“Now, I say,” cried Jack, who was the first to get breath to express his views on the aspect of affairs, “Andrew deserves a ducking.”
“And the sooner he gets it the better,” said Phil.
“Shut up, will you,” shouted Andrew, who, feeling himself powerless in the hands of the schoolboys, with Hubert and Gaston as their helpers, was really alarmed; “Shut up, will you? I’m not a bit afraid for myself, but you’ll find it rather poor fun, I can tell you, to drown a chap.”
“Poor fun, do you think so? Wait and see,” said Phil; “besides, if you behave yourself, we may just stop short of drowning you; give you a chance, at any rate, of seeing what a really good ducking will do for you.”
“And it shall be a ducking and a half, you bet,” said Jack, cheerfully. “Come on, you fellows,” he added, and having finished tying Andrew’s hands and feet together, Jack gave him the first decisive shove towards the stream.
It was a very shallow one, you know, measuring about twelve feet across from bank to bank, and hardly deep enough at the point where the willow grew to reach Gaston’s elbow standing upright, but Andrew’s terror of water in any shape was only equal to his fear of cows, so that the prospect of being thrust head foremost into the river made him wild.
“Better behave pretty,” jeered Phil. “Why, you’re wriggling like one of your miserable butterflies when you stick a pin through them. You are always so sure they’re enjoying it, try and enjoy this too.”
“I’m fa—ain—ting,” whined Andrew; “the doctor would——”
“Order cold water like a shot for you,” rejoined Jack. “Now then, boys!”
“Look your last, Andrew, at the pretty green fields,” began Phil, helping in the gentle propelling of Andrew into the stream, “and the bright blue sky, for here you are going, going, going, gone!”