The dog rushed past me on to the bridge, followed by Turkey. I set Davie down, and, holding his hand, breathed again. There was a scurry and a rush, a splash or two in the water, and then back came Oscar with his innocent tongue hanging out like a blood-red banner of victory. He was followed by Scroggie, who was exploding with laughter.
Oscar came up wagging his tail, and looking as pleased as if he had restored obedience to a flock of unruly sheep. I shrank back from Scroggie, wishing Turkey, who was still at the other end of the bridge, would make haste.
“Wasn’t it fun, Ranald?” said Scroggie. “You don’t think I was so lame that I couldn’t get over that gate? I stuck on purpose.”
Turkey joined us with an inquiring look, for he knew how Scroggie had been in the habit of treating me.
“It’s all right, Turkey,” I said. “Scroggie stuck on the gate on purpose.”
“A good thing for you, Ranald!” said Turkey. “Didn’t you see Peter Mason amongst them?”
“No. He left the school last year.”
“He was there, though, and I don’t suppose he meant to be agreeable.”
“I tell you what,” said Scroggie: “if you like, I’ll leave my school and come to yours. My mother lets me do as I like.”