“Oh, bother!” said he. “Don’t let’s think of it; besides, we’ll fix up something. I don’t want to go. I’ve never had such a jolly time in my life, and I’m not going to lose sight of you and Satan—unless you want to.”
“Lord! I don’t want to.”
“Well, that’s all right We’ll stick together, somehow, and let the old world go hang, and we’ll go hunting abalones and fishing—let’s make plans.”
His arm somehow slipped round her waist, half automatically, just as one puts one’s hand on a person’s shoulder. When he realized what he had done, he realized, at the same time, that she did not seem to mind; more than that, she reciprocated in a way by letting her shoulder rest more comfortably against his. It was companionship, pure and simple, and her mind seemed far away, wrapped in the sun-blaze as with a garment, and wandering—who knows where?
“Heave ahead,” said Jude drowsily. “What’s your plans?”
“Plans—oh, I’ve lots. Let’s go round the world in the old Sarah—get a couple more hands.”
“Where’d you stick them?”
“Well, you’ve got a foc’s’le.”
“Not big enough for a tomcat. The nigger filled it. He said he reckoned he’d got to stick his head through the hatch to breathe.”
“Well, we’ll get rid of the Sarah and get a bigger boat.”