The old man sat on the river bank. Fishing.

Across the river, an impatient bearded man kept reeling his in line and recasting it.

Then the bearded man walked across the surface of the deep river.

“Hello brother,” the bearded man said. “I’m late… Um, you caught anything?”

“There’s one in the basket.”

The bearded man looked in the basket. “Amazing! Now there are ten! Can I take five? The boys are waiting for dinner.”

The old man nodded.

“Thanks a lot. Never been much of a fisher of fishes. More a fisher of men type ‘o guy.”