“I want you to leave my father alone, and what he says to me,” said Bigley sharply. “I don’t mind your making fun of me. I don’t mind what you call me; but that’s his name he has always used since I was a little baby, and you’ve no business to say it.”
“Ha—ha—ha!” laughed Bob, “here’s a game. Do you hear, Sep! He says he was once a little baby. I don’t believe it. Ha—ha—ha!”
Bigley did not take any notice, and I did not join in the laugh, so Bob made a movement as if he were going to wade out of the pool, and his lips parted to say something disagreeable. I knew as well as could be that he was going to say that he should go home if we were about to turn like that; but his legs were wet, and the walk home was long, and not pleasant to take alone. And then there were the fish in the pool to catch, and in spite of his expressions of unbelief he knew that there must be some. So he altered his mind, and changed his tone.
“I didn’t want to upset you, Big, old matey,” he said. “I didn’t, did I, Sep Duncan? Here, what’s the good of quarrelling when it’s holidays? There, I won’t call you so any more.”
Bigley’s face cleared in a moment, and with a couple of splashes he was at Bob’s side with one hand extended, and the other upon his school-fellow’s shoulder.
“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “Shake hands, and let’s get the fish. There, I’ll go for the prawn net and a basket.”
He ran splashing out of the water, and up over the boulders towards the cottage, leaving me and Bob together.
“I wouldn’t be as big as he is,” said Bob, “and I wouldn’t have such a nasty temper for thousands of pounds. Here, what are you grinning at?”
“At you.” For there was something so comic in his speech, coming as it did from the most ill-tempered boy in the school—Dr Stacey had often said so, and Bob proved it every day of his life—that I burst into a hearty laugh.
Bob stood knee-deep in the water staring hard at me. For the first few moments he looked furious; then he seemed to grow sulky, and then in a low surly voice he said: