It was stupendous! Mr. Polly had discovered the heel of Achilles. Uncle Jim had no stomach for cold water. The broom floated away, pitching gently on the swell. Mr. Polly, infuriated with victory, thrust Uncle Jim under again, and drove the punt round on its chain in such a manner that when Uncle Jim came up for the fourth time--and now he was nearly out of his depth, too buoyed up to walk and apparently nearly helpless,--Mr. Polly, fortunately for them both, could not reach him. Uncle Jim made the clumsy gestures of those who struggle insecurely in the water. "Keep out," said Mr. Polly. Uncle Jim with a great effort got a footing, emerged until his arm-pits were out of water, until his waistcoat buttons showed, one by one, till scarcely two remained, and made for the camp sheeting. "Keep out!" cried Mr. Polly, and leapt off the punt and followed the movements of his victim along the shore. "I tell you I got a weak chess," said Uncle Jim, moistly. "This ain't fair fightin'." "Keep out!" said Mr. Polly. "This ain't fair fightin'," said Uncle Jim, almost weeping, and all his terrors had gone. "Keep out!" said Mr. Polly, with an accurately poised pole. "I tell you I got to land, you Fool," said Uncle Jim, with a sort of despairing wrathfulness, and began moving down-stream. "You keep out," said Mr. Polly in parallel movement. "Don't you ever land on this place again!..." Slowly, argumentatively, and reluctantly, Uncle Jim waded down-stream. He tried threats, he tried persuasion, he even tried a belated note of pathos; Mr. Polly remained inexorable, if in secret a little perplexed as to the outcome of the situation. "This cold's getting to my _marrer_!" said Uncle Jim. "You want cooling. You keep out in it," said Mr. Polly. They came round the bend into sight of Nicholson's ait, where the backwater runs down to the Potwell Mill. And there, after much parley and several feints, Uncle Jim made a desperate effort and struggled into clutch of the overhanging _osiers_ on the island, and so got out of the water with the millstream between them. He emerged dripping and muddy and vindictive. "By _Gaw_!" he said. "I'll skin you for this!" "You keep off or I'll do worse to you," said Mr. Polly. The spirit was out of Uncle Jim for the time, and he turned away to struggle through the _osiers_ towards the mill, leaving a shining trail of water among the green-grey stems. Mr. Polly returned slowly and thoughtfully to the inn, and suddenly his mind began to bubble with phrases. The plump woman stood at the top of the steps that led up to the inn door to greet him. "Law!" she cried as he drew near, "'asn't 'e killed you?" "Do I look like it?" said Mr. Polly. "But where's Jim?" "Gone off." "'E was mad drunk and dangerous!" "I put him in the river," said Mr. Polly. "That toned down his alcolaceous frenzy! I gave him a bit of a doing altogether." "Hain't he 'urt you?" "Not a bit of it!" "Then what's all that blood beside your ear?"