II
They were buying their Maine tackle at Ijams Brothers',
the Sporting Goods Mart, with the help of Willis Ijams, fellow
member of the Boosters' Club. Babbitt was completely mad.
He trumpeted and danced. He muttered to Paul, "Say, this
is pretty good, eh? To be buying the stuff, eh? And good
old Willis Ijams himself coming down on the floor to wait on
us! Say, if those fellows that are getting their kit for the
North Lakes knew we were going clear up to Maine, they'd
have a fit, eh? . . . Well, come on, Brother Ijams—Willis,
I mean. Here's your chance! We're a couple of easy marks!
Whee! Let me at it! I'm going to buy out the store!''
He gloated on fly-rods and gorgeous rubber hip-boots, on
tents with celluloid windows and folding chairs and ice-boxes.
He simple-heartedly wanted to buy all of them. It was the
Paul whom he was always vaguely protecting who kept him
from his drunken desires.
But even Paul lightened when Willis Ijams, a salesman with
poetry and diplomacy, discussed flies. "Now, of course, you
boys know.'' he said, "the great scrap is between dry flies
and wet flies. Personally, I'm for dry flies. More sporting.''
"That's so. Lots more sporting,'' fulminated Babbitt, who
knew very little about flies either wet or dry.
"Now if you'll take my advice, Georgie, you'll stock up well
on these pale evening dims, and silver sedges, and red ants.
Oh, boy, there's a fly, that red ant!''
"You bet! That's what it is—a fly!'' rejoiced Babbitt.
"Yes, sir, that red ant,'' said Ijams, "is a real honest-to-God
fly!''
"Oh, I guess ole Mr. Trout won't come a-hustling when I
drop one of those red ants on the water!'' asserted Babbitt, and
his thick wrists made a rapturous motion of casting.
"Yes, and the landlocked salmon will take it, too,'' said
Ijams, who had never seen a landlocked salmon.
"Salmon! Trout! Say, Paul, can you see Uncle George
with his khaki pants on haulin' 'em in, some morning 'bout
seven? Whee!''
