“Well, if you’re not a sweet sight! It’ll be a long while before your old canoe gets another bath, believe me. She’ll be laid up until you pass your canoe tests—and you can’t even swim! The Prince of Whales!”
“Aw, let him alone, Brick,” put in Slim Yerkes. “We should get back and help with that ice-cream.”
“You can bet you should! Sax is sure mad. Well, if the Prince is ready, let’s go.”
The group straggled up through the trees. Dirk stalked along, saying not a word; but Brick did not give him a chance to forget his misadventure. Instead, he kept up a running stream of ridicule that would have penetrated a skin much thicker than Dirk’s. Something of the bully still remained in Brick Ryan, even though he had spent three summers at Lenape; and now it came out in his words. Besides, he was still smarting from the punishment he had been given for his midnight hazing escapade, and he did not intend to let the despised tattler get off easily.
They skirted the lower corner of the baseball field, and, crossing the wall, entered the meadow below the campus. Brick had not stopped jeering all the while, and now his remarks were growing more and more cutting.
“Yeah, a baby, that’s all you are—a tattle-tale, canoe-sinkin’ baby. I haven’t forgotten what happened last night, and I’ll fix you for it, too, Baby.”
For the first time, Dirk replied to the irksome words. He stopped, turned, and spoke with his head up.
“Ryan,” he said deliberately, “you’re a mucker.”
Brick stuck out his chin, and put his hands on his hips mockingly. “Oh, I am, huh? Did you hear that, boys? F. X. A. Ryan is a mucker! Dear, dear, it must be true—the Millionaire Baby says so! Well, what are you goin’ to do about it, Baby?”
Dirk refused to lose his temper. “I shan’t listen to all your talk any longer, that’s all. From now on, please don’t speak to me unless it’s necessary. If we can’t be friends, we’d better keep apart.”