"Cut it! Cut it!" cried Mr. Buller.
"I haven't a knife," replied Podington.
Mr. Buller was terribly frightened; his boat was cutting through the
water as never vessel of her class had sped since sail-boats were
invented, and bumping against the bank as if she were a billiard-ball
rebounding from the edge of a table. He forgot he was in a boat; he
only knew that for the first time in his life he was in a runaway. He
let go the tiller. It was of no use to him.
"William," he cried, "let us jump out the next time we are near enough
to shore!"
"Don't do that! Don't do that!" replied Podington. "Don't jump out in
a runaway; that is the way to get hurt. Stick to your seat, my boy; he
can't keep this up much longer. He'll lose his wind!"
Mr. Podington was greatly excited, but he was not frightened, as
Buller was. He had been in a runaway before, and he could not help
thinking how much better a wagon was than a boat in such a case.
"If he were hitched up shorter and I had a snaffle-bit and a stout
pair of reins," thought he, "I could soon bring him up."
But Mr. Buller was rapidly losing his wits.
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