For the first few moments he looked furious; then he seemed to grow sulky, and then in a low surly voice he said: "I say, Sep, it isn't true, is it ?" "Isn't what true ?" "About the--about what old stay-sail said ?" "About you being disagreeable ?" "Yes.

It isn't true, is it ?" I nodded.
"I don't believe it," he said impetuously.

"I'm as good-tempered a chap as anybody, only people turn disagreeable with me.

Well, you are a pretty mate to turn against me like that." "I don't turn against you, Bob, and I don't mind your being disagreeable," I said; "but you asked me, and I told you the truth." Bob stood quite still and thoughtful, as if he were watching the fishes, and he began to whistle softly a very miserable old tune that the shepherds sang out on the moor--one which always suggested winter to me and driving rain and cold bleak winds.
"Look here!" I said, for the water was draining away fast out of the pool now, the stones that banked up the bottom of the woven hurdle-work being visible here and there.
But Bob did not move.

He stood there with his hands deep in his pockets and the water up to his knees still, the part where he was being deeper, and he kept on whistling softly to himself.
"Why can't you look, Bob ?" I said.