Narratorsaid the Rat. He looped the painter through a ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole above, and after a short interval reappeared staggering under a fat, wicker luncheon-basket.
Narratorhe observed to the Mole, as he passed it down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and took the sculls again.
Unknown voicecold tongue, cold ham, cold beef, pickled gherkins, salad, french rolls, cress sandwiches, potted meat, ginger beer, lemonade, soda water—
Unknown voiceIt’s only what I always take on these little excursions; and the other animals are always telling me that I’m a mean beast and cut it very fine!
NarratorThe Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the new life he was entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle, the ripple, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight, he trailed a paw in the water and dreamed long waking dreams. The Water Rat, like the good little fellow he was, sculled steadily on and forebore to disturb him.