"What's the matter with Margery?"
Eddie Grote was in a tight place. All woman's rights to the contrary, in a struggle of the sexes a man has to show the woman some consideration or fly in the face of public opinion. Eddie Grote, although hard pressed, realized that public opinion would not in this instance stand for what, ordinarily, would be his modus operandi, namely, to fling mud over his shoulder. If he could but gain a moment's time thus, he might make a dash for the deeper water. But he could not, and the other little boys, as they saw his growing predicament, raised shriller, louder shouts of joy:
"That's right, Margery! Chase him out of the water! Chase him out!"
"Oh, Eddie Grote, ain't you ashamed? And before a girl, too! Oh! Oh! Oh!"
Eddie Grote was ashamed, horribly ashamed. The water was fast falling below his knees. To get back to the depths was impossible; to go straight ahead were greater shame. Facing the inevitable, and clutching frantically at the flying skirts of modesty, he doubled up like a little turtle, chin to knees, and cried quits in those last words of the conquered: "I give up! I give up!"
Margery, who knew the practices of modern warfare quite as well as he, ceased fire and slowly backed away. She backed amid a chorus that was like a triumphant "See the Conquering Hero Comes." Freddy Larkin called out, "What's the matheh with Mardthery?" and the others took up the chant: