ng at least to
Irving, who felt that he should be showing more contrition.

Collingwood and Morrill came alongside, both laughing, jeering at Westby
and offering polite expressions of solicitude to the master. They told
him to lay hold of the tail of their canoe, and then they towed him
ashore as rapidly as possible. When he drew himself up, dripping, on the
bank, Baldersnaith, Dennison, and Smythe were all on the broad grin, and
from the water floated the sound of Westby's merriment.

Irving stood for a moment, letting himself drip, quite undecided as to
what he should do. He had never been ducked before, with all his clothes
on; the clammy, weighted sensation was most unpleasant, the thought of
his damaged and perhaps ruined suit was galling, the indignity of his
appearance was particularly hard to bear. He felt that Baldersnaith and
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
ridiculous figure. To be running home drenched!--probably it would have
be