“Be it so, and welcome; I’ll pay ten guineas for having better manners than any of you,” cried Hervey, laughing; “but remember, though I’ve lost this bet, I don’t give up my pedestrian fame.—Sir Philip, there are no women to throw golden apples in my way now, and no children for me to stumble over: I dare you to another trial—double or quit.”

“I’m off, by Jove!” said Sir Philip. “I’m too hot, damme, to walk with you any more—but I’m your man if you’ve a mind for a swim—here’s the Serpentine river, Clarence—hey? damn it!—hey?”

Sir Philip and all his companions knew that Clarence had never learned to swim.

“You may wink at one another, as wisely as you please,” said Clarence, “but come on, my boys—I am your man for a swim—hundred guineas upon it!

‘Darest thou, Rochfort, now
Leap in with me into this weedy flood,
And swim to yonder point?’”

and instantly Hervey, who had in his confused head some recollection of an essay of Dr. Franklin on swimming, by which he fancied that he could ensure at once his safety and his fame, threw off his coat and jumped into the river—luckily he was not in boots. Rochfort, and all the other young men stood laughing by the river side.

“Who the devil are these two that seem to be making up to us?” said Sir Philip, looking at two gentlemen who were coming towards them; “St. George, hey? you know everybody.”

“The foremost is Percival, of Oakly Park, I think, ’pon my honour,” replied Mr. St. George, and he then began to settle how many thousands a year Mr. Percival was worth. This point was not decided when the gentlemen came up to the spot where Sir Philip was standing.

The child for whose sake Clarence Hervey had lost his bet was Mr. Percival’s, and he came to thank him for his civility.—The gentleman who accompanied Mr. Percival was an old friend of Clarence Hervey’s; he had met him abroad, but had not seen him for some years.

“Pray, gentlemen,” said he to Sir Philip and his party, “is Mr. Clarence Hervey amongst you? I think I saw him pass by me just now.”

“Damn it, yes—where is Clary, though?” exclaimed Sir Philip, suddenly recollecting himself.—Clarence Hervey at this instant was drowning: he had got out of his depth, and had struggled in vain to recover himself.

“Curse me, if it’s not all over with Clary,” continued Sir Philip. “Do any of you see his head anywhere? Damn you, Rochfort, yonder it is.”

“Damme, so it is,” said Rochfort; “but he’s so heavy in his clothes, he’d pull me down along with him to Davy’s locker:—damme, if I’ll go after him.”

“Damn it, though, can’t some of ye swim? Can’t some of ye jump in?” cried Sir Philip, turning to his companions: “damn it, Clarence will go to the bottom.”

And so he inevitably would have done, had not Mr. Percival at this instant leaped into the river, and seized hold of the drowning Clarence. It was with great difficulty that he dragged him to the shore. Sir Philip’s party, as soon as the danger was over, officiously offered their assistance. Clarence Hervey was absolutely senseless. “Damn it, what shall we do with him now?” said Sir Philip: “Damn it, we must call some of the people from the boathouse—he’s as heavy as lead: damn me, if I know what to do with him.” [2]

Whilst Sir Philip was damning himself, Mr. Percival ran to the boathouse for assistance, and they carried the body into the house. The elderly gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Percival now made his way through the midst of the noisy crowd, and directed what should be done to restore Mr. Hervey’s suspended animation. Whilst he was employed in this benevolent manner, Clarence’s worthy friends were sneering at him, and whispering to one another; “Ecod, he talks as if he was a doctor,” said Rochfort.

“’Pon honour, I do believe,” said St. George, “he is the famous Dr.