'Stop it, you SILLY ass!' cried the Rat, from the bottom of the boat.
'You can't do it! You'll have us over!'
The Mole flung his sculls back with a flourish, and made a great dig
at the water. He missed the surface altogether, his legs flew up
above his head, and he found himself lying on the top of the prostrate
Rat. Greatly alarmed, he made a grab at the side of the boat, and the
next moment--Sploosh!
Over went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the river.
O my, how cold the water was, and O, how VERY wet it felt. How it sang
in his ears as he went down, down, down! How bright and welcome the
sun looked as he rose to the surface coughing and spluttering! How
black was his despair when he felt himself sinking again! Then a firm
paw gripped him by the back of his neck. It was the Rat, and he was
evidently laughing--the Mole could FEEL him laughing, right down his
arm and through his paw, and so into his--the Mole's--neck.
The Rat got hold of a scull and shoved it under the Mole's arm; then
he did the same by the other side of him and, swimming behind,
propelled the helpless animal to shore, hauled him out, and set him
down on the bank, a squashy, pulpy lump of misery.
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