Volume Ii Part 1 (1/2)

True to a Type.

Vol. II.

by Robert Cleland.

CHAPTER XX.

PAUL AND VIRGINIA.

The storm exhausted itself at length. The thunder pa.s.sed on westward, the rain abated and ceased, the clouds parted and rolled away, leaving the sky clear but paler for its agony of tears. It was now evening, and the air felt fresh even to chilliness, for the temperature had fallen a matter of fifteen degrees--from 90 to 70 or 75. The party stood round the fire with something not greatly removed from a s.h.i.+ver, and warmed their hands. It was not actually cold, but the transition had been sudden and violent, which came to the same thing.

”And now to get back?” said Wilkie, looking at his watch. ”The gong at the beach is just going to sound for supper. I confess I feel peckish.

Should we not be thinking of a move, Blount?”

Blount coughed. ”There are rather many of us for my small boat, in the present state of the weather. There is probably more wind, and certainly more swell, than you would suppose from looking at the landlocked channel down there. I fear we must postpone thoughts of supper for the present.”

”If we delay, no one can say when we may get in. I don't see why we should not make the attempt at once. We shall at least have daylight to lessen our difficulties if we attempt it now. What do you say?”

”I fear it is impossible. What do _you_ say, Jake?”

Jake caught a look from his ”boss,” and understood. ”No, sir-ree! you won't reach Lippenstock to-night in that aar boat with a crew of six.

It 'ud be more'n a man's life is worth, with the sea as is on in the bay now.”

”Suppose we go four, then. I could take charge of the young ladies.”

”We won't break up the party, neither Margaret nor I,” said Rose. ”You might try the voyage with Jake, however, by yourself. You could tell them at the beach to expect us for breakfast.”

Wilkie looked doubtfully to Jake; but Jake's eyes were averted. He had pulled out his plug of tobacco, and was intent upon judiciously whittling off the exact quant.i.ty for a chew. He had no idea of making the voyage twice for the accommodation of one man, that man not being the ”boss,” and one, besides, who did not seem over-likely to remember to tip. Jake's look afforded little encouragement to make a proposal, and that reminded Wilkie in time that the figure he himself would make would not be heroic if he arrived alone at the beach and said that the others were coming. He elevated his eyebrows into the British equivalent of a Frenchman's plaintive shrug, and sighed, and resigned himself to his fate. If he had even had some one to ”spoon” with, it would not have been so bad; but after his experience in that hut during the hours of the thunderstorm, he realised that he was in the position of one who at the last moment goes to a place of amus.e.m.e.nt, and finds every desirable place ticketed ”engaged.”

”Worse than Robinson Crusoe,” he grumbled to himself, ”for I've no man Friday.”

”Then you would make the rest of us stand for the savages,” laughed Blount; ”which is scarcely flattering. But keep up your heart, old man; it might be worse. It is warm in here, at any rate--thanks to our absent hosts the fishermen. We must not forget to leave something behind in payment for the use of their wood-heap.”

”Why didn't they leave provisions when they were about it? Even a s.h.i.+p-biscuit would be agreeable now.”

”And sugar and tea,” laughed Margaret. ”They might have left some tea--and cups and saucers.”

Wilkie objected to being chaffed. He looked severe. ”I feel almost faint, I can tell you, Miss Naylor. Brain-workers, I suppose, are more susceptible to physical privation than the generality,” and his eye rested on the other two gentlemen, as though they were instances in point. ”The brain is a delicate organ, and easily thrown out of gear.

It needs frequent nourishment at short intervals, to keep it in good working order.”

”You will have to give your brain a rest to-night, then, Mr Wilkie, and husband your fibre, as there is nothing here to renew it with--no larder, even, except the sea down there. I am glad that, being a woman, I have no brain to speak of. The exhaustion of its fibre won't be noticed.”

”You've hit it, Margaret!” cried Blount--”without even caring--as you so often do. Smart girl, and don't know it. The sea is our larder, full of fish, and Jake has lines in the boat's locker. Let's go fis.h.i.+ng.”

”The boat will be wet after the rain,” said Rose, ”and I have had one wetting already. I shall not go fis.h.i.+ng, thanks; but I do not mind looking among the rocks for limpets and mussels, and things. They tell me they are good to eat, when people are very hungry.”

”Not a bad thing to do. Whoever likes, can fish from the boat; I shall _sh.e.l.l_-fish on sh.o.r.e,” chimed in Margaret.

”To sh.e.l.l-fish is not wisely selfish,” retorted Wilkie, with the air of a wag. ”How much more comfortable to sit in the boat hauling up your fish, than go pottering and stumbling over slippery rocks with a lapful of rubbish you won't be able to cook after you have got it!