“Buck up, laddie!” he roared encouragingly.  “I had anticipated this.  Something seemed to tell me that your nerve would go when it came to the point.  You’re deuced lucky, old horse, to have a man like me at your side.  Why, if you were alone, you wouldn’t have a word to say for yourself.  You’d just gape at the man and yammer.  But I’m with you laddie, I’m with you.  If your flow of conversation dries up, count on me to keep the thing going.”

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 . . .”