“Perhaps it is fortunate for us that the fight didn’t come off,” said Leonard Wilson, who, if he had no other qualities, was at least honest. “Did you hear what Perkins said about knocking our heads together?”
“O, he wouldn’t have done it,” said Will Bell, with a sneer; “he couldn’t. He’s a regular milk-sop, and so are they all.”
“Well, if they are, I don’t know it,” said Wilson.
“No, nor nobody else,” chimed in Henry Chase. “That Phil Perkins is a perfect lion, and Walter Gaylord isn’t a bit behind him. What a lovely muscle Walter showed on the day we pulled that boat-race! Why, it was as large as the boxing-master’s. And what long wind he has! And can’t he pick up his feet, though, when he is running the bases?”
Bayard looked sharply at Chase, and made no reply. He had commenced by abusing and threatening the Sportsman’s Club, and expected to be assisted in it by his men; but here was Chase praising his rival up to the skies, and Wilson nodding his head approvingly, as much as to say that he fully agreed with his companion, and that every word he uttered was the truth. Bayard was very much disgusted at this, and showed it by facing about in his saddle, and maintaining a sullen silence for the next quarter of an hour. The deep scowl on his forehead indicated that he was thinking busily, and his thoughts dwelt quite as much upon two of the boys who were galloping along the muddy lane behind him, as they did upon the members of the Sportsman’s Club. At last he seemed to have decided upon something, for he straightened up, and began to look about him.
“Fellows,” said he, “we are but a short distance from the bayou, and I propose that we ride over there, water our horses, and eat our lunch. I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” replied Will; “but I’d rather go home. I can’t see any fun in sitting down in the mud, and eating cold bread and meat, when there are a comfortable room and a warm dinner awaiting us only three miles away.”
Bayard paid no more attention to his cousin’s words than if they had not been spoken at all, but turned his horse out of the lane into the bushes, and rode toward the bayou. His companions hesitated a little, and then followed after him; and in a few minutes more they were sitting on the banks of the stream discussing their sandwiches, and gazing into the water, as if they saw something there that interested them very much. No one spoke, for Bayard was in the sulks, and that threw a gloom over them all.
If Bayard was hungry his actions did not show it, for he ate but a very few mouthfuls of his sandwich, and finally, with an exclamation of impatience, threw it into the water. The movement attracted the attention of his cousins, and that seemed to be just what Bayard wanted, for he began to make some mysterious signs to them, at the same time nodding his head toward the bushes, indicating a desire to say a word to them in private.
Will and Seth must have understood him, for they winked significantly, and went on eating their sandwiches, while Bayard, after yawning and stretching his arms, arose to his feet and walked up the bayou out of sight. As soon as he thought he could do so without exciting suspicion, Will followed him; and shortly afterward Seth also disappeared. Wilson and Chase gazed after him curiously, and as soon as the sound of his footsteps had died away, turned and looked at one another. “What’s up?” asked the latter.