And I saw that they proceeded thus in edifying conversation until they came to the Thames embankment. It was somewhat difficult to preserve his presence of mind as Mr. Bumpkin descended the gangway and stepped on board the boat, which was belching forth its volumes of black smoke and rocking under the influence of the wash of a steamer that had just left the pier.
“I doant much like these ’ere booats,” said he. “Doant mind my old punt, but dang these ’ere ships.”
“There’s no danger,” said the O’Rapley, springing on board as though he had been a pilot: and then making a motion with his arm as if he was delivering a regular “length ball,” his fist unfortunately came down on Mr. Bumpkin’s white hat, in consequence of a sudden jerk of the vessel; a rocking boat not being the best of places for the delivery of length balls.
Mr. Bumpkin looked round quite in the wrong direction for ascertaining what was the cause of the sudden shock to his nervous system and his hat.
“Zounds!” said he, “what were thic?”
“What was what?” asked O’Rapley.
“Summut gie me a crack o’ the top o’ my ’ead like a thunderbolt.”
“I didn’t see anything fall,” said the Don.
“Noa; but I felt un, which I allows wur more’n seein’—lookee ’ere.”
And taking off his huge beaver he showed the dent of Mr. O’Rapley’s fist.