“I did.”
“Rather nervy, I’ll say.”
“Well, he has the right to do it, I suppose,” returned the owner of the Rocket.
“Humph, he ought to have his head punched,” was the growled-out reply.
Just after lunch, about the time Frank and his group had started for the boat ride, others had strung a tennis net beyond the trees in an opening which was reasonably smooth, though far from perfect. Fortunately, some thoughtful person had put the rackets beneath the seat of an automobile, protected from the rain, and now these were unlimbered from their hiding places and a game proposed.
It had not occurred to Frank to bring along the two folding stools aboard the Rocket, but this did not alter the fact that it was a rather nervy thing for Fred Cunningham to step aboard the little boat shortly afterward and take both of them, using one for himself and one for Minnie as they took seats alongside the tennis court to watch.
“What do you think of that?” Lanky asked Frank.
“I think if whatever nerve he has continues to develop, he ought to be able to get along in this world,” was Frank Allen’s very apt reply. “But he has shown me what a bonehead I carry on top of my own shoulders, anyhow.”
“I agree,” Lanky rejoined, without a smile.
However, the act was just one more little coal added to the fire of dislike which was well kindled in the breast of Frank, for, though he did not resent the act as one of gallantry when he had forgotten it, he did resent the nerve of this fellow who had gone aboard his boat under the circumstances which existed and in face of the rift which was between them. Instead of his feeling any jealousy, he had a feeling that this fellow was trying to take entire charge of things, trying to make light of Frank before his friends.