From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream across the island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat flashed into view, the rower⁠—a short, stout figure⁠—splashing badly and rolling a good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat stood up and hailed him, but Toad⁠—for it was he⁠—shook his head and settled sternly to his work.

“He’ll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,” said the Rat, sitting down again.

“Of course he will,” chuckled the Otter. “Did I ever tell you that good story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this way. Toad.⁠ ⁠…”

An errant Mayfly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in the intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of Mayflies seeing life. A swirl of water and a “cloop!” and the Mayfly was visible no more.

Neither was the Otter.