"Doc, you want some more hard tack?"

"I do not." Doc eyed the biscuit Festus was offering him with distaste. "Wait until I see Jonas...those lures were guaranteed!"

Festus shook his head and poked the fire. "I done tolt you not to be throwin' them store bought hooks in there, but you didn't pay me no heed a'tall, did you?"

Doc scowled. "Will you please explain to me how the fish know where the hooks come from?"

The hillman went on musingly. "You couldn't catch no fish with them things if'n they wuz to jump outta the water and bite you on the finger. Now if'n you wuz to spit on 'em, mebbe..."

"Unlike you, I don't foam at the mouth so spitting doesn't come naturally to me!" The old man stretched out next to the fire. "I just don't do my best fishing at night. You'll see, tomorrow morning I'll catch us the biggest catfish in that brook and then you're going to eat it and your words."

"Whatever you say, Doc," said Festus, registering a silent vow to get up extra early the next morning. Old Doc was a good doctor but when it came to fishing it was like watching a cottontail try to catch a rattlesnake.