She called to him:
“No caveman stuff for you for a time, young fellow! Come in here! I’ve found three new razor blades!”
“Good work!” he praised her when he reached her side. “Wonder how I came to overlook ’em. Guess I just took it for granted they were all gone, and didn’t open the case at all.”
But by next day his beard, which had reached the most unattractive stage, still covered his face.
“Andy, why don’t you shave?” she asked.
“By George! Forgot all about it. Getting used to this fuzz, I guess. Maybe I like it—I don’t know.”
His laugh was insincere, and she regarded him in mild surprise.
They were busy at separate tasks throughout that day, Andy having gone down the river alone to make an effort to get the canoe closer to the cave, and Charmian washing clothes down by the pool below the waterfall. At supper she once more reminded him that he had not shaved.
His boyish face grew red with confusion, and he stammered an apology. The pine cones that they used as torches would not give enough light for shaving after supper, and next morning he tramped away again with the beard still covering his face.
She took him to task again when he returned at noon, standing before him and demanding, with a look of worriment in her eyes, the why of it.