“Am,” said Dick.
He held it whilst the man with the knife attacked the bark, the pungent smell of the wood filling the air.
“That’s the way of it,” said Mr. Kearney, talking as he worked; “off with the bark first and then we’ll slope it. That’ll do, I can hold it meself now.” He continued to work, and Dick to watch. Then, getting tired of the monotony of the business, Dick sat down. Presently, folding his hands in his lap, one of his moody fits came on him; his eyes, wide-pupiled, seemed contemplating things at a vast distance, and Kearney, happening to glance up and notice his condition, called to mind what Lestrange had said about the child taking after the mother when he was quiet. He had often noticed the thing before, but now, from what Lestrange had said, it seemed to the simple mind of Kearney that Dick as he sat there was more like a little girl than a boy, that the “mother in him was coming out too much.”
But Kearney, as he worked over the paddle, had other things to think of besides Dick. The tobacco was showing signs indicating that it would not last for ever, and the pipe he was smoking was, so to speak, on its last legs. Stanistreet had left him two beautiful new American briars of the sort they used to sell in Frisco in those days, ornately mounted with chased silver. They had been given to Stanistreet in a moment of expansion by a rich and bibulous friend. The sailor, who was mostly a cigar-smoker, had never used them and as a parting gift had presented them to Kearney.
“There you are, Jim,” said he; “they’ll last you till we come back. No use having tobacco and running short of pipes.”
The sailor had used them, but could never take to them. They didn’t smoke right. The old wooden pipe he had brought off from the Ranatonga was always sweet as a nut, never got plugged, was always cool and “fitted his mouth.” Now it was cracking all down one side, and might go any time. It was like contemplating the death of a wife.
Then there was the bother about Lestrange. It had only just come to him that, supposing by any chance the Ranatonga were to turn up, months overdue as she was, might they think by any chance there had been foul play and that he had done Lestrange in?
He spent half the morning working over the paddle and, later that day, urged by the spirit of restlessness, he determined on an expedition over to the eastern side of the island in search of bananas. He could have gone in the dinghy or have taken his way along the lagoon bank, but at the last moment he decided to make a short cut through the woods, taking Dick along with him.
They started, taking their way through the trees on the side of the sward opposite to the house, Kearney leading. The trees were not dense and the wind from the sea stirred their fronds and branches, bringing with it the murmur of the reef. The twilight was alive with dancing lights and sun-sparkles moving as the foliage stirred to the breeze, and now and then, as they passed along, a bird resting on some branch would take flight with the sound of a fan flirted open.
Then came some giant trees with trunks buttressed like the matamata. They stood in two rows, making an alley across which swung cables of liantasse powdered here and there with the star-like blossoms of some lesser vine, and here and there orchids like vast butterflies and birds in arrested flight.