If any of you have tried, at the sports, for the sheer jollity of the thing, to stop with your mouth the swimming of an apple in a pail of water, you will know how tantalizing a task it is. You will have attempted it in summer, too, in sun-warmed water, whereas Grain had to dip his face into water that had previously been covered with ice. The more frantically he tried to end the ordeal the farther away did the maddening apple float. Finally, he did what he had so often seen the little victims of his own tormenting do. He burst into tears.
"I c—can't c—catch it!" he wailed. "Lemme go!"
The Merry Men ceased laughing at once and looked at one another rather foolishly. Grain, the swaggerer, crying like a baby! What a hollow fraud he was—a pricked balloon!
"That'll do, chaps," said Robin. "Wipe his face with a handkerchief, somebody. Grain, if I untie your hands and let you go, will you confess to having thrown that apple?"
"Yes, I d—did it."
"And was it you who squirted acid on our bonfire, nearly suffocating us all?"
"Oh, yes—yes; lemme loose!"
"Untie his hands, chaps. Stop blubbing, Grain; you'll be free in a minute. Nice chap you are to want to be leader of any band, even of the stupid Squirms. Osbody's a swankpot, but he's got pluck to back it up. You're a bully, a cad, and a baby. Here's your cap. Put it on—scoot!"