Three Men in A Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

“Why, George, bless me, if here isn’t a steam launch!”

And George would answer:

“Well, do you know, I thought I heard something!”

Upon which we would get nervous and confused, and not know how to get the boat out of the way, and the people in the launch would crowd round and instruct us:

“Pull your right—you, you idiot! back with your left.  No, not you—the other one—leave the lines alone, can’t you—now, both together.  NOT that way.  Oh, you—!”

Then they would lower a boat and come to our assistance; and, after quarter of an hour’s effort, would get us clean out of their way, so that they could go on; and we would thank them so much, and ask them to give us a tow.  But they never would.

Another good way we discovered of irritating the aristocratic type of steam launch, was to mistake them for a beanfeast, and ask them if they were Messrs. Cubit’s lot or the Bermondsey Good Templars, and could they lend us a saucepan.

Old ladies, not accustomed to the river, are always intensely nervous of steam launches.  I remember going up once from Staines to Windsor—a stretch of water peculiarly rich in these mechanical monstrosities—with a party containing three ladies of this description.  It was very exciting.  At the first glimpse of every steam launch that came in view, they insisted on landing and sitting down on the bank until it was out of sight again.  They said they were very sorry, but that they owed it to their families not to be fool-hardy.

We found ourselves short of water at Hambledon Lock; so we took our jar and went up to the lock-keeper’s house to beg for some.

George was our spokesman.  He put on a winning smile, and said:

“Oh, please could you spare us a little water?”

“Certainly,” replied the old gentleman; “take as much as you want, and leave the rest.”

“Thank you so much,” murmured George, looking about him.  “Where—where do you keep it?”

“It’s always in the same place my boy,” was the stolid reply: “just 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!”