“I sure am a mutt!” said Jude. “Reckon I was born on a Friday—they say mugs are all born on a Friday. We should a been off two hours before sundown, and there I was talking and listening to your yarns, and here we are on the beach—oh, mommer!” Then after a long pause:
“What’s them stars, do you reckon?”
“Suns.”
“Gar’n!”
“It’s so.”
“Say!”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice anything looking north before sundown, or were you asleep sitting on that spar?”
“I did see something over there; looked like the ghost of a cloud.”
“That was Rum Cay, and a sure sign the weather’s going to hold. It lifts itself into the sky like that, evening times; you can see it from Lone Reef too.”