G-sch-n (struggling with pole).  All very well for you to sit coolly there and criticise me, ARTHUR! Wh-o-o-of! Confound the punt, it’s all over the place, and the stream’s like a mill-race.

B-lf-r.  Well, hold on to the pole, JOKIM, or we shall be all adrift.  We’d better have kept to our first pitch; it was quiet there, and we hooked one or two sizeable ones. (Aside.) Fact is, you’re such a fidget, you lose your fish, and then want to change the pitch.

G-sch-n (aside).  That’s right, grumble, grumble!  Dawdling duffer, he sprawls across the well in one of his infernal aesthetic attitudes, picks the best swim, and girds at us who have to handle the poles.  Wonder SM-TH stands it.

Sm-th (aside).  Well, it’s a good job I’m back in the punt.  G-SCH-N may be all very well at a right-away race in a wager-boat, when the money’s on, and I’ve seen him do a decent bit of bank-fishing in a pegged-down match; but he doesn’t shine as a punter, though he fancies himself a second ABEL BEASLEY. (Aloud.) Hitch on that chain, JOKIM!

G-sch-n (blowing).  Hang it, I can’t.

    [Punt oscillates dangerously, nearly tipping over B-LF-R’s
    chair, and making his rod wobble.

B-lf-r.  For Heaven’s sake, G-SCH-N, mind what you’re up to!  My hook’s foul in a snag, and you’ve nearly snapped my top-joint.

G-sch-n. Well, wind up, then!

B-lf-r (muttering, and wrestling with his rod).  All very well, man, but I’ve got to get clear first.  Keep her still a minute, do.

    [G-SCH-N “holds on” till he gets red in the face, whilst
    B-LF-R tugs at his tackle.

Sm-th (shoving strenuously).  My duty—­to my—­pals and punt—­must be done—­at any cost; but if this is—­“the contemplative man’s recreation,”—­give me a hammock at Greenlands! (Puffs and blows.  Aloud.) Are you all right, there, G-SCH-N?

G-sch-n (petulantly).  All right be blowed!  What are you up to?

Sm-th (mildly).  Trying to keep you straight, of course, my dear boy?

G-sch-n.  Oh!  I like that!

B-lf-r (working away at his winch).  Humph!  We’ve stirred up a quiet swim, wasted a lot of ground-bait, lost several fish, and—­now where are we?

Sm-th.  Look out, G-SCH-N!  We shall be foul of that awkward snag if we’re not careful!  Let’s settle down here.

G-sch-n (stabbing wildly with his pole).  All very well—­but I can’t find bottom that will hold.  Shove, SM-TH, and keep your end up!

Sm-th.  Just what I’m trying to do. [Pushes gallantly.

B-lf-r.  Nice chance for hooking ’em after this infernal stir-up!  Take me half an hour to get my tackle out of tangle, and then it’ll be close on to shutting-up time.  One big ’un and two or three little ones not much to return with.  Look at those impudent young rascals chyiking us from the banks!  Oh, for heaven’s sake, you fellows, get her fixed!