“No, you won’t be drowned,” he said, “you won’t I’m convinced o’ that, but (leaning over the rail and glowing at his progeny in the water) you’ll be ’ung!”
“I’d rather be hung than whaled with that strap, bare.”
“If you don’t come out,” explained the father, in a tone intended to express sorrow rather than anger, “you’ll get a double allowance, an’ I’ll stop yer grub for a whole day!”
“You lemme off this time!” pleaded young Tom, “an’ I won’t do it any more.”
“You’ve said that afore,” retorted old Tom; “you ain’t to be trusted. It’s a ’orrible thing to think,” he added, “that a man’s only son should be a liar an’ a vagabond—a most owdacious an’ ’orrible thing!”
“Dave Gibson wants to come acrost,” said Tom, in the hope of creating a diversion.
“Are you coming out or are you not?” thundered the old man.
“No,” replied Tom, treading the water with greater resolution. “I’ll be hanged if I am!”
“All right,” cried old Tom, seizing the handle and starting the punt; “you’ll get it double an’ treble for this.”
“Gimme me clothes,” shouted the youth in the water.