"Well, you'll have lots of time down there."
Here Ruth returned with the broth; and McClintock strode aft, convinced that he was going to have something far more interesting than books to read.
Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…!
On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living.
Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter.
McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. "I wouldn't give a betel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believed himself in the right. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death."
"Oh, no!" Ruth protested. "I have so much to learn."
"Aye," said McClintock, in a tone so peculiar that it sent
Spurlock's glance to his plate.
"All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. "These islands that come out of nowhere, like transparent amethyst, that deepen to sapphire, and then become thickly green! And always the white coral sand rimming them—emeralds set in pearls!"
"'A thing of beauty is a joy forever!'" quoted McClintock. "But I like Bobby Burns best. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for every ache and joy I've had."