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Three Men in a Boat-Part20_Jerome K.Jerome(1859-1927)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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behind you."

"I don't see it," said George, turning round.



"Why, bless us, where's your eyes?" was the man's comment, as he twisted

George round and pointed up and down the stream. "There's enough of it



to see, ain't there?"

"Oh!" exclaimed George, grasping the idea; "but we can't drink the river,



you know!"

"No; but you can drink SOME of it," replied the old fellow. "It's what



I've drunk for the last fifteen years."

George told him that his appearance, after the course, did not seem a



sufficiently good advertisement for the brand; and that he would prefer

it out of a pump.



We got some from a cottage a little higher up. I daresay THAT was only

river water, if we had known. But we did not know, so it was all right.



What the eye does not see, the stomach does not get upset over.

We tried river water once, later on in the season, but it was not a



success. We were coming down stream, and had pulled up to have tea in a

backwater near Windsor. Our jar was empty, and it was a case of going



without our tea or taking water from the river. Harris was for chancing

it. He said it must be all right if we boiled the water. He said that



the various germs of poison present in the water would be killed by the

boiling. So we filled our kettle with Thames backwater, and boiled it;



and very careful we were to see that it did boil.

We had made the tea, and were just settling down comfortably to drink it,



when George, with his cup half-way to his lips, paused and exclaimed:

"What's that?"



"What's what?" asked Harris and I.

"Why that!" said George, looking westward.



Harris and I followed his gaze, and saw, coming down towards us on the

sluggish current, a dog. It was one of the quietest and peacefullest



dogs I have ever seen. I never met a dog who seemed more contented -

more easy in its mind. It was floating dreamily on its back, with its



four legs stuck up straight into the air. It was what I should call a

full-bodied dog, with a well-developed chest. On he came, serene,



dignified, and calm, until he was abreast of our boat, and there, among

the rushes, he eased up, and settled down cosily for the evening.



George said he didn't want any tea, and emptied his cup into the water.

Harris did not feel thirsty, either, and followed suit. I had drunk half



mine, but I wished I had not.

I asked George if he thought I was likely to have typhoid.



He said: "Oh, no;" he thought I had a very good chance indeed of escaping

it. Anyhow, I should know in about a fortnight, whether I had or had



not.

We went up the backwater to Wargrave. It is a short cut, leading out of



the right-hand bank about half a mile above Marsh Lock, and is well worth

taking, being a pretty, shady little piece of stream, besides saving



nearly half a mile of distance.

Of course, its entrance is studded with posts and chains, and surrounded



with notice boards, menacing all kinds of torture, imprisonment, and

death to everyone who dares set scull upon its waters - I wonder some of



these riparian boors don't claim the air of the river and threaten

everyone with forty shillings fine who breathes it - but the posts and



chains a little skill will easily avoid; and as for the boards, you

might, if you have five minutes to spare, and there is nobody about, take



one or two of them down and throw them into the river.

Half-way up the backwater, we got out and lunched; and it was during this



lunch that George and I received rather a trying shock.

Harris received a shock, too; but I do not think Harris's shock could



have been anything like so bad as the shock that George and I had over

the business.



You see, it was in this way: we were sitting in a meadow, about ten yards

from the water's edge, and we had just settled down comfortably to feed.



Harris had the beefsteak pie between his knees, and was carving it, and

George and I were waiting with our plates ready.



"Have you got a spoon there?" says Harris; "I want a spoon to help the

gravy with."



The hamper was close behind us, and George and I both turned round to

reach one out. We were not five seconds getting it. When we looked



round again, Harris and the pie were gone!

It was a wide, open field. There was not a tree or a bit of hedge for



hundreds of yards. He could not have tumbled into the river, because we

were on the water side of him, and he would have had to climb over us to



do it.

George and I gazed all about. Then we gazed at each other.



"Has he been snatched up to heaven?" I queried.

"They'd hardly have taken the pie too," said George.



There seemed weight in this objection, and we discarded the heavenly




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