"Why—why don't you do what you can do?" he demanded.
"Why don't you?" Molly retorted.
There was something in her voice that took the anger out of his system.
"Wha—what do you mean?"
Molly pointed to a swimmer far over to the left. "Who's that?"
Rodman shaded his eyes. "It's Specs. What's that got to do with it?"
"How do you know it's Specs?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure it is a Scout, because that's where the Scouts go in swimming. Specs has quit trying for the football team; so he's the only one that would be in swimming, on account of the game this afternoon. And I know the way Specs swims. He uses the overhand stroke, and he does it a good deal better with his right arm than his left."
"There you are!" Molly was triumphant. "Why don't you take your own advice, and do what you can do? You are a wonderful observer. You notice everything, and you remember it, too. You can do as much that way as any other. You were right when you said that a girl should be elected to one of the offices, and they all know you were right, no matter what they say. You noticed something there, and you had the courage to tell everybody else about it. What if you can't make the team? If you just do your best, the time is going to come when you will accomplish as much by seeing as the rest will by doing."
The look on Rodman's face was a queer mixture of shame and pleasure. He swallowed hard.