And then, without warning, all the girls ceased to come to the island. Three days went by, five, a week, ten days. One morning they all passed over the island, one by one, an hour or two between flights; but they flew high and fast, and they did not stop.
Ralph Addington had become more and more irascible. That day the others maintained peace only by ignoring him.
“By the gods!” he snarled at night as they all sat dull and dumb about the fire. “Something’s got to happen to change our way of living or murder’ll break out in this community. And we’d better begin pretty quick to do something about it. What I’d like to know is,” and he slapped his hand smartly against a flat rock, “coming down to cases—as we must sooner or later—what is our right in regard to these women.”
III
“I don’t exactly like your use of the word right, Ralph,” said Billy. “You mean duty, don’t you?”
“And he’d better change that to privilege,” put in Pete Murphy, scowling.
“Shut up, you mick,” Honey interposed, flicking Pete on the ear with a pebble. “What do you know about machinery?”
Pete grinned and subsided for a moment. Honey could always placate him by calling him a mick.
“No,” Ralph went on obstinately, addressing himself this time to Billy, “I mean right. Of course, I mean right,” he went on with one of his, gusty bursts of, irritation. “For God’s sake, don’t be so high-brow and altruistic.”