“She’s been washing our dirty linen for your pleasure then?”
“Not at all. But—”
“God damn it!” burst out the other. “Ain’t there to be any peace left in the world? You get out of this and keep out of it, or—”
“Don’t be silly, Ned,—listen.”
“To you? Not much. There’s some hooken-snivey going on here by the looks of it. Blast you—there—that’s my answer to you!”
Dingle, in a white-hot passion, swung his arm, hit Kellock on the side of his head with a tremendous blow and knocked him down. They were on the edge of the lake and Medora’s champion rolled over and fell into water ten feet deep. He was stunned and sank, then came to the surface again.
Ned’s rage vanished with the blow, for now he saw in a moment the gravity of the situation. Kellock appeared to be unconscious and would certainly drown if left in the water.
The man on the bank flung himself upon his stomach, leant over, gripped his victim by the collar and dragged him breast high under the bank. In this position Kellock came at once to his senses.
“I’m sorry—I’m cruel sorry,” said Dingle. “Lift up your hands and put ’em round my neck—then I’ll heave you out.”
Kellock opened his eyes and panted, but did nothing for a moment.