"'You won't—you can't! Oh, for God's pity say you don't mean it! Say it's a joke, and I'll forgive you, though it's a cruel one.' Then, as I broke away from the door—'Have mercy on me, Foe—have mercy and don't leave me! I can't do without you!'"
"These were his last words that I heard as I plunged down the sand and pulled in the boat's shoreline handover-fist. I had just time to jump in and thrust off before the dog came bounding after me, barking furiously. The brute was puzzled, but knew something to be wrong. He even swam a few strokes, but turned back as I hit at him with a paddle. He made around the curve of the shore, still barking. But I had sculled through the narrows of the passage before he could reach it. I had a sight, over my shoulder, of Farrell, who had crawled to the doorway: and with that I was through the strait and sculling for open water, while the baffled dog raced to and fro on the spits and ledges astern, pausing only to bark after me as though he would cough his heart out.
"In the open water I hoisted sail, with the wind dead aft, and soon, beyond the point, caught sight of the schooner. After running out almost three miles, she had hauled close to the wind and was now heading almost due north.… She could not miss me, and yet I had made almost two miles before she got her head-sheets to windward and stood by for me.
"As I drew close, a thin-faced man with a pointed beard hailed me from her after-deck.
"'Ahoy, there! And who might you be, mistaking the Pacific for Broadway, New York?'
"'I'm from the island,' I answered.
"'What ship's boat is that you've gotten hold of?' he bawled.
"The Two Brothers.'
"'Lordy! I thought I reckernised her.… Then you're old Buck Vliet's missionary, that he marooned.'… Shall I go on, Roddy?"
I dropped my cigar into the ash-tray. "You may stop at that," I answered, unable (that's the queer part of it) to lift my eyes and look him in the face, although I knew very well that he was leaning back in his chair, eyeing me steadily, challenging the verdict. "Yes," said I, slowly turning the cigar-stump around in its ash, "I'm sorry, Jack… but I don't want to hear any more."