Go clean up the papers,
yourself! We ain't your slaves. You're due to hear a lot from us,
later, too. Clean it, yourself!"
The ladies applauded these stirring proletariat sentiments right
vigorously. But Higham did not applaud. Rice and the women were
in the canoe. Higham had gone back to the picnic site for an
overlooked cushion. On returning toward the beach, he had found
the Master and Lad standing in his way. Loftily, he made as
though to skirt them and reach the canoe.
"WATCH him, Laddie!" whispered the Master, loosing his hold on
the dog's ruff.
This, in the midst of Rice's tirade. Higham stood extremely
still. As the others applauded, he began, very fervently, to
swear.
"Higham," suggested the Master, "I've no personal objection to
your blasphemy. If the women of your party can stand it, I can.
But aren't you wasting a good deal of time! These papers have all
got to be picked up, you know; and the camp nicely policed. Get
busy."
Higham glowered on him in murderous hate; then at the tensely
watching dog. Lad's upper lip curled. The man took a tentative
step toward the beach.
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