“Who won the race?” inquired Arnold, glad to change the subject.
“It was a tie,” answered Toby promptly.
“Toby did,” said Frank with as little hesitation. “By about a yard.”
Toby glanced up in surprise and then turned his gaze toward the landing, now but a short distance away. “The water was too cold for Frank,” he said. “It must have been about forty-four, I guess. Too cold for swimming, anyway.”
“It didn’t seem to trouble you much,” remarked Arnold.
“Oh, I’m used to it. Frank isn’t. Some one be ready with the boat-hook. We’re almost in.”
Arnold patted his damp hair down and drew on his cap. “I say, you fellows,” he began awkwardly, “there isn’t any reason for—for mentioning this, I guess. It would only give my aunt hysterics, you know. And dad might feel sort of—sort of uneasy, too. There’s no use in troubling folks about things they can’t help, is there? See what I mean?”
“We won’t say anything about it,” replied Toby, laughing. “It’s bully of you, Arn, not to want to worry your folks.”
Arnold smiled sheepishly. “Well, you know how it is,” he muttered. “Grown folks are awfully nervous about such things. Dad might forbid me from sailing, you know. And that would be the very dickens.”