“It was my fault, sir,” he said quickly. “The other fellows aren’t to blame; they’d never have gone in but for me. You see, I didn’t believe Bu—er—Taggart really saw a shark at all, and I wanted to get one more decent swim before I saw the notice.”
The scoutmaster’s face cleared. “Oh, then you didn’t see the notice,” he said, turning toward the camp. “That makes a difference, though I still don’t understand—”
“I didn’t see it,” interrupted Cavvy, “but one of the fellows told us about it. I hadn’t any excuse at all. I was just sore and—”
The words died away as the two moved off together, leaving Steve to hurry through his dressing alone. He got into his clothes swiftly, a little anxious to know what penalty was being meted out to Cavvy, but in his heart there was nothing but gladness at the realization that he hadn’t been mistaken in his friend after all.
He was given little time to think of this or to speculate on the possibilities that Cavvy’s changed attitude opened up before him. He had not even got his shoes on before he was surrounded by a throng of boys, all jabbering excitedly and full of eager inquiries as to how near the shark had come, what it looked like, how he felt, and a thousand other questions.
Haddon answered them all good naturedly, turning aside with a shrug and a laugh the words of praise and admiration which followed. As soon as he was dressed he headed for the camp, to find Cavanaugh standing in front of their tent.
“Well?” he questioned eagerly as he came up. “How about it? What did he give you?”
Cavvy grinned.
“Not as much as I expected,” he said. “He was pretty decent, considering. I’ve got to stick around the camp limits for a week, that’s all. He didn’t even cut out my swimming. Guess he thought going into the cove wouldn’t be any too much of a treat.”
He laughed; then his face grew suddenly serious. “I never even thanked you, old man,” he said in a low tone, “or said a word about the corking way you—you went in after me, and—”