By this time all her resentment had vanished, had oozed beautifully away. She had lost even her desire to beat him in a swimming match. While Walter was making the dock, she confessed some of her athletic abilities, one of which was long-distance walking. They would swim across the Lake, take early morning canters. He chimed in like an old comrade. They would do stunts together! Meanwhile, he reminded her, they had responsibilities with Walter.
That youth brought his little boat around, fished up the mooring float and dropped his sail almost in the same act. Then he clambered into the tender and got ready to row ashore. A queer impish look was fluttering over his face; his mind seemed on the point of expressing something. Once or twice he opened his mouth, but thought better of it and pulled a stroke or two. Encouraged by the slight distance, he rested on his oars.
“You two can swim in if you want to,” he announced; “or you can go below!” When one considers that George Alexander’s cat-boat had not so much as a cabin on it, this was a stupendous jest from Walter. The two swimmers were appalled at the unexpectedness of the witticism, but they were bowled over by the remark that followed. “Do what yuh please, you two. That ‘cat’ won’t squeal!”
Then he pulled sturdily away.
“It’s a joke!” cried Richard.
“I bet it is!” echoed Jerry.
“He’s alive! Any man who can make a jest is still alive!” he exulted.
“I don’t know,” Jerry shook her head. “It sounded uncanny to me. That’s the first sign of humour I’ve seen from Walter for a ‘coon’s age.’ Even when he’s drunk he’s surly. I’m afraid it means the breaking up of what mind he has.”
“Don’t you think he is improving?” he asked.
“Wonderfully. He talked two or three consecutive sentences out there on the Lake. It gave me quite a shock to see him so garrulous. And then, this joke——”