But Spide discovered that the way of the transgressor is sometimes as hard as the moralists would have us believe.
It was the beginning of the season, and a group of boys, in easy undress, were clustered on the bank above the swimming-hole. They were “going in” as soon as an important question should be decided.
The farmer whose fields skirted Billup's Fork at this point usually filled in the “Slidy” every spring with bits of rusty barb-wire and osage-orange cuttings. The youth of Antioch who were prejudiced maintained that he did it to be mean, but the real reason was that he wished to discourage the swimmers, who tramped his crops and stole his great yellow pumpkins to play with in the water.
The time-honored method of determining the condition of the hole was beautifully simple. It was to catch a small boy and throw him in, and until this rite was performed the big boys used the place but gingerly. Mr. Brown and his friends were waiting for this small boy to happen along, when the unsuspecting Spide ran down the bank. He was promptly seized by the mighty Tink.
“Been in yet, Spide?” asked his captor, genially.
“Nope.”
“Then this is your chance.” Whereat Spide began to cry. He didn't want to go in. All at once he remembered he had promised his mother he wouldn't and that his father had promised him a licking if he did—two excellent reasons why he should stay out—but Tink only pushed him towards the water's edge.
“You're hurting me! Lemme alone, you big loafer! Lemme go, or I'll tell the old man on you!” and he scratched and clawed, but Tink merely laughed, and the other boys advised him to “chuck the little shaver in.”
“Lemme take off my shirt and pants! Lemme take off my pants—just my pants, Tink!” he entreated.
But he was raised on high and hurled out into the stream where the sunlight flashed among the shadows cast by the willows. His hat went one way and his cigarette another. Pink was considerately tossed after him, and all his earthly possessions were afloat.