“That’s what Marshall says. He heard ’em talking in Headquarters tent. Bull sticks to it that it’s true. He says he really saw a shark and that it bumped into his boat.”
“What if it did?” demanded Cavanaugh, irritably; “though I don’t believe it for a minute. Why, the sharks up north here are as harmless as kittens. They’d no more tackle a man than—than one of those stupid blow-fish.”
“Well, the chief don’t seem to think so. Bob says he didn’t know whether to believe Bull or not, but he and Mr. Cartwright talked it over and decided to cut out swimming in the Sound till they find out something for sure. And then they stuck up that notice, and now we’ve got to go into that rotten hole where you can’t dive and it takes half an hour to wade out to any decent depth. I—I’d rather stay ashore.”
A concerted groan went up in which stout Harry Ritter joined heartily. Exertion of any sort was distasteful to him, and it made little difference whether he undertook his languid splashings in the shallows, or in the wider, more varied waters of the Sound. But he liked to criticize and seldom lost an opportunity.
As for the others there was some excuse for their annoyance. The scout camp was located at the base of Long Point, which thrust its sandy nose diagonally out into the Sound. Off the southern side lay the open water, wide, deep, and full of interest and variety. Here the older fellows and proficient swimmers had always gone, while the novices were limited to the wide, shallow cove on the other side into which the tide had swept such quantities of sand that for over a hundred feet from shore it was not more than waist deep.
“Midge is about right,” sniffed Hinckley, as the diminutive Willett departed to spread his news. “A lot of fun there’ll be wallowing around over there. Bull ought to have his head punched.”
“The big chump!” exclaimed Cavanaugh bitterly. “He’ll get his if I have anything to say about it.”
He stood up abruptly and shook off the sand. The khaki shorts and sleeveless gym shirt he wore showed off his fine figure and well-developed muscles to uncommon advantage. Even the scowl failed to detract noticeably from his good looks, which were remarkable—the good looks of clean-cut features, clear skin, glowing red under the tan, blue eyes set wide apart, and wavy blond hair.
Haddon watched him for a moment or two in silence, his rough-hewn face oddly wistful.
“I suppose he—he might have thought it was true,” he said hesitatingly. “Whatever he saw he might have thought—”