And so it came about that, having reached the Cob and spying in the distance the grey head of the professor bobbing about on the face of the waters, we dived in and swam rapidly towards him.
His face was turned in the opposite direction when we came up with him. He was floating peacefully on his back, and it was plain that he had not observed our approach. For when, treading water easily in his rear, I wished him good morning in my most conciliatory tone, he stood not upon the order of his sinking, but went under like so much pig- iron.
I waited courteously until he rose to the surface again, when I repeated my remark.
He expelled the last remnant of water from his mouth with a wrathful splutter, and cleared his eyes with the back of his hand. I confess to a slight feeling of apprehension as I met his gaze. Nor was my uneasiness diminished by the spectacle of Ukridge splashing tactfully in the background like a large seal. Ukridge so far had made no remarks. He had dived in very flat, and I imagine that his breath had not yet returned to him. He had the air of one who intends to get used to his surroundings before trusting himself to speech.
“The water is delightfully warm,” I said.
“Oh, it’s you!” said the professor; and I could not cheat myself into the belief that he spoke cordially. Ukridge snorted loudly in the offing. The professor turned sharply, as if anxious to observe this marine phenomenon; and the annoyed gurgle which he gave showed that he was not approving of Ukridge either. I did not approve of Ukridge myself. I wished he had not come. Ukridge, in the water, lacks dignity. I felt that he prejudiced my case.
“You are swimming splendidly this morning,” I went on perseveringly, feeling that an ounce of flattery is worth a pound of rhetoric. “If,” I added, “you will allow me to say so.”
“I will not!” he snapped. “I–” here a small wave, noticing that his mouth was open, stepped in. “I wish,” he resumed warmly, “as I said in me letter, to have nothing to do with you. I consider that ye’ve behaved in a manner that can only be described as abominable, and I will thank you to leave me alone.”
“But allow me–”
“I will not allow ye, sir. I will allow ye nothing. Is it not enough to make me the laughing-stock, the butt, sir, of this town, without pursuing me in this way when I wish to enjoy a quiet swim?”
“Now, laddie, laddie,” said Ukridge, placing a large hand on his shoulder, “these are harsh words! Be reasonable! Think before you speak. You little know…”
“Go to the devil!” said the professor. “I wish to have nothing to do with either of you. I should be glad if you would cease this persecution. Persecution, sir!”
His remarks, which I have placed on paper as if they were continuous and uninterrupted, were punctuated in reality by a series of gasps and puffings, as he received and rejected the successors of the wave he had swallowed at the beginning of our little chat. The art of conducting conversation while in the water is not given to every swimmer. This he seemed to realise, for, as if to close the interview, he proceeded to make his way as quickly as he could to the shore. Unfortunately, his first dash brought him squarely up against Ukridge, who, not having expected the collision, clutched wildly at him and took him below the surface again. They came up a moment later on the worst terms.
“Are you trying to drown me, sir?” barked the professor.
“My dear old horse,” said Ukridge complainingly, “it’s a little hard. You might look where you’re going.”
“You grappled with me!”
“You took me by surprise, laddie. Rid yourself of the impression that you’re playing water-polo.”
“But, professor,” I said, joining the group and treading water, “one moment.”
I was growing annoyed with the man. I could have ducked him, but for the reflection that my prospects of obtaining his consent to my engagement would scarcely have been enhanced thereby.