It certainly was tempting; the day was perfection, and Colveston Bay had never looked more fascinating. The headlands stood out so distinctly in the clear air that it was hard to imagine Shargle Head was five miles distant from where we sat.
When the proposition had first been made I had felt a passing uncomfortableness as to the lawfulness of such an expedition without the distinct sanction of the head master; but the more I gazed on the bay, and the more Hall talked in his enthusiastic manner of the delights of a cruise, and the longer I watched the fairy-like progress of the little white-sailed fishing-boat, the less I thought of anything but the pleasure which the scheme offered.
So when Hall said, “Shall we go, boys? What do you say?” I for one replied, “All serene.”
All this while one of our party had been silent, watching the fishing-boat, but taking no part in our discussion. He was Charlie Archer, a new boy at Parkhurst, and some years our junior. But from the first I had taken a remarkable fancy to this clever, good-humoured, plucky boy, who henceforth had become my frequent companion, and with me the companion of the others who now composed our party. He now looked up and said, greatly to our surprise—
“I say, I don’t want to go!”
“Why not?” we all asked.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he replied, in evident confusion. “I don’t want to spoil your fun, you know, but I’d rather not go myself.”
“Why, what on earth’s the matter with you, Charlie?” I asked. “I thought you were always ready for an adventure.”
“I’d rather not go, please,” he repeated. “You can put me ashore.”
“Why not?” again inquired Hall, this time testily. He never liked Charlie quite as much as Hutton and I did, and was evidently displeased to have him now putting forward objections to a proposition of his own making. “Why not?”