“Pull your right⁠—you, you idiot! back with your left. No, not you ⁠—the other one⁠—leave the lines alone, can’t you⁠—now, both together. Not that way. Oh, you⁠—!”

Then they would lower a boat and come to our assistance; and, after quarter of an hour’s effort, would get us clean out of their way, so that they could go on; and we would thank them so much, and ask them to give us a tow. But they never would.

Another good way we discovered of irritating the aristocratic type of steam launch, was to mistake them for a beanfeast, and ask them if they were Messrs. Cubit’s lot or the Bermondsey Good Templars, and could they lend us a saucepan.