Marvin Pincus caught the phone on the third ring. It was Margaret down at the Rest of Your Life convalescent home.

“Marvin,” she said, “do you make house calls?”

“For what?”

“You know, love counseling … fly tying.”

“Uh, sure, why not? You need some help, Margaret?”

“Not me. I’m calling for George Walker. You know, Pop Walker?”

“Isn’t he about 105 years old?”

“Eighty-seven, I think. Can you come over?”

Marvin packed his portable fly-tying kit, put on a necktie and drove to the edge of town, near the park, where the home for old-timers stands.

“Hi Pop,” Marvin said, walking into his room.

“Oh hi there, uh … “

“Marvin.”

“Right. Marvin. Sit down. What can I do ya fer?”

“I thought you wanted some love advice from me. You know, the fly tying love advice?”

“Fly tying! That’s right. I need the love fly, Marvin. Tie me up one, because I need a date with Opal. That’s what you do, right? You tie a fly. I pin it on my shirt, and the girls just go nuts over me, right?”

“Well, Pop, I can do that, but most people want love advice from me, and the fly just kinda goes along with it.”

“Now why would I be asking a youngster like you for love advice? You just tie me up that lucky love fly and watch me work. What kind of fly do you think I should have?”

Marvin looked solemnly at the antique leprechaun.

“A spinner, I think. You know, for the all-out graceful last-minute love. I think I’ll tie you a spent drake.”

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