I start up wildly, and knock my hat off into the water. Jump after it, at the imminent risk of going in myself, catch it by one of the strings, and stare at Halicarnassus.
"Asleep, I fancy?" says Halicarnassus, interrogatively.
"Fancy," I echo, dreamily.
"How many fishes?" persists Halicarnassus.
"Fishes?" says the echo.
"Yes, fishes," repeats Halicarnassus, in a louder tone.
"Yes, it must have been the fishes," murmurs the echo.
"Goodness gracious me!" ejaculates Halicarnassus, with the voice of a giant; "how many fishes have you caught?"
"Oh! yes," waking up and hastening to appease his wrath; "eight,—chiefly cod."
Indignation chokes his speech. Meanwhile I wake up still further, and, instead of standing before him like a culprit, beard him like an avenging Fury, and upbraid him with his deception and desertion. He attempts to defend himself, but is overpowered. Conscious guilt dyes his face, and remorse gnaws at the roots of his tongue.