Mr. Brewster had to smile at being called a youngster. But he was a good thirty years younger than Dr. Weber.
“Of course I can walk!” The doctor took two steps, and would have fallen if Biff’s father hadn’t caught him.
Dr. Weber glared up at his friend. “Release me. All I need is for the circulation to be restored to my legs. I’ve been tied up most of the time.” The doctor was stubborn. He gingerly raised one leg, then the other. He flapped his arms against his sides. He cautiously took another step, glancing out of the side of his eye to see if Tom Brewster was prepared to help him.
The doctor’s vitality was amazing. Brewster got him some water. He forced him to take several mouthfuls of the stew, now cold, but energy giving nonetheless.
“All right, now,” the doctor said. “You lead the way. I’ll follow.”
Brewster started off on a path leading down to the coast. Before doing so, he signaled to Mr. Mahenili to stay close behind the doctor, ready to catch him if he should fall.
Their progress downward was slow. Brewster halted every hundred yards, sometimes more often where the descent was difficult, to allow the doctor to regain his strength. Brewster knew Dr. Weber must be going along on sheer nervous energy. His frail body just wasn’t young enough to take such punishment. But Biff’s father knew also that it is amazing to just what great limits the human body can go when forced to do so.
It was dusk when the three men stumbled onto the beach opposite the Easy Action’s first anchorage. Thomas Brewster looked out over the ocean, and his heart leaped with joy. He saw the yawl coming into its anchorage, Li in the bow, ready to drop the anchor, and Biff at the tiller.
“Hi, Biff! Hi, Li!” he called.