An old knife of Kearney’s lay on the little shelf by the door beside the box of matches. She could not resist that. Leaving the matches untouched, she picked up the knife and flung it into the lagoon. Then she entered the house and lifted the whaleman from its shelf. It was the smallest, and it was just as well to begin with the smallest. She turned to the door with it and saw Kearney running across the sward, dropped the whaler, sprang from the doorway, and ran. Another half minute and she would have been trapped.
Kearney, on seeing her entering the house, had made a bolt from the trees on the opposite side, thinking he had her bottled, but he was too late and, as for chasing her, he might as well have tried to course a hare. Stopping suddenly and picking up Dick’s tia wood ball, which was lying in his way, he took aim at her as she ran, catching her full in the small of the back as she dived into the trees.
The sound of the smack of the ball, followed by a gasping cry, came back to him. Then she vanished, traceless but for the swaying leaves.
“That will l’arn you,” said Mr. Kearney, turning to the house and picking up the whaler, undamaged but for a broken main-topmast. He knew now who had stolen his gum, blunted the spears and outraged the dinghy. The flinging of that knife into the lagoon had told him everything, and as he sat down by the door to repair the broken spar he took an oath to be even with her.
“Break the fish lines, would you?” said he as he sat with the whaler clipped between his knees as in a vise, and his fingers busy unrigging the mast. “Fling me knife into the water? Well, you wait. Not another bite or sup will you have that you don’t get yourself, or me name’s not Jim Kearney. Not another bite or sup till you go down on your marrow bones and beg me pardon.” He worked away, his soul raging in him, his mind fumbling round and remembering other things to be laid to her account. Gum that had vanished, a saw that had gone west, spirited off as if by pixies—he had put these levitations down to his own carelessness or forgetfulness, quite unable to imagine a human being’s tricky malevolence as the agent.
As he worked, the splash of oars came from the lagoon, and Dick landed with three red-backed bream strung on a length of liana. Seeing Kearney alone, he looked round for Katafa, but could see no sign of her.
“Where’s she gone?” asked Dick.
Kearney looked up; the back number had taken fire at last. “Get off with you and don’t be askin’ me questions!” he shouted, just as if he were speaking to a man, not a boy. “Go ’n’ look for her if you want to find her, throwin’ me knife in the water and smashin’ me lines! The pair of you is one as bad as the other, always tinkerin’ together, you and her.”
The boy drew back, staring at the other with wide-pupilled eyes.
“What’s she been doin’?” he asked.