Kennedy had laid in a supply of provisions from the
stall which stood at the camp end of the water. Neither of them felt
inclined to move.
"This _is_ decent," said Kennedy, wriggling into a more
comfortable position in the long grass. "Hullo!"
"What's up?" inquired Jimmy Silver, lazily.
He was almost asleep.
"Look at those idiots. They're certain to get spotted."
Jimmy Silver tilted his hat off his face, and sat up.
"What's the matter? Which idiot?"
Kennedy pointed to a bush on their right. Walton and Perry were seated
beside it. Both were smoking.
"Oh, that's all right," said Silver. "Masters never come to Cove
Reservoir. It's a sort of unwritten law. They're rotters to smoke, all
the same. Certain to get spotted some day.... Not worth it.... Spoils
lungs.... Beastly bad ... training."
He dozed off. The sun was warm, and the grass very soft and
comfortable. Kennedy turned his gaze to the Reservoir again. It was no
business of his what Walton and Perry did.
Walton and Perry were discussing ways and means. The conversation
changed as they saw Kennedy glance at them. They were the sort of
persons who feel a vague sense of injury when anybody looks at them,
perhaps because they feel that those whose attention is attracted to
them must say something to their discredit when they begin to talk
about them.
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