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● Jack Greymoss ●
‘The Stock Brook, is it?’ Jack took the pole Tollers offered him and looked it over. ‘Yep, this’ll do just fine. Did you make it yourself, Tollers?’ he asked as the two waded out a little into the water and climbed into the boat.
He let Tollers take the oars as he knew the river and Jack didn’t. On the way home, he promised to himself, I’ll do the rowing. It was a generous thought on his part; the sort he was unaccustomed to thinking. Jack reached up and scratched his head. Just what was going on here?
They soon arrived at one of Toller's favorite pools. Jack helped throw out the little anchor – a rope and a heavy stone. Baiting his hook, he threw it out a little away from Toller’s own line.
‘By my old man’s whiskers!’ he cried, seeing the bobber begin to bob up and down with a vigor almost right away. ‘You were right, my friend! Great place to fish!’
He hauled in the first of his catch with a laugh. ‘You know, Tollers, you’re an easy man to be around,’ he said stringing his catch on a rope line and lowering it back into the water to keep fresh. ‘You ever get a mind to…you have time, that is, we could see some of those sights you heard about…
Though not right away, I hope.. he thought to himself. I kinda like it here…
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