“Manuel Crust went down on his knees, didn't he?”
“Don't be silly! Manuel Crust was leading a strike. I am arranging a sacred entertainment.”
“Still, if I were you, my dear, I would ask him what he thinks about it.”
“All right,” cried Ruth, “I'll ask him. And what's more, I shall ask him to sing in the choir. He will love it.”
Not only did Percival promise to sing in the choir, but he eagerly offered to help her with the decorations. But when she announced that she was going up into the hills in quest of the little red winter berries that grew in profusion, he flatly put his foot down on the project.
“I don't feel any too sure of Manuel Crust and his gang,” said he. “They're in an ugly mood and they are brutes, Miss Clinton. Don't be alarmed. They're not likely to molest you or any one else, but I don't believe in taking chances. Just at present they're pretty sore at me and they're doing all they can to stir up discord. It will work out all right in the end, of course. They may be beasts but they're not fools.”
“Is it true that Manuel Crust claims that every man should have his woman?” she asked steadily.
He was surprised by the frank, unembarrassed question. “Crust is about as vile as they make them, Miss Clinton. Most of these fellows are decent, however.”
“But you have not answered my question.”
“I will answer it by saying that if he has any such notion as that in his mind he will have it taken out of him in short order if he attempts to put it into practice. The women on this island will be protected, Miss Clinton, if we have to kill Manuel Crust and his fol-lowers. It is true he has been preaching that sort of gospel among the vicious and ignorant Portugees and half-casts, but it's all talk. Don't pay any attention to it.”