“That’s right,” put in Frank. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“So am I,” added Andy contritely. But it is doubtful if he would remain sorry long. Already a smile was playing over his face.
“Well, who’s coming and have sodas with me?” asked the younger Racer brother, after an awkward pause, during which Bob mounted the seat of his wagon and drove off. “Come on, Chet I’ll have your cane fixed, too. And if you don’t like a chocolate soda you can have vanilla.”
“I wouldn’t drink a soda with you if I never had one!” burst out the dude, as he wiped the sand off his shoes and brushed his light suit. “I’ll get square with you for this, too; see if I don’t.”
“Oh, very well, if you feel that way about it I can’t help it,” said Andy. “I said I was sorry, and all that sort of thing, but I’m not going to get down on my knees to you. Come along, Frank. Let’s go for a sail.”
The clam wagon was heading for the street that led up from the beach. Chet had turned away with an injured air, and Andy linked his arm in that of his brother.
“You see what your fooling led to,” said Frank in a low voice, as the two strolled off. “Why can’t you let up playing jokes when you know they’re going to make trouble?”
“How’d I know it was going to make trouble, just to put sand in Chet’s pants?” demanded Andy, with some truth in his contention. “If I had known it I wouldn’t have done it. But it was great to see him tumble, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” and in spite of his rather grave manner Frank had to smile. “But you must look ahead a bit, Andy, when you’re planning a joke.”
“Look ahead! The joke would lose half its fun then. It’s not knowing how a thing is going to turn out that makes it worth while.”