As we both lay panting and
gasping, puris naturalibus, on the Canadian bank, I need hardly
say, as we were on the American continent, that a reporter made
his appearance from nowhere, armed with notebook and pencil. This
young newspaper-man was not troubled with false delicacy. He asked
us point-blank what we had made out of our swim. On learning that
we had had no money on it, but had merely done it for the fun of
the thing, he mentioned the name of a place of eternal punishment,
shut up his notebook in disgust, and walked off: there was
evidently no "story" to be made out of us. After some luncheon and
a bottle of Burgundy, neither Baring nor I felt any the worse for
our swim, nor were we the least tired during the remainder of the
day. I have seen Niagara in summer, spring and in mid-winter, and
each time the fascination of these vast masses of tumbling waters
has grown on me. I have never, to my regret, seen the Victoria
Falls of the Zambesi, as on two separate occasions when starting
for them unforeseen circumstances detained me in Cape Town.
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