Don followed Leon, who drew out the oars from their place of concealment beneath some old timbers piled at one end of the wharf, and then led the way round to the tagging, slimy steps that enabled them to reach the dory. Don entered the boat first, Leon casting off the line and springing in a moment later.
“We’d better not pull straight across,” said the doctor’s son. “There goes the academy bell. We might be seen, so let’s pull up the shore to Duffy’s Nose and keep under the land till after school begins.”
“All right,” said Leon. “Go ahead. I’ve got to take care of this rifle.”
He made a pretense of disposing of the rifle, while Don took the oars and rowed away up the shore. Bentley lighted a cigarette and found a comfortable position in the stern of the dory.
“This is great stuff,” he nodded, with satisfaction. “It’s a corking day. A fellow’s a fool to mope away his time in school on such a day as this. Say, you can’t guess what the fellows said about you because you failed to show up this forenoon.”
“I don’t give a continental what they said!” snapped Don.
“They said you were afraid,” grinned Leon, exhaling a great breath of thin, blue smoke. “You stirred up a dickens of a mess when you accused Renwood of doing that job; but, say, didn’t he come back at you with both feet! That must have jarred you some.”
Don had stopped rowing, and his face showed how his companion’s words had aroused him.
“So they say I’m afraid?” he muttered, bitterly. “I didn’t think about that. If I had thought—— But what do I care what they say!”
“Of course you don’t care, old man. I’m your friend, and I’ll stick by you. If the whole town says you did that trick, I’ll never believe it. I know better.”