"I am glad you liked it, but Bucky is rather hard to handle at times. There will be another act or two, and I'll give you a chance to see the climax."
"That's kind of you, although you upset dramatic conventions and I will find it rather hard, I am afraid, to be a competent critic. Besides, I might be prejudiced, having a personal interest in the outcome."
"That won't matter much," he smiled. "My critics are always short-lived. Bucky there came nearest to getting me, though. If it hadn't been for Petrak I never could have handled him. They can't bear the thought of a rope. Whenever there was a hanging I took them to see it. Being a man of the cloth, I was admitted to all sorts of places, and, while I didn't travel openly with my men, I could mingle with them more or less in the character of a missionary."
He looked up at Buckrow, who stood over us scowling suspiciously, and his hand was close to his pistol.
"What's wrong, Bucky?" purred Thirkle, moistening a cigar between his lips and giving Buckrow a searching glance.
"I don't like that place in there for the gold, Thirkle. It's too wet to suit me."
"The dampness won't do any damage, Bucky. That's the best place on the island, to my thinking; but, of course, if you don't like it we'll consider it."
"The gold will rust in there," said Buckrow; and I knew he was in a dangerous mood again.
"Gold don't rust, Bucky," called Petrak, standing in the crevice and grinning at Thirkle.
"That's the best place on the island," said Thirkle soothingly. "This is the ideal place. But if you don't like it in there, we won't put it in there, and that's an end of it, Bucky."