the bottom.  At last, he caught sight of me, and with renewed energy he plunged away again, clear across the current and out into the lake.  But the tension of the elastic rod working against him steadily, and always, was too much for his strength, and again I reeled him in, struggling still, though faintly.  Slowly, but steadily, I reeled him to my hand.  He was just by the edge of the rock, almost within reach of my landing net, when, with a last desperate effort to escape, he plunged towards the bottom, made a dive under the rock, the line came against its edge, slipped gratingly for a moment, snapped, and the fish was gone.  He was a beautiful trout, and beautifully he played.  He deserved freedom on account of the energy with which he struggled for it.

“You will see, therefore, that, as I said, I was in a dilemma.  The action against me was well brought.  I could not deny the truth of the facts charged against me in the complaint.  In this position of affairs, three alternatives presented themselves; first, a denial of the truth of the complaint, but that involved perjury; secondly, admission of the facts charged, but that involved conviction; and, thirdly, a compromise, and the latter one I adopted.

“‘Can’t this thing be settled,’ said I, to the old lawyer fish of the St. Lawrence, ’without litigation? me and my four companions overboard, place us in statu quo, and the action shall be discontinued.’

“‘Agreed,’ said I, and I reached down to enter upon the performance of my part of the contract.

“‘Wait a moment,’ said he, curling up his shaky tail, ’the costs—­who pays the costs?’

“‘The costs!’ I replied, ‘each pays his own, of course.’

“‘Not so fast,’ he exclaimed, ’not quite so fast.  You must pay the costs, or the suit goes on.’

“There was something human in the tenacity with which that old ‘lawyer’ clung to the idea of costs.  There he was gasping for breath, his life depending upon the result of the negotiation, and still he insisted upon the payment of costs as a condition of compromise.”

“Probably out of regard for the interest of his client,” said Spalding, gravely; “but proceed with the case.”

“‘Fisherman,’ said I,” resumed the Doctor, “’what is the cost of these five lawyers?  How much for the fee simple of the lot?’

“‘They ain’t worth but ninepence,’ he replied.

“‘Good,’ said I, ‘here’s a shilling, York currency.’

“‘Agreed,’ said he, and threw in a sucker, by way of change.

“‘Anything more?’ I asked of the old cormorant lawyer.

“‘No,’ he replied; ’all right—­so toss us overboard, and be quick, for my breath is getting a little short.’  I threw them over, one at a time, the old fellow last, and as he slipped from my hand into the river, he thrust his ugly face out of the water, and said, coolly, ‘Good morning!  When you come our way again, drop in.’