“Nice? It’s the only thing,” said the Water Rat solemnly as he leant forward for his stroke. “Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing ⁠—absolute nothing⁠—half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,” he went on dreamily: “messing⁠—about⁠—in⁠—boats; messing⁠—”

“Look ahead, Rat!” cried the Mole suddenly.

It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The dreamer, the joyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the boat, his heels in the air.