"I'm not—"
"We're waiting," snapped Specs, giving the rope a tug.
Prissier bent his knees, swung back his arms, and then, with a desperate leap, essayed a back flip through the air. It was not forceful enough, however, and he came down on his hands and knees. Though Specs and Jump kept him from crashing, he landed hard enough to lurch forward into the sand.
Kiproy and Collins rolled over in violent laughter.
"You're getting it," said Jump encouragingly. "You're getting it."
"Sure, you're getting it," agreed Specs.
"But I tell you, I don't want to get it," protested Prissier, rubbing the sand out of his clothes. "And what's more, I'm not going to do it again."
Molly interrupted. "Lunch is ready," she said, in a voice so different from her ordinary tones that Specs looked at her in astonishment.
"What's the matter?" he ventured, after Clarence Prissier, still weakly complaining, had managed to slip the rope from his waist and was walking with the others toward the spread tablecloths.
"You know well enough what the matter is," said Molly severely; "and if you're not ashamed. I'm ashamed for you." Deliberately, she turned her back on him.