fair competition. This pulling your rival away from the loot so that
you could grab it yourself--thus shockingly had the man misinterpreted
Sam's motives--was another thing altogether and his stout soul would
have none of it. He began immediately to struggle with all the violence
at his disposal. His large, hairy hands came out of the water and swung
hopefully in the direction where he assumed his assailant's face to be.

Sam was not unprepared for this display. His researches in the art of
life-saving had taught him that your drowning man frequently struggled
against his best interests. In which case, cruel to be kind, one simply
stunned the blighter. He decided to stun Mr. Swenson, though, if he had
known that gentleman more intimately and had been aware that he had the
reputation of possessing the thickest head on the water-front he would
have realised the magnitude of the task. Friends of Mr. Swenson, in
convivial moments, had frequently endeavoured to stun him with bottles,
boots, and bits of lead piping, and had gone away depressed by failure.
Sam, ignorant of this, attempted to do the job with clenched fist,
which he brought down as smartly as possible on the crown of the
other's Derby hat.

It was the worst thing he could have done. Mr. Swenson thought highly
of his hat and this brutal attack upon it confirmed his gloomiest
apprehensions. Now thoroughly convinced that the only thing to do was
to sell his life dearly he wrenched himself round, seized his assailant
by the neck, twined his arms about his middle, and accompanied him
below the surface.

By the time he had swallowed his first pint and was beginning his
second, Sam was reluctantly compelled to come to the conclusion that
this was the end. The thought irritated him unspeakably. This, he felt,