As for the wife, she looked wonderingly over the side, and realisation came to her so slowly that a laugh still flickered faintly on her face when he came up again. Even then, the sound which she uttered was as much like a chuckle as a cry. And when words came to her, they were few enough. "Oh, my pore man!" she moaned. "Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore man!"
And the baby lay on its back, and chuckled knowingly into the petals of a dishevelled daffodil.
Our 'bus had made the bend of the canal bank by this time, and now was parallel with the water, and exactly opposite to this barge. Under the united stimulus of instinctive curiosity and instinctive horror, the driver pulled up sharp; and so the 'bus stood still, and we passengers sat there, gaping at that funny thing in the sun-bonnet as it came up for a second time and sank again.
"Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore man!" moaned the wife.
And the cornet-blower, pale with horror, still applied himself automatically to the cornet. He had changed his tune since first I heard him, and the aquatic feats of the man in the sun-bonnet were conducted to music, the strains of which, being interpreted into words, ran as follows—
Hi! Hi! clear the road
For the rowdy, dowdy boys.
It came up again for the third time, and the woman on the barge grabbed frantically at nothing, and tore her arm in the effort, so that a crimson splash mingled with the eddying waters as he sank again.
And then the cornet-blower remembered himself, and dropped his cornet hastily, as though it burned him. And, of all queer things for a cornet-blower to do, he blubbered weakly, like a woman found out.
And the mischievous sun cast his shadow upon the water, and caused it to dance joyously thereon, so that you would have deemed it to be the shadow of one consumed with joy.
"Oh, my pore man!" cried the wife. "Oh, my pore man! Oh, my pore man!"