“He was frightened at a shark and swam in. I suppose he thought Timothy was coming, too. But he needn’t have made such a fuss. The shark was one of the scary kind.”
“The low contemptible coward! Did he leave you to look after that drowning boy?”
“He didn’t know Timothy was drowning, you see,” said Billie, trying to be just.
But they had reached the shore now and there was no time to argue about it. A crowd of people had surrounded Timothy, who was still weak and exhausted. Billie and Mr. Duffy hurried up the beach to the bath houses.
“Would you know that cowardly fellow again if you were to see him?” he asked, when they had reached the pavilion.
“No,” she answered, “I never saw anything but the back of his head when he swam ashore.”
Nancy appeared at the bath-house door. She had been dressing during the last fifteen minutes and had missed “Timothy’s drowning,” as the girls always called it afterwards.
“Oh, Billie,” she cried to her friend who was hastening toward her, “I have just had such a fright!”
“I hoped you had missed it, Nancy,” interrupted Billie.
“Then you saw it, too?”