constant visitor at the house of Red Shirt, and wherever he went, Clown
was sure to be trailing after him. They appeared more like master and
servant than two fellow teachers. As Clown used to follow Red Shirt like
a shadow, it would be natural to see them go off together now, but when
those two alone would have been well off, why should they invite
me,--this brusque, unaesthetic fellow,--was hard to understand.
Probably, vain of his fishing ability, he desired to show his skill, but
he aimed at the wrong mark, if that was his intention, as nothing of the
kind would touch me. I would not be chagrined if he fishes out two or
three tunnies. I am a man myself and poor though I may be in the art, I
would hook something if I dropped a line. If I declined his invitation,
Red Shirt would suspect that I refused not because of my lack of
interest in the game but because of my want of skill of fishing. I
weighed the matter thus, and accepted his invitation. After the school,
I returned home and got ready, and having joined Red Shirt and Clown at
the station, we three started to the shore. There was only one boatman
to row; the boat was long and narrow, a kind we do not have in Tokyo. I
looked for fishing rods but could find none.

"How can we fish without rods? How are we going to manage it?" I asked
Clown and he told me with the air of a professional fisherman that no
rods were needed in the deep-sea fishing, but only lines. I had better
not asked him if I was to be talked down in this way.

The boatman was rowing very slowly, but his skill was something
wonderful. We had already come far out to sea, and on turning back, saw
the shore minimized, fading in far distance. The five-storied pagoda of
Tosho Temple appeared above the surrounding woods like a needle-point.
Yonder stood Aoshima (Blue Island). Nobody was living on this island
which a closer view showed to be covered with stones and pine trees. No