Great Scott! Damnation take it! Stanley lifted up to see a dark head
bobbing far out and an arm lifted. It was Jonathan Trout--there before
him! "Glorious morning!" sang the voice.

"Yes, very fine!" said Stanley briefly. Why the dickens didn't the fellow
stick to his part of the sea? Why should he come barging over to this
exact spot? Stanley gave a kick, a lunge and struck out, swimming overarm.
But Jonathan was a match for him. Up he came, his black hair sleek on his
forehead, his short beard sleek.

"I had an extraordinary dream last night!" he shouted.

What was the matter with the man? This mania for conversation irritated
Stanley beyond words. And it was always the same--always some piffle about
a dream he'd had, or some cranky idea he'd got hold of, or some rot he'd
been reading. Stanley turned over on his back and kicked with his legs
till he was a living waterspout. But even then..."I dreamed I was hanging
over a terrifically high cliff, shouting to some one below." You would be!
thought Stanley. He could stick no more of it. He stopped splashing.
"Look here, Trout," he said, "I'm in rather a hurry this morning."

"You're WHAT?" Jonathan was so surprised--or pretended to be--that he sank
under the water, then reappeared again blowing.

"All I mean is," said Stanley, "I've no time to--to--to fool about. I want
to get this over. I'm in a hurry. I've work to do this morning--see?"

Jonathan was gone before Stanley had finished. "Pass, friend!" said the
bass voice gently, and he slid away through the water with scarcely a
ripple...But curse the fellow! He'd ruined Stanley's bathe. What an