slapped the water; it turned sideways, was gone. "Lost it!" Barney commented, surprised. "Huh?" McAllen looked around. "Well, no, young man--I _turned_ him loose. He wasn't hooked bad. Crappies have delicate lips, but I use a barbless hook. Gives them better than a fighting chance." He stood up with the rod, dusting the knees of his baggy slacks. "Get all the eating fish I want anyway," he added. "You really enjoy that sport, don't you?" Barney said curiously. * * * * * McAllen advised him with the seriousness of the true devotee to try it some time. "It gets to you. It can get to be a way of living. I've been fishing since I was knee-high. Three years ago I figured I'd become good enough to write a book on the subject. I got more arguments over that book--sounder arguments too, I'd say--than about any paper I've published in physics." He looked at Barney a moment, still seriously, and went on. "I told you wetting a line would calm me down after that upset you gave me. Well, it has--fishing is as good a form of therapy as I know about. Now I've been doing some thinking. I'd be interested ... well, I'd like to talk some more about the Tube with you, Mr. Chard. And perhaps about other things too." "Very gratifying to hear that, doctor," Barney said gravely. "I did regret having to upset you, you know." McAllen shrugged. "No harm done. It's given me some ideas. We'll talk right here." He indicated the weather-beaten little cabin on the bank behind Barney. "I'm not entirely sure about the California place. That's one reason I suggested this trip." "You feel your houseman there mightn't be entirely reliable?" "Fredericks unreliable? Heavens no! He knows about the Tube, of course, but Fredericks _expects_ me to invent things. It wouldn't occur to him to talk to an outsider. He's been with me for almost forty years." "He was," remarked Barney, "listening in on the early part of our conversation today." "Well, he'll do that," McAllen agreed. "He's very curious about anyone who comes to see me. But otherwise ... no, it's just that in these days of sophisticated listening devices one shouldn't ever feel too sure of not being overheard." "True enough." Barney glanced up at the cabin. "What makes you so sure of it here, doctor?"