“No,” said Podington, “he isn’t an ox; but perhaps I can stop him.” And with as much voice as he could summon, he called out: “Whoa!” and the horse stopped. “If you can’t steer him any other way,” said Buller, “we must get the reins. Lend me your whip.” “I have dropped that too,” said Podington; “there it floats.” “Oh, dear,” said Buller, “I guess I’ll have to dive for them; if he were to run away, we should be in an awful fix.” “Don’t get out! Don’t get out!” exclaimed Podington. “You can reach over the dashboard.” “As that’s under water,” said Buller, “it will be the same thing as diving; but it’s got to be done, and I’ll try it. Don’t you move now; I am more used to water than you are.” Mr. Buller took off his hat and asked his friend to hold it. He thought of his watch and other contents of his pockets, but there was no place to put them, so he gave them no more consideration. Then bravely getting on his knees in the water, he leaned over the dashboard, almost disappearing from sight. With his disengaged hand Mr. Podington grasped the submerged coat-tails of his friend. In a few seconds the upper part of Mr. Buller rose from the water. He was dripping and puffing, and Mr. Podington could not but think what a difference it made in the appearance of his friend to have his hair plastered close to his head. “I got hold of one of them,” said the sputtering Buller, “but it was fast to something and I couldn’t get it loose.” “Was it thick and wide?” asked Podington. “Yes,” was the answer; “it did seem so.” “Oh, that was a trace,” said Podington; “I don’t want that; the reins are thinner and lighter.” “Now I remember they are,” said Buller. “I’ll go down again.” Again Mr. Buller leaned over the dashboard, and this time he remained down longer, and when he came up he puffed and sputtered more than before. “Is this it?” said he, holding up a strip of wet leather. “Yes,” said Podington, “you’ve got the reins.” “Well, take them, and steer. I would have found them sooner if his tail had not got into my eyes. That long tail’s floating down there and spreading itself out like a fan; it tangled itself all around my head. It would have been much easier if he had been a bob-tailed horse.” “Now then,” said Podington, “take your hat, Thomas, and I’ll try to drive.” Mr. Buller put on his hat, which was the only dry thing about him, and the nervous Podington started the horse so suddenly that even the sea-legs of Buller were surprised, and he came very near going backward into the water; but recovering himself, he sat down. “I don’t wonder you did not like to do this, William,” said he. “Wet as I am, it’s ghastly!” Encouraged by his master’s voice, and by the feeling of the familiar hand upon his bit, the horse moved bravely on.