Eventually the turn of the position favoured Gage. The conditions under which Peckover fought rendered the struggle additionally painful; by degrees he lost ground and finally was dragged back exhausted into the water. "You stupid ass, I've a good mind to shove you under and keep you there," Gage growled. His victim could only gasp and shiver. "What must we look like from the shore?" Gage demanded savagely. Peckover made no reply, but from his manner it might have been gathered that his mental attitude on the subject was one of complete indifference. "Haven't we had enough of this tommy-rot?" at last he ventured to suggest. Gage was maintaining a fine show of keeping afloat in the four-foot-six. "I think we have," he returned. "I'm getting chilly, so we had better come to business. Now, will you keep down in the water when you've quite done advertising the fact that it isn't up to our shoulders?" All the response Peckover made was--"Look at the punt!" Keeping the corner of an eye warily on his companion, Gage turned and looked. The distance between them and the punt instead of a few feet was now some twenty yards. The cause of this alteration was obvious. Their struggles had caused the cord which made fast the craft to one of the poles to become untied and the other pole to work loose. There was some wind, under which the punt was now moving at a fair pace over the lake, dragging one pole with it. "All right," said Gage, "I'll soon catch it and bring it back." But Peckover clutched him with the tenacity of despair. "No, you don't," he exclaimed, anxiously resolute. "You don't leave me here. How am I to get ashore if you don't come back?" "Walk," answered Gage, trying to free himself. "Yes, I dare say," Peckover retorted. "You don't catch me trying it. It's not the same depth all over. We're on a bit of a bank here." "Look at the blamed thing going off," Gage cried. "Let go! She'll be a quarter of a mile away directly." But Peckover was not to be shaken off. "You don't go and leave me here," he insisted wildly, "for any old punt." The situation was an interesting one, and as such, no doubt the four spectators acknowledged it. Their comments, however, had not so far been directed to the performers. "What are you going to do?" Peckover asked, still gripping the plunging Gage. "Going for a swim," he answered unfeelingly, at the same time making spirited but futile efforts to dive. "No, you don't," Peckover returned, restraining his companion's attempts with all the energy that the chill and unusual element allowed him.