I suppose you know the island's about the worst place for bathing--" "Come, now, old man, it's a first-rate place." "Well, you may think so; I don't.

In fact, I don't see the fun of bathing after dinner at all.

You don't expect _me_ to make a fool of myself hunting squirrels, do you, in those horrid woods?
And you'll have to have tea, as you call it (though you might as well make one meal do for both), jolly early if you expect to drift down here by nine.
Why, you won't do it in anything like the time, and fine fun it will be, sitting like dummies in a boat going at a mile an hour." This was cheerful, and no amount of argument would do away with our desirable friend's objections.

The result was, we went, but tried to alter our programme in some points to please him: But he growled all the more, and would not enjoy the day himself, nor let us do so; and our grand picnic, thanks to him, was quite a failure.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the result of Growler's grumblings had been to give us something better in place of what he wanted us to give up.

But that is a thing he never did.