The canoe shot down the lake impelled by long, fierce strokes.  Larry was working off the demon.  Far away the rhythmic beat of dance music reached them faintly.  Now and then a fish leaped and splashed or a bull frog bellowed his hoarse “Better go home” into the silence.  Otherwise there was no sound save the steady ripple of the water under the canoe.

Presently Ted finished his cigarette, sent its still ruddy remains flashing off into the lake where it fell with a soft hiss, took out his watch again, lit another match, considered the time, subtracted gravely, looked up and announced “Time’s up, Larry.”

Larry laid down the paddle and a slow reluctant smile played around the corners of his mouth, though there was sharp distress still in his eyes.  He loathed losing his temper like that.  It sickened him, filled him with spiritual nausea, a profound disgust for himself and his mastering weakness.

“I’ve been a fool, kid,” he admitted.  “I’m all right now.  You were a trump to stand by me.  I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” nonchalantly from Ted “Going back to the pavilion?”

His brother nodded, resumed the paddle and again the canoe shot through the waters, this time toward the music instead of away from it.

“I suppose you know why your dancing with Ruth made me go savage,” said Larry after a few moments of silence.

“Damned if I do,” said Ted cheerfully.  “It doesn’t matter.  I don’t need a glossary and appendix.  Suit yourself as to the explanations.  I put my foot in it.  I’ve apologized.  That is the end of it so far as I am concerned unless you want to say something more yourself.  You don’t have to you know.”

“It was plain, fool movie stuff jealousy.  That is the sum and substance of it.  I’m in love with her.  I couldn’t stand her dancing with you when she had refused me.  I could almost have killed you for a minute.  I am ashamed but I couldn’t help it.  That is the way it was.  Now—­forget it, please.”

Ted swallowed hard and pulled his forelock in genuine perturbation.

“Good Lord, Larry!” he blurted.  “I—­”

His brother held up an imperious warning hand.

“I said ‘forget it.’  Don’t make me want to dump you now, after coming through the rest.”

Ted saluted promptly.

“Ay, ay, sir!  It’s forgot.  Only perhaps you’ll let me apologize again, underscored, now I understand.  Honest, I’m no end sorry, Larry.”

The other nodded acceptance of the underscored apology and again silence had its way.

As they landed Ted fastened the canoe and for a moment the two brothers stood side by side in the starlight.  Larry put out his hand.  Ted took it.  Their eyes met, said more than any words could have expressed.

“Thank you, Ted.  You’ve been great—­helped a lot.”

Larry’s voice was a little unsteady, his eyes were full of trouble and shame.