Three Men in A Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

To see two novices try to keep time with one another is very amusing.  Bow finds it impossible to keep pace with stroke, because stroke rows in such an extraordinary fashion.  Stroke is intensely indignant at this, and explains that what he has been endeavouring to do for the last ten minutes is to adapt his method to bow’s limited capacity.  Bow, in turn, then becomes insulted, and requests stroke not to trouble his head about him (bow), but to devote his mind to setting a sensible stroke.

“Or, shall I take stroke?” he adds, with the evident idea that that would at once put the whole matter right.

They splash along for another hundred yards with still moderate success, and then the whole secret of their trouble bursts upon stroke like a flash of inspiration.

“I tell you what it is: you’ve got my sculls,” he cries, turning to bow; “pass yours over.”

“Well, do you know, I’ve been wondering how it was I couldn’t get on with these,” answers bow, quite brightening up, and most willingly assisting in the exchange.  “Now we shall be all right.”

But they are not—not even then.  Stroke has to stretch his arms nearly out of their sockets to reach his sculls now; while bow’s pair, at each recovery, hit him a violent blow in the chest.  So they change back again, and come to the conclusion that the man has given them the wrong set altogether; and over their mutual abuse of this man they become quite friendly and sympathetic.

George said he had often longed to take to punting for a change.  Punting is not as easy as it looks.  As in rowing, you soon learn how to get along and handle the craft, but it takes long practice before you can do this with dignity and without getting the water all up your sleeve.

One young man I knew had a very sad accident happen to him the first time he went punting.  He had been getting on so well that he had grown quite cheeky over the business, and was walking up and down the punt, working his pole with a careless grace that was quite fascinating to watch.  Up he would march to the head of the punt, plant his pole, and then run along right to the other end, just like an old punter.  Oh! it was grand.