G-sch-n. Well, wind up, then!
B-lf-r (muttering, and wrestling with his rod). All very well, man, but I've got to get clear first. Keep her still a minute, do.
[G-SCH-N "holds on" till he gets red in the face, whilst B-LF-R tugs at his tackle.
Sm-th (shoving strenuously). My duty—to my—pals and punt—must be done—at any cost; but if this is—"the contemplative man's recreation,"—give me a hammock at Greenlands! (Puffs and blows. Aloud.) Are you all right, there, G-SCH-N?
G-sch-n (petulantly). All right be blowed! What are you up to?
Sm-th (mildly). Trying to keep you straight, of course, my dear boy?
G-sch-n. Oh! I like that!
B-lf-r (working away at his winch). Humph! We've stirred up a quiet swim, wasted a lot of ground-bait, lost several fish, and—now where are we?
Sm-th. Look out, G-SCH-N! We shall be foul of that awkward snag if we're not careful! Let's settle down here.
G-sch-n (stabbing wildly with his pole). All very well—but I can't find bottom that will hold. Shove, SM-TH, and keep your end up!