“I see you like men of strenuous action, Mrs. Mink,” I said. “Would it, do you think? would it insinuate me somewhat into your favour if I were to take this axe and strenuously chop Professor Simpson's head in two symmetrical but characteristic parts?”
Professor Simpson looked aghast.
“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Mink.
“Not feasible, you think? Perhaps not. Suppose, then, I were to cut a switch and apply it to Professor Simpson's attenuated legs. Could you candidily recommend that, Mrs. Mink?”
“I will not submit, sir!” he cried. “I will not submit!”
Mrs. Mink turned and walked rapidly away.
“Professor,” I said, taking out my waterproof match-safe and extracting several matches, “you will take these matches and see that Mrs. Mink is comfortable. Our rescuers will find us in time, no doubt. Until then you will respect my privacy. I seek no revenge and offer no congratulations. I don't inquire into your standards of integrity. I don't see, unless your system of ethics is fundamentally unsound, how you can reconcile to morality this reward of victorious evil. But I leave it to your casuistry.”
It seemed to me this was a poisoned arrow well planted. I had set him a problem likely to irritate his exact mind. I picked up the axe and walked up the shore in the opposite direction.
The afternoon was growing late. I kindled a fire to dry my clothes, felled a banana tree, and ate bananas. Across the bay I could make out the smoke of the other camp fire. The Violetta still swayed back and forth, but not so violently, on her keel. The wind still blew, but the air was warm. I sat by the fire and took inventory of things in general.