And as young Tom usually was, his dad would entertain the passing fare for the rest of the passage with a detailed account of the unregenerateness and general cussedness of that youth, to whom he was trying to be both father and mother, and bring up in the way he ought to go. The old man would explain wrathfully that whereas his only son and heir ought to be a blessing and a comfort to him, he was nothing but a trial, and generally before the fare had got to the top of the long, steep bank the yells of young Tom resounding through the bush indicated that the way of the evil-doer, if sometimes pleasurable, was also hard.
So Tom would rather have seen the devil step on the punt that morning than his father.
The latter seized the situation with angry gratitude. The Lord had set him a pleasant duty to perform. He set about it with the air of a Roman dictator who had been called upon to pass judgment on a conspirator after a bad night.
The old man looked in the water and saw Tom. Tom had already seen the old man, and was “treading water”—and thinking. He still held the coot firmly by the neck.
“What you doin’ there, you whelp?” thundered the old man. “Come out ’ere at onct!”
He stooped and picked up the trousers and shirt which had been shed by his son and heir.
Young Tom realised that he was unarmoured, and that the full and unmitigated wrath of his parent would descend upon him as soon as he landed.
He took several quick strokes out into the clear deep stream, and trod water again, watching the old man.
“What you doin’ in there?” shouted the latter, with rising wrath. “Come out when I tell ye.”
“Are you goin’ to whale me?” demanded Tom.