“What, did you get it?” cried Shock, laughing.
I was so startled that I did not answer.
“Oh! he’s buried!” cried Shock in a wild tone; and he threw himself by me, and began to tear at the sand. “Mars Grant, Mars Grant,” he cried excitedly. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
“I’m not there, Shock,” I said. “I jumped back.”
“Then what did yer go and pretend as you was buried in the sand for?” cried the boy savagely.
I did not reply, and I heard him go as far from me as he could, muttering and growling to himself, and in spite of my position I could not help thinking of what a curious and different side I was seeing of Shock’s character. I had always found him so quiet and reserved, and yet it was evident that he could talk and think like the best of us, and somehow it seemed as if in spite of the way in which he turned away he had a sort of liking for me.
This idea influenced me so that I felt a kind of pity for my companion in misfortune. That was a good deal in the direction of liking him in return. I felt sorry that I had frightened him, and at last after a good deal of thinking I said to him:
“Shock!”
“Hullo!”
“I’m sorry I made you think I was buried.”