Cavvy paused, one stocking half off, and stared intently at the boy’s serious face. Suddenly his color deepened and his lips curled a little at the corners.
“Oh!” he murmured. “I see.” And then he laughed unpleasantly. “I forgot we had with us the only really perfect Scout in captivity. I’m surprised you could bring yourself to associate with such a bunch of hardened sinners—or did you hope by your virtuous example to win us back to the straight and narrow path?”
Steve shrank back as if he had been struck. His face turned white and then a dull crimson.
“I don’t—” he stammered. “I didn’t say—”
“Of course not,” sneered Cavanaugh. “You didn’t have to say anything. You’re so goody-goody it sticks out all over you.” He yanked off his stockings petulantly and dropped the rest of his clothes in a heap on the sand. “Better stick around awhile till you’ve made sure we’ve broken the rules and then you can hustle back to camp and report us.”
“Cavvy!” cried Haddon sharply. “You’ve no right— You know I wouldn’t—”
He broke off suddenly, biting his lip. Without replying, Cavanaugh had turned his back and was trotting out on the narrow spring board. For a moment the shapely white body stood poised against the deep blue sky. Then it flashed out and downward, cleaving the water in a perfect dive.
Steve watched him with blurred eyes and a dull hurt in his heart. The onslaught had been so brutal and so unexpected that it dazed him. He did not realize that Cavanaugh’s own mental discomfort might have had much to do with the flare-up. Conscious that he wasn’t doing the right thing, but too stubborn to draw back, it was not unnatural to vent his irritation on the fellow who seemed to be showing more strength of character than himself.
Haddon did not think of this. In that moment it seemed to him as if the friendship which had meant so much to him had toppled into ruins like a fallen house of cards. Rather, it had never existed save in his own mind. If Cavvy really cared for him, even in his careless, tolerant fashion, he could never have deliberately hurt him so without a shadow of reason or excuse. Surely Steve had not shown himself the prig Cavanaugh made out. He had not said a word against the others going in. He had even been conscious of an awkward sense of embarrassment at not joining them himself.
Suddenly, out of the turmoil of hurt and longing and regret, came the desire to win back at any cost what he had lost. If he went in with the rest wouldn’t Cavvy realize that he had been too hasty, and perhaps make amends? It wasn’t too late. McBride and Hinckley, who had stripped more leisurely, were even now moving slowly toward the spring-board. If he hurried—