proposed to leave exclusively to Ukridge and the Hired Retainer--and
also a slight headache. A visit to the Cob would, I thought, do me
good. I had missed my bathe that morning, and was in need of a breath
of sea-air.

It was high-tide, and there was deep water on three sides of the Cob.

In a small boat in the offing Professor Derrick appeared, fishing. I
had seen him engaged in this pursuit once or twice before. His only
companion was a gigantic boatman, by name Harry Hawk, possibly a
descendant of the gentleman of that name who went to Widdicombe Fair
with Bill Brewer and old Uncle Tom Cobley and all on a certain
memorable occasion, and assisted at the fatal accident to Tom Pearse's
grey mare.

I sat on the seat at the end of the Cob and watched the professor. It
was an instructive sight, an object-lesson to those who hold that
optimism has died out of the race. I had never seen him catch a fish.
He never looked to me as if he were at all likely to catch a fish. Yet
he persevered.

There are few things more restful than to watch some one else busy
under a warm sun. As I sat there, my pipe drawing nicely as the result
of certain explorations conducted that morning with a straw, my mind
ranged idly over large subjects and small. I thought of love and
chicken-farming. I mused on the immortality of the soul and the
deplorable speed at which two ounces of tobacco disappeared. In the end
I always returned to the professor. Sitting, as I did, with my back to
the beach, I could see nothing but his boat. It had the ocean to itself.

I began to ponder over the professor. I wondered dreamily if he were
very hot. I tried to picture his boyhood. I speculated on his future,
and the pleasure he extracted from life.

It was only when I heard him call out to Hawk to be careful, when a
movement on the part of that oarsman set the boat rocking, that I began
to weave romances round him in which I myself figured.

But, once started, I progressed rapidly. I imagined a sudden upset.
Professor struggling in water. Myself (heroically): "Courage! I'm
coming!" A few rapid strokes. Saved! Sequel, a subdued professor,
dripping salt water and tears of gratitude, urging me to become his
son-in-law. That sort of thing happened in fiction. It was a shame that
it should not happen in real life. In my hot youth I once had seven
stories in seven weekly penny papers in the same month, all dealing
with a situation of the kind. Only the details d