But ah, to fish with a worm, and then not catch your fish!  To fail with a fly is no disgrace:  your art may have been impeccable, your patience faultless to the end.  But the philosophy of worm-fishing is that of Results, of having something tangible in your basket when the day’s work is done.  It is a plea for Compromise, for cutting the coat according to the cloth, for taking the world as it actually is.  The fly-fisherman is a natural Foe of Compromise.  He throws to the trout a certain kind of lure; an they will take it, so; if not, adieu.  He knows no middle path.

  “This high man, aiming at a million,
   Misses an unit.”

The raptures and the tragedies of consistency are his.  He is a scorner of the ground.  All honor to him!  When he comes back at nightfall and says happily, “I have never cast a line more perfectly than I have to-day,” it is almost indecent to peek into his creel.  It is like rating Colonel Newcome by his bank account.

But the worm-fisherman is no such proud and isolated soul.  He is a “low man” rather than a high one; he honestly cares what his friends will think when they look into his basket to see what he has to show for his day’s sport.  He watches the Foe of Compromise men go stumbling forward and superbly falling, while he, with less inflexible courage, manages to keep his feet.  He wants to score, and not merely to give a pretty exhibition of base-running.  At the Harvard-Yale football game of 1903 the Harvard team showed superior strength in rushing the ball; they carried it almost to the Yale goal line repeatedly, but they could not, for some reason, take it over.  In the instant of absolute need, the Yale line held, and when the Yale team had to score in order to win, they scored.  As the crowd streamed out of the Stadium, a veteran Harvard alumnus said:  “This news will cause great sorrow in one home I know of, until they learn by to-morrow’s papers that the Harvard team acquitted itself creditably.”  Exactly.  Given one team bent upon acquitting itself creditably, and another team determined to win, which will be victorious?  The stay-at-homes on the Yale campus that day were not curious to know whether their team was acquitting itself creditably, but whether it was winning the game.  Every other question than that was to those young Philistines merely a fine-spun irrelevance.  They took the Cash and let the Credit go.

There is much to be said, no doubt, for the Harvard veteran’s point of view.  The proper kind of credit may be a better asset for eleven boys than any championship; and to fish a bit of water consistently and skillfully, with your best flies and in your best manner, is perhaps achievement enough.  So says the Foe of Compromise, at least.  But the Yale spirit will be prying into the basket in search of fish; it prefers concrete results.  If all men are by nature either Platonists or Aristotelians, fly-fishermen or worm-fishermen, how difficult it is