ALL ADRIFT; OR, THREE MEN IN A PUNT.
["The uncertainty as to the course of business, justifies, to a certain extent, the criticisms of Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT and Mr. LABOUCHERE, upon the proceedings of the Government."—The Times.]
B-lf-r. Humph! Shifting ground again! I did think we were in for a quiet swim and good sport.
"Oh! the jolly angler's life
Is the beat of any!"
Yes, that's all very fine, IZAAK. But it depends upon your pitch—and your companions. I say, G-SCH-N, what are you up to? Don't let the punt swing round like that, man, I was nearly over, and my tackle's fouled.
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 æsthetic 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!
Sm-th. Hear the weir roaring, G-SCH-N? We're getting too near "Danger," dear boy. That's right, you've got ground there. Now, then hold her up! hold her up!
G-sch-n (a tip-toe, and at an angle). Dash it, how she drags! I was all but over! Come up! There, SM-TH, shove her up sharp, or I shall be off, or lose the pole!
Sm-th (shoving his hardest). All right! Shove it is!! Hold on, G-SCH-N,—I'm here!!!
Rude Boys (from the bank). Yah—Boo! Better git out and walk, and let hus pole that punt for yer?
