Andy was right, Loggermore was trying to set fire to the storehouse. Already he was pouring oil from the can over a number of boxes, the ends of which formed that side of the shelter.
“If I run to the ship, it will take time,” reasoned Andy. “By the time I get back with some of the others it may be too late. What shall I do?”
It was a hard question to answer. He had no desire to tackle the crazy sailor alone. But even while he stood debating with himself he saw Loggermore strike another match.
“Stop! Don’t light that, Loggermore!”
So shouting, Andy leaped toward the man, who was still crouched down, mumbling to himself about wanting a light. At the sound of the youth’s voice, the sailor turned, and something like a snarl broke from his lips.
“Go away! Go away!” he shrieked.
“Loggermore, you mustn’t set anything on fire.”
“I want light! I must have light! I hate the darkness!” growled the crazed sailor.
“You’ll burn up all our stores. If you do that, we’ll starve to death!” continued Andy, as he drew closer.
“I want light!” went on Loggermore, doggedly. “The darkness hurts my head—I can’t think straight. Stand back and see what a fine light I’ll soon have!” And so speaking, he lit another match, for the other had fallen in the snow and gone out.