“Have you anything more to say?” asked Clay, wishing to give the boy the chance to tell whatever story he might have to tell in his own way.
“Yes,” was the quick reply. “I’ll be short and quick with it, too. I want you to put me ashore here and go on without me.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Everything.”
“You haven’t the least idea that we’ll do a thing like that, have you?” asked Clay, pitying the dejected boy from the bottom of his heart.
“I thought you might be willing to do so.”
“But why?”
“Because you will all get into serious trouble if you don’t. That man—I can’t tell you why—followed me from Peru to Chicago. He persecuted me in Chicago. You saw the plight I was in when I came to you on that rainy night! I was hungry and cold and afraid. You boys fed and warmed me and took me into your lives. So I’m not going to let you do anything more for me if it will make trouble for you.”
“But if we leave you here,” Clay urged, “this man of whom you are in fear will have you at his mercy, won’t he?”
“I presume so, but he won’t set any traps for you.”