In the sweltering heat of a midsummer afternoon, young Herchimer, a tender six years of age, was being subjected to the dubious pleasure of a fishing lesson. His tutor, the elder brother Hieronymous, a ripe twelve years old, was not known for his patience. The scene was set for a comedy of errors, a veritable fishy tale of epic proportions.

“Herchimer, you must hold the worm thusly,” Hieronymous instructed, demonstrating with a wriggling earthworm. He was a lanky lad, all elbows and knees, with a mop of hair that perpetually obscured his eyes.

Herchimer, a cherubic child with a mop of golden curls, recoiled in horror. “I can’t touch that, Hieronymous! It’s… it’s… squiggly!” he protested, his round blue eyes wide with terror.

Hieronymous sighed, a sound that seemed to echo the weight of the world. “Herchimer, you cannot fish without bait. And you cannot bait without touching the worm. It’s a simple syllogism.”

Herchimer blinked, his cherubic face scrunched in confusion. “A silly-what?”

Hieronymous rolled his eyes, a gesture lost on his younger brother. “Never mind. Just hold the worm, Herchimer.”

The younger boy shook his head vehemently, his golden curls bouncing. “No, no, no! I can’t, Hieronymous! It’s too… too… wiggly!”

The elder brother sighed again, this time with an added eye roll for good measure. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you’ll have to cast the line.”

Herchimer nodded eagerly, relieved to be spared the horror of the wiggly worm. He took the fishing rod from his brother, his small hands barely able to grip the handle. With a mighty heave that would have made Hercules proud, he cast the line. The hook, baited with the offending worm, sailed through the air… and landed a mere two feet away in the water.

Hieronymous groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Herchimer, you’re supposed to cast it far, not drop it at your feet.”

“But I did throw it far, Hieronymous!” Herchimer protested, his cherubic face a picture of innocence.

The elder brother looked at the fishing line, then at his younger brother, then back at the fishing line. He sighed, a sound that seemed to echo the futility of the universe. “Herchimer, we’re going to be here all day at this rate.”

The younger boy beamed, his blue eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh, goody! I love fishing, Hieronymous!”

The elder brother groaned, a sound that seemed to echo the despair of a thousand souls. “Yes, Herchimer. I can see that.”

And so, under the blazing sun, the two brothers continued their fishing lesson. The fish, perhaps sensing the comedy of errors unfolding on the riverbank, decided to give the boys a wide berth. The worms, however, were not so lucky. But that, dear reader, is another fishy tale for another day.