“No, I don’t,” replied Kendall shortly, “and neither do you. And I wish you’d stop kidding me, Duke.” Kendall was looking red and embarrassed, and The Duke, observing, took pity on him.
“All right,” he said soothingly. “You’re a mere worm after all, Burtis. No one loves you. And when a fellow falls into the river trying to be polite it’s just because he wants me to notice him. But will I? I will not! They can drown before I’ll give them a glance!”
“You’re an awful idiot,” said Kendall smilingly.
“You said that before and so there must be something in it,” was the cheerful response. “And now here is the island, and with your approval I suggest we get out and find a nice warm spot and lie on our backs and think great thoughts.”
So the canoe was pulled up on the little strip of beach at Flat Island and the boys threw themselves down on the bank in the sunlight. It was getting toward four o’clock and a slight chill was making itself felt. But in the lee of the trees it was still comfortably warm. The Duke put his hands under his head, cocked one foot over his knee and gazed up into the peaceful blue sky. Kendall followed his example and for the space of several minutes nothing was said. Finally, though, Kendall broke the silence.
“Did you—did you really mean any of that stuff you said awhile ago in the canoe, Duke?” he asked.
“What stuff?” asked the other drowsily.
“About—about fellows being willing to know me.”
“Of course I meant it. You, my shy and retiring friend, are one of our notables. We’re proud of you because you play good football and won the Broadwood game for us last year. And because you kept Forest Hill from shutting us out yesterday. We’re proud of any fellow here who does what he’s set to do and does it well, but when a fellow wins a game from Broadwood for us we put our heads in the dust and say, ‘Walk on us, O Conqueror!’”
“That sounds silly,” objected Kendall.