We looked at each other sadly.

"No use," sighed Dick at last. "They've never invented the words, and
we'd upset if we kicked the dog."

I had the end of the line in my hands.

"Look here!" I cried. That thick brass wire had been as cleanly bitten
through as though it had been cut with clippers. "He must have caught
sight of you," said I.

Dick lifted up his voice in lamentation. "You had four feet of him out
of water," he wailed, "and there was a lot more."

"If you had kept cool," said I severely, "we shouldn't have lost him.
You don't want to get rattled in an emergency; there's no sense in it."

"What were you going to do with that?" asked Dick, pointing to where I
had laid the pistol.

"I was going to shoot him in the head," I replied with dignity. "It's
the best way to land them."

Dick laughed disagreeably. I looked down. At my side lay our largest
iron spoon.

We skirted the left-hand side of the lake in silence. Far out from
shore the water was ruffled where the wind swept down, but with us it
was as still and calm as the forest trees that looked over into it.