“I’d like to know who’ll stop me,” said Connie. “Not you.” Then he paused, incredulous. “Are you kidding us, Billy Cowell?” he asked.
“I told you,” said Wilfred hopelessly.
“All right,” said Connie with an air of shooting straight. “As long as you told me, I’ll tell you. You had every scout in this camp laughing at the Ravens; you stood and let a fellow walk away with their emblem—that they were so crazy about. You never did anything in that patrol—all you did was get Wig Weigand hypnotized. Hanged if I know what he sees in you——”
“He does?” Wilfred began.
“Then you get edged out and Tom Slade takes pity on you and we have to be the goats. You got away with it here because we’re simps—we’re easy. You know as well as I do, Cowell, that these fellows are easy—and friendly. Do you think I don’t know what kind of a patrol I’ve got? Just because some of them live in South Bridgeboro—you know what I mean. But they’re a fair and square crowd all right, I’ll tell you that——”
“I know they are——”
“They don’t care what you think or know,” snapped Connie. “But I’ll tell you what I know—I know you don’t know how to swim. You got into this patrol because you couldn’t get into any other. Nobody ever even saw you with a bathing-suit on. We heard that Allison fellow around camp shouting about you, that’s all I know. He must be crazy or something.”
“He’s crazy in that way—for shouting about me,” said Wilfred quietly. “He won’t shout about me any more, because he’s going away to-morrow.”
“Why don’t you go with him?”
Wilfred gulped, his eyes brimming. If Arden could have seen him then she might have strangled Connie Bennett. “You wouldn’t——” he began weakly.