“Keep quiet, you idiot!” he shouted. “If you want to get drowned, this is the surest way of doing it. Let me alone and I’ll get you out of this.”
It need not be said that the donkey did not understand these remarks.
Trim spoke just as any one will in dealing with animals, hardly conscious of the fact that animals have no language.
He laughed even as he did so at the thought of the peculiar spectacle he presented struggling in the middle of a river with a frightened donkey.
It had its funny side, but it was a hard struggle just the same, for Mr. Donkey was bound that he would kick himself free and make for the opposite shore, while Trim was equally determined that he should yield and go to the raft.
In the course of the struggle the donkey’s head went under the surface. When it came up his bray gurgled and he threw out two or three quarts of water.
“Behave yourself!” roared Trim, who the next instant was carried under.
“I’ll bet a shillin’ on the donkey,” shouted Dobbin, who was howling with laughter from his position on the raft near the shore.
“Even money on the man!” cried one of the whites who was on the other raft further down stream.
“If you fellows would shut up your hollering and come out here,” shouted Trim, “we might get the durned beast out of it.”