“Watcher been doing?” he demanded. “Sleeping?”
McGowan gaped again and nodded. “Nothing else to do,” he drawled.
Garrity sniffed scornfully and stifled a longing for Chick Conners, to whom he had not spoken for weeks. Whatever failings the latter youth might have, at least he had always been up and doing and ready for excursions of any sort Red might suggest.
“Well, there’s something doing now,” the latter remarked briefly. “We’re going out on the river road.”
Shrimp showed no signs of delight at the prospect, but after a weak protest he yielded—as he always did. He could not understand Red’s partiality for these country walks. It never occurred to him that the woods and fields and river could hold a subtle charm for this domineering boy who constantly belittled them in words and talked boastingly and regretfully of the lights and bustle and crowded excitements of the city. Indeed, Garrity had never really admitted as much even to himself, and in the old days he and Chick had always been at odds regarding the relative merits of town and country.
The road they took followed the windings of the Monhegan River. Overhead the sky was cloudless. The air was warm and mellow, yet with a tonic freshness in it which stirred the blood. The trees were beginning to turn, and their reds and yellows contrasted strongly with the dark bulk of pine and hemlock. Across the distant hills lay a faint, mellow Autumn haze.
It was a day to thrill any boy, and Garrity was perfectly conscious of its charm. As usual, however, he growled and grumbled at the dullness of the country, and talked longingly of his beloved Bowery, but somehow Shrimp’s slavish agreement failed to give him pleasure.
They threw stones at birds and squirrels, tossed rocks into the river and slashed at trees and bushes with destructive knives. They strolled erratically, visiting several orchards on the way, and finally reached the point where the stream, narrowing between rocky banks, flowed deep and swift toward a picturesque waterfall which made a favorite spot for picnicers and campers. Here they sat down in the shade of the hemlocks to eat their spoils.
“Funny you never came out with the bunch to swim,” remarked McGowan after an interval of silent munching. “I s’pose you’re a wonder at it,” he added with a touch of spiteful sarcasm that was characteristic.
For a second the ever-ready Garrity hesitated, his eyes fixed on the rushing water six feet below the steep bank.