“You bet I did,” returned Dickie. “I put in a good day,” viciously, “while you were fishing.”
“Yes,” corroborated the commodore, “Dickie found a dozen people who think you’re dottie on the crumpet, all right.”
Bob folded his arms, still regarding Dickie. “You know what I’ve a mind to do to you?”
“Hold on!” said Dan hastily. “This matter’s got to be handled tactfully. We can’t, any one of us, give way to our personal feelings, however much we may want to. Let’s be businesslike. Eh, Clarence? Businesslike.”
“Sure,” said Clarence faintly.
But Dickie, standing behind the commodore and Clarence, said something about tact being a waste of time in some cases. He said it in such a sneering nasty way that Bob breathed deep.
“I’ve simply got to spank that little rooster,” he muttered.
But again the commodore smoothed things over. “Shut up, Dickie,” he said angrily. “You’ll spoil all. I’m sure Bob wants to help us out, if he can. He knows it’s really up to him, to do so. Bob’s a good sport.” It was an awful effort for the commodore to appear nice and amiable, but he managed to, for the moment. “You will help us out, won’t you?” he added, placing velvety fingers on Bob’s arm.
But Bob with a vigorous swing shook off those fingers. He didn’t intend being taken into custody. Dan and the others might as well understand that, first as last. The commodore’s voice grew more appealing.
“Don’t you see you’re being crazy will account for everything?”