A pool of water lay in his path, however, and the necessity of going round it enabled the Irishman to gain on him a little, so that it became evident that both would come up at the same moment, and a collision be inevitable.
"Hold yer wind, Paddy," shouted the men, who paused for a moment to watch the result of the race.

"Mind your timbers, Mivins! Back your top-sails, O'Riley; mind how he yaws!" Then there was a momentary silence of breathless expectation.

The two men seemed about to meet with a shock that would annihilate both, when Mivins bounded to one side like an indiarubber ball.

O'Riley shot past him like a rocket, and the next instant went head foremost into the pool of water.
This unexpected termination to the affair converted the intended huzzah of the men into a yell of mingled laughter and consternation as they hastened in a body to the spot; but before they reached it, O'Riley's head and shoulders reappeared, and when they came up he was standing on the margin of the pool blowing like a walrus.
"Oh! then, but it _is_ cowld!" he exclaimed, wringing the water from his garments.

"Och! where's the ball?
give me a kick or I'll freeze! so I will." As he spoke the drenched Irishman seized the ball from Mivins's hands and gave it a kick that sent it high into the air.