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right,” Bill said. “He gets a little wild sometimes.”
    â€œHe’s a swell guy,” Nick said. He poured water into his glass out of the pitcher. It mixed slowly with the whisky. There was more whisky than water.
    â€œYou bet your life he is,” Bill said.
    â€œMy old man’s all right,” Nick said.
    â€œYou’re damn right he is,” said Bill.
    â€œHe claims he’s never taken a drink in his life,” Nick said, as though announcing a scientific fact.
    â€œWell, he’s a doctor. My old man’s a painter. That’s different.”
    â€œHe’s missed a lot,” Nick said sadly.
    â€œYou can’t tell,” Bill said. “Everything’s got its compensations.”
    â€œHe says he’s missed a lot himself,” Nick confessed.
    â€œWell, dad’s had a tough time,” Bill said.
    â€œIt all evens up,” Nick said.
    They sat looking into the fire and thinking of this profound truth.
    â€œI’ll get a chunk from the back porch,” Nick said. He had noticed while looking into the fire that the fire was dying down. Also he wished to show he could hold his liquor and be practical. Even if his father had never touched a drop Bill was not going to get him drunk before he himself was drunk.
    â€œBring one of the big beech chunks,” Bill said. He was also being consciously practical.
    Nick came in with the log through the kitchen and in passing knocked a pan off the kitchen table. He laid the log down and picked up the pan. It had contained dried apricots, soaking in water. He carefully picked up all the apricots off the floor, some of them had gone under the stove, and put them back in the pan. He dipped some more water onto them from the pail by the table. He felt quite proud of himself. He had been thoroughly practical.
    He came in carrying the log and Bill got up from the chair and helped him put it on the fire.
    â€œThat’s a swell log,” Nick said.
    â€œI’d been saving it for the bad weather,” Bill said. “A log like that will burn all night.”
    â€œThere’ll be coals left to start the fire in the morning,” Nick said.
    â€œThat’s right,” Bill agreed. They were conducting the conversation on a high plane.
    â€œLet’s have another drink,” Nick said.
    â€œI think there’s another bottle open in the locker,” Bill said. He kneeled down in the corner in front of the locker and brought out a square-faced bottle.
    â€œIt’s Scotch,” he said.
    â€œI’ll get some more water,” Nick said. He went out into the kitchen again. He filled the pitcher with the dipper dipping cold spring water from the pail. On his way back to the living room he passed a mirror in the dining room and looked in it. His face looked strange. He smiled at the face in the mirror and it grinned back at him. He winked at it and went on. It was not his face but it didn’t make any difference.
    Bill had poured out the drinks.
    â€œThat’s an awfully big shot,” Nick said.
    â€œNot for us, Wemedge,” Bill said.
    â€œWhat’ll we drink to?” Nick asked, holding up the glass.
    â€œLet’s drink to fishing,” Bill said.
    â€œAll right,” Nick said. “Gentlemen, I give you fishing.”
    â€œAll fishing,” Bill said. “Everywhere.”
    â€œFishing,” Nick said. “That’s what we drink to.”
    â€œIt’s better than baseball,” Bill said.
    â€œThere isn’t any comparison,” said Nick. “How did we ever get talking about baseball?”
    â€œIt was a mistake,” Bill said. “Baseball is a game for louts.”
    They drank all that was in their glasses.
    â€œNow let’s drink to Chesterton.”
    â€œAnd Walpole,” Nick interposed.
    Nick poured out the liquor. Bill poured in the water. They looked at each other. They felt very fine.
    â€œGentlemen,” Bill