"O, because I've got such a sore throat," wheezed Gideon. "Off with you! Scamper!"
Upon that Gid took to his heels, and left Master Willy staring at him, and wondering what a sore throat had to do with swimming, and what made Gid in such a hurry all in a minute.
"He's a queer fellow—Gid is! Can't spell worth a cent. Should think he'd be ashamed to see a little boy like me wear the medal. Glad I didn't wet it, for the color would have washed out of the string."
With that Willy put his hand in his pocket.
"Out here and show yourself, sir."
This to the medal.
"What! Why, what's this?"
He felt in the other pocket.
"Why! Why!"
He drew out junks of blue clay, wads of twine, a piece of chalk, a fish-hook, and various other articles more or less wound up in a wad; but no medal.