Somehow, now the morning had come, the notion seemed less tempting.

The water looked damp and chilly: the wind felt cold.
"Well, who's going to be first in ?" said Harris at last.
There was no rush for precedence.

George settled the matter so far as he was concerned by retiring into the boat and pulling on his socks.
Montmorency gave vent to an involuntary howl, as if merely thinking of the thing had given him the horrors; and Harris said it would be so difficult to get into the boat again, and went back and sorted out his trousers.
I did not altogether like to give in, though I did not relish the plunge.
There might be snags about, or weeds, I thought.

I meant to compromise matters by going down to the edge and just throwing the water over myself; so I took a towel and crept out on the bank and wormed my way along on to the branch of a tree that dipped down into the water.
[Picture: In the Thames] It was bitterly cold.

The wind cut like a knife.