Gage, kicking and struggling, was at length obliged to desist, after having furnished a several minutes' novel and exhilarating exhibition to the puzzled spectators. Short of actual murderous violence, it was not possible for him to free himself from the tenacious Peckover. It was difficult, he had to own, to do much in the way of natation with a desperate person hanging like grim death on to his legs, moreover, Peckover's embrace had a tendency to send Gage's head under water and to keep it there. So, exasperated and vindictive as he felt, he had to compromise. "Well," he said, veiling his displeasure and sense of defeat with a cheerless grin, "am I going to save your life or not--before we catch our death of cold?" "You've got to," was the dogged reply. "Five thousand a year is too good to say good-bye to in the middle of a pond." "It is all your silly rot that has stuck us here," Gage returned. "If you hadn't played the drivelling idiot, the life-saving performance would have been comfortably over half an hour ago." "Well, get it over now," retorted Peckover, "as quick as you like, and no tricks." "All right; come on," said Gage ill-humouredly. "Let's hope those fools won't see through the fake." "This way," said Peckover, starting off breast-high in the water, towards the nearest shore, and still holding tightly to his companion. "You are not going to walk?" Gage exclaimed aghast. "I'm going to do what I can do best, and I can't swim," Peckover replied, with a determination which was apparent even through his shivering. "We'll have to try this life-saving joke in some other form. It's getting a bit stale this way." Slowly their progress towards the shore, impeded by mud and thick weeds, began. They had not noticed that the farmer, actuated by humanitarian motives or with an eye to reduction of rent, had run off to an old boat-house, and was now hurrying back with an oar and a coil of rope. "All right, my lord!" shouted the butcher, as taking credit for his friend's action. The two men, shivering and struggling unromantically through the jungle of weeds, smiled unpleasantly at the cry. Suddenly Peckover became aware that the water was up to his chin. "It's getting deeper," he gasped, trying to hold his companion back. "Let it," Gage retorted sulkily. "We've got to get to shore, dead or alive." With an energy which suggested his preference for the latter mode of arrival Peckover threw his arms around Gage and tried to draw him back. "Try another way," he panted. "You can. I'm going straight on. You should learn to swim," was the unkind response. "If you don't let go, not another penny of my money shall you see," Gage added, beginning to have doubts about his own ultimate safety in those dreadful weeds. "You're not going to leave me here to drown?" Peckover remonstrated, shaking with terror. "You can go back." "What's the good of that?" "I'll fetch a boat."