An odd little silence fell between us. Then Harry turned away, and began to move off, whistling. At a bound I was after him, with a furious red face, and, seizing his arm, had whipped him round.
“I’m going to try to get into the hill up there,” I cried. “If you’re afraid to come too, stop behind like a coward!”
He stared at me amazed; then fell a’ grinning.
“I never said you were a coward,” he retorted.
“But you meant it,” I answered, fuming.
We were bristling, actually, as on that far-off day when we had first come into collision. Our fists were clenched; the backs of our necks tingled; it was really a pregnant moment.
But the good old fellow resolved it, and in the best way possible. The fire suddenly left his eyes.
“O, Dick,” he said; “what asses we are! Look here, I’ll tell you—I should funk it going up there alone, and you wouldn’t, it seems; that’s the truth. I only wanted to dare you, for my own sake.”
“O, all right!” I said, pocketing my fists, and pretty ashamed of myself. I kicked the sand about, not knowing how to escape the situation gracefully. At last I in my turn blurted out: “What rot this is! Let’s forget it all, and just discuss ways and means.”
“You really intend to try?” said Harry, his face relighting.