“What did you do?” I asked.
“Raked him out and planted him up here somewhere. Let’s see—yes, that’s the place,”—indicating the pile of stones my brother was sitting on.
Jim got up hurriedly; perhaps, as he said, he wanted to look at the place. Yet there was a general laugh at him.
“Did you think he had you, Jim?” I asked innocently.
“Don’t you gas, old chap! How about that bathe you were so bent on?”
Merciful heavens! The words fell like a bucket of ice-water on me. I made a ghastly attempt at a laugh, but it was a failure—an utter failure—and of course brought all the others down on me at once.
“The nigger seems to have taken all the bathe out of you, old man,” said one.
“Not at all!” I answered loftily. “It would take more than that to frighten me.”
Now, why on earth didn’t I hold my tongue and let the remark pass? I must needs make an ass of myself by bravado, and now I was in for it. There was a perfect chorus of, “Go it, old man!” “Now, isn’t that real pluck?” “Six to four on the nigger!”
“I pet fife pound you not swim agross and dife two times.” This last came from the little French demon, and, being applauded by the company, I took up the bet. The fact is I was nettled by the chaff, and in the heat of the moment did what I regretted a minute later.