MY ' PUSHER/ 253 



fate, congratulating myself that the period of our 

 intercourse was limited. 



At length we got under way. The sun was 

 warm and I was impatient, so without making 

 allowance for the heat, and believing that as 

 more than a mile or so had been traversed, I might 

 retaliate on my insulter, I hinted that he was 

 taking his work easy ; but, as has often happened in 

 such cases, I found myself in the wrong box. My 

 pusher abruptly sat down, gently hinting that he 

 had no objection to my trying my hand at poling 

 if I was so inclined, adding that he was darn'd 

 certain that such a change of work as would allow 

 him to do the gunning would be certain to result in 

 a heavier bag. 



Obstinate, pig-headed, low-bred, good-for-nothing 

 brute, were among the invectives that hovered on 

 the tip of my tongue, but there was one of those 

 indescribable but easily imagined twinkles in his 

 eye that warned me how much better it would be 

 not to express my feelings. A suspension of verbal 

 hostilities, therefore, ensued for ten minutes, during 

 which time the tide was rapidly carrying us home- 

 ward, and until we disembarked I had determined 

 to say nothing, but to open the vials of my wrath 

 when safe on terra firma. However, a blue-winged 

 teal coming up the watercourse, which, when it saw 

 us, deviated to the left, and passed ahead out of 

 range, suddenly wheeled to the right-about, and came 

 down wind within long range. The temptation was 



