Mr. Blundell caught his breath and gazed at him in speechless amaze.
"There's sure to be several people on the quay if it's a fine afternoon," continued his instructor. "You'll have half Dunchurch round you, praising you and patting you on the back—all in front of Venia, mind you. It'll be put in all the papers and you'll get a medal."
"And suppose we are both drowned?" said Mr. Blundell, soberly.
"Drowned? Fiddlesticks !" said Mr. Turnbull. "However, please yourself. If you're afraid——"
"I'll do it," said Blundell, decidedly.
"And mind," said the other, "don't do it as if it's as easy as kissing your fingers; be half-drowned yourself, or at least pretend to be. And when you're on the quay take your time about coming round. Be longer than Daly is; you don't want him to get all the pity."
"All right," said the other.
"After a time you can open your eyes," went on his instructor; "then, if I were you, I should say, 'Good-bye, Venia,' and close 'em again. Work it up affecting, and send messages to your aunts."
"It sounds all right," said Blundell.
"It is all right," said Mr. Turnbull. "That's just the bare idea I've given you. It's for you to improve upon it. You've got two days to think about it."