the others were trying to be as polite and considerate as possible, and
yet they could not refrain from exhibiting their amusement, their
delight.

Scarborough, who had swum ahead of the others, waded ashore and looked
him over. “I tell you what you’d better do, Mr. Upton,” he said. “You’d
better take your clothes off, wring them out, and spread them out to
dry. They’ll dry in this sun and wind. And while they’re doing that, you
can come in swimming with us.”

Irving hesitated a moment; instinct told him that the advice was
sensible, yet he shrank from accepting it; he felt that for a master to
do what Scarborough suggested would be undignified, and might somehow
compromise his position. “I think I’d better run home and rub myself
down and put on some dry things,” he replied.

“Well,” said Scarborough, “just as you say. Sorry I got you into this
mess.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Irving.

He walked away, with the water trickling uncomfortably down him inside
his clothes and swashing juicily in his shoes. He liked Scarborough for
the way he had acted, but he felt less kindly towards Westby. He was by
no means sure that Westby had not deliberately soused him and then
pretended it was an accident. He remembered Westby’s mirthful laugh just
when the thing was happening; and certainly if it had really been an
accident Westby had shown very little concern. He had been indecently
amused; he was so still; his clear joyous laugh was ringing after Irving
even now, and Irving felt angrily that he was at this moment a