Why the dickens didn't the fellow stick to his part of the sea?
Why should he come barging over to this exact spot?
Stanley gave a kick, a lunge and struck out, swimming overarm.

But Jonathan was a match for him.

Up he came, his black hair sleek on his forehead, his short beard sleek.
"I had an extraordinary dream last night!" he shouted.
What was the matter with the man?
This mania for conversation irritated Stanley beyond words.

And it was always the same--always some piffle about a dream he'd had, or some cranky idea he'd got hold of, or some rot he'd been reading.

Stanley turned over on his back and kicked with his legs till he was a living waterspout.