the water but they still smelled "fishy." No more for me! I don't care
what fish I might get, I don't want to grab a fish. And I presume the
fish doesn't want to be grabbed either. I hastily rolled up the line.

"Splendid for the first honor, but that's goruki," Clown again made a
"fresh" remark.

"Goruki sounds like the name of a Russian literator," said Red Shirt.
"Yes, just like a Russian literator," Clown at once seconded Red Shirt.
Gorky for a Russian literator, Maruki a photographer of Shibaku, and
komeno-naruki (rice) a life-giver, eh? This Red Shirt has a bad hobby of
marshalling before anybody the name of foreigners. Everybody has his
specialty. How could a teacher of mathematics like me tell whether it is
a Gorky or shariki (rikishaman). Red Shirt should have been a little
more considerate. And if he wants to mention such names at all, let him
mention "Autobiography of Ben Franklin," or "Pushing to the Front," or
something we all know. Red Shirt has been seen once in a while bringing
a magazine with a red cover entitled Imperial Literature to the school
and poring over it with reverence. I heard it from Porcupine that Red
Shirt gets his supply of all foreign names from that magazine. Well, I
should say!

For some time, Red Shirt and Clown fished assiduously and within about
an hour they caught about fifteen fish. The funny part of it was that
all they caught were goruki; of sea-bream there was not a sign.

"This is a day of bumper crop of Russian literature," Red Shirt said,
and Clown answered:

"When one as skilled as you gets nothing but goruki, it's natural for me