"Oh! the jolly angler's life
Is the beat of any!"
Yes, that's all very fine, IZAAK. But it depends upon your pitch—and your companions. I say, G-SCH-N, what are you up to? Don't let the punt swing round like that, man, I was nearly over, and my tackle's fouled.
G-sch-n (struggling with pole). All very well for you to sit coolly there and criticise me, ARTHUR! Wh-o-o-of! Confound the punt, it's all over the place, and the stream's like a mill-race.
B-lf-r. Well, hold on to the pole, JOKIM, or we shall be all adrift. We'd better have kept to our first pitch; it was quiet there, and we hooked one or two sizeable ones. (Aside.) Fact is, you're such a fidget, you lose your fish, and then want to change the pitch.
G-sch-n (aside). That's right, grumble, grumble! Dawdling duffer, he sprawls across the well in one of his infernal æsthetic attitudes, picks the best swim, and girds at us who have to handle the poles. Wonder SM-TH stands it.
Sm-th (aside). Well, it's a good job I'm back in the punt. G-SCH-N may be all very well at a right-away race in a wager-boat, when the money's on, and I've seen him do a decent bit of bank-fishing in a pegged-down match; but he doesn't shine as a punter, though he fancies himself a second ABEL BEASLEY. (Aloud.) Hitch on that chain, JOKIM!
G-sch-n (blowing). Hang it, I can't.
[Punt oscillates dangerously, nearly tipping over B-LF-R's chair, and making his rod wobble.
B-lf-r. For Heaven's sake, G-SCH-N, mind what you're up to! My hook's foul in a snag, and you've nearly snapped my top-joint.