“You’d better,” remarked that worthy sententiously. “Of course,” he added, seeking to mollify his victim, over whom he thus domineered, “it ain’t just like it is back home on the stove, but you’ll have to get used to that, because we’re going to live here forever. And,” he added, casting a glance of his stern blue eyes upon her, “it is the part of the captive maid ever to live happily with the chief of the pirate band.”
Whereupon Helena and Jimmy both looked up and saw me standing, unwilling listener to all that had been said. Helena moved away and pretended to be busy with the material for her confections.
“Aw, shucks, Black Bart,” said Jimmy, turning to me—“ain’t that just like a woman?—They won’t never play the game.”
CHAPTER XXXV
IN WHICH I FIND TWO ESTIMABLE FRIENDS, BUT LOSE ONE BELOVED
THE weather now, moderating, after the fashion of weather on this coast, as rapidly as it had become inclement, we passed a more comfortable night on our desert island. No doubt the lighthouse tender knew of our presence, for he easily could see our tent by day and our fire by night, and he surely must have seen our good ship riding at anchor under his nose at the edge of the channel; but no visit came from that official—for the very good reason, as we later learned, that the storm had stove in his boat at her mooring; so that all he himself could do was to cross his Cajun bosom and pray that his supply skiff might come from across the bay. So, as much alone as the Swiss family by name of Robinson—an odd name for a Swiss family, it always seemed to me—we remained on our desert island undisturbed, the ladies now in the comfortable tent, my hardy pirates under the tarpaulin, and the rest of us as we liked or might, all in beds of the sweet scented grasses which grew along the lagoon where the great ranks of wild fowl kept up their chatter day and night.
It was a land of plenty, and any but a man in my situation might well have been content there for many days. Content was not in my own soul. I was up by dawn and busy about the boats, before any sign of life was visible around the tent or the canvas shelter. But since the sun rose warm, it yet was early when we met at John’s breakfast fire. I felt myself a shabby figure, for in my haste I had forgotten my razors; and by now my clothing was sadly soiled and stained, even the most famous of the Davidson waistcoats being the worse for the salt-water immersions it had known; and my ancient flannels were corkscrewing about my limbs. But as for Helena, young and vital, she discarded her sweater for breakfast, and appeared as she had before the shipwreck, in lace bridge coat and wearing many gems! L’Olonnois, with the intimacy of kin and the admiration of youth—and with youth’s lack of tact—saluted her now gaily. “Gee! Auntie,” said he, at table on the sand, “togged out that way, all them glitterin’ gems, you shore look fit for a pirate’s bride!”
Poor Helena! She blushed red to the hair; and I fear I did no better myself. “Jimmy!” reproved Aunt Lucinda.