“Ranny!” he exclaimed impulsively. “You–you–”
Something gripped his throat, making further speech impossible. Phelps stirred uneasily.
“Well,” he said with a touch of defiance, “I wanted them, and–and I couldn’t make them myself. I–I’m a perfect dub with tools.”
“You–you did it to–give me a chance at camp.”
Dale’s voice was strained and uneven. His hand still rested on the other’s arm, and in the brief silence that followed he felt Ranny stiffen a little.
“Ranny!” he exclaimed impulsively. “You–you–”
“If I did, it was only fair,” the older chap said suddenly, in low, abrupt tones. “I–I’ve been a beastly cad, Dale. I’ve worked against you every way I could.” His voice grew sharp and self-reproachful. “I kept it up like a stubborn mule even when I began to see– Why, look at the rotten, conceited way I kept you out of baseball. After that it was only–decent to do what I could to–make up.”
They stood in the moonlight, the water at their feet, while back among the trees the fire blazed up, sending a shower of sparks drifting across the spangled heavens. The talk and laughter of the crowd gathered there seemed to come from very far away.