“Good heavens, Mr. Allnutt! What happened to...

“Good heavens, Mr. Allnutt! What happened to the mangrove swamp we were caught in?”

“Blimey, Miss! While we was shiverin’ and moanin’ with malaria on the deck o’ the ol’ African Queen ‘ere, we must’ve drifted through to the Like. Better keep an eye peeled for that German gunboat, or they’ll settle our ‘ash but good.”

“But this doesn’t look like a lake, Mr. Allnutt. This looks like . . . like London with canals running through it, . . . except that London never looked so clean, so bright, so tropical. Oh, dear. This is confusing.”

“D’you fink we come the wrong wye, some’ow? Blasted fever. . . . Can’t even see strite.”

Ahoy, there!

“Wasn’t there supposed to be just one gunboat? I see hundreds of boats--an entire fleet.”

“Coo! An’ this is salt water, Miss, not fresh. It don’t even look like bloody Africa no more.”

“Well, who’s been steering, I’d like to know? Mr. Allnutt, you must have been drunk again! I thought I poured out all the gin you had on board.”

Ahoy! You can’t bring that filthy old tub in here. This is the 19th annual Marina del Rey Boat Show. Only the newest runabouts, ski boats, cruisers and day sailers will be on display this week in the main channel at Burton Chace Park on Mindanao Way. Only the spiffiest inboard and outboard engines, navigational equipment, safety gear, accessories and nautical clothing will be shown onshore. Hours: noon to 7 p.m. Wednesday through Friday; 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. Admission: $5 for adults, $3 for senior citizens, free for children under 12. Information: (310) 821-0555.

“Blimey! These Germans ‘ere speak English.”

“No, Mr. Allnutt. They’re speaking American. Which makes things terribly, unaccountably strange.”

“‘Ooever they are, they shouldn’t call the African Queen an ol’ tub. This ‘ere boat brived the guns o’ Shona an’ the rapids o’ the Ulanga River, all so’s a mine mechanic an’ a missionary’s sister could torpedo that gunboat on the Like an’ chynge the course o’ Worl’ War I. They oughter be ashimed o’ themselves.”

“Hear, hear!”

At least you speak English, ma’am. I can’t understand a word this fellow’s saying. He must be delirious.

“No, just Cockney. But you could have the decency to give us quinine tablets before you drive us off to some miserable fate.”

Wait a minute, ma’am. I guess we overreacted a little. What say we let you anchor as a “before” exhibit and give your boat a make-over? New inboard, fiberglass skin, fish-finding sonar, the works. And as captains all, we’ll throw in a wedding ceremony.

“It’s a deal. Mr. Allnutt? . . . Charlie?”

“Coo! If they pop some o’ that champine, Rosie, I’m all yours.”

“Not a chance. It was your drinking that got us into this . . . this absurd detour.”

“No, Miss, it was the fever.”

“Gin!”

“Fever!”

“I told you to head for the nearest arbor in the mangroves.”

“I did, Miss. An’ the nearest ‘arbor turned out to be ‘ere.”

“Good heavens, Charlie! Do you mean our mission foundered on the merest breath, the missing sound of an H? Not on the rocks of the Ulanga or the evils of liquor, but on the English class system?”

“I fink you’re right, Rosie. Blimey! Ain’t it a bleedin’ shime?”