She took the jumper off the rail, rolled it up and threw it on the deck, then she dived below and reappeared with a water jar and some provisions done up in a bundle. She had evidently been making her preparations.
“Look here!” said Ratcliffe. “If you’re going, I’ll go too.”
“No, you won’t!” said Jude. “You’ve got to stick here and look after the ship—and see how you like it.”
“Not I—I couldn’t face Satan; besides, if you want to make him wild really, hell be twice as wild if we both go; besides, I’m sick of the ship. Come on: I’ve never been gulls-nesting.”
Jude, evidently weakening, put down her bundle.
“Well, there ain’t enough grub for two,” she complained. “I reckon there’s enough water, though.”
“Well, get some more grub.”
She cast her eyes about in indecision, now at Ratcliffe, now at the Juan, then, with one of those sudden changes so indicative of her, she made up her mind and dived below.
Five minutes later she reappeared with another small bundle.
Ratcliffe, during her absence, had torn the back off an old letter. He had a pencil in his pocket, and, scrawling “gone gulls-nesting on the sandspit” on the paper, stuck the missive to the mast with his penknife.