"I hope that
pipe hasn't got choked!" he muttered to himself anxiously.
It hadn't; but it did not yield a strong gush. The sound of a thin
stream, partly breaking on the gunwale of the boat and partly
splashing alongside, became at once audible. It was greeted by a cry of
inarticulate and savage joy. Heyst knelt on the string-piece and peered
down. The man who had spoken was already holding his open mouth under
the bright trickle. Water ran over his eyelids and over his nose,
gurgled down his throat, flowed over his chin. Then some obstruction in
the pipe gave way, and a sudden thick jet broke on his face. In a moment
his shoulders were soaked, the front of his coat inundated; he streamed
and dripped; water ran into his pockets, down his legs, into his shoes;
but he had clutched the end of the pipe, and, hanging on with both
hands, swallowed, spluttered, choked, snorted with the noises of a
swimmer. Suddenly a curious dull roar reached Heyst's ears. Something
hairy and black flew from under the jetty. A dishevelled head, coming on
like a cannonball, took the man at the pipe in flank, with enough force
to tear his grip loose and fling him headlong into the stern-sheets. He
fell upon the folded legs of the man at the tiller, who, roused by the
commotion in the boat, was sitting up, silent, rigid, and very much like
a corpse.
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