That’s the kind I am, sir. I’m ‘opeless. You’d better give me up.
(She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.)
CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won’t give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you.
TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad.
CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun’s rays.)
TWEENY. Why, what’s that?
CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That’s the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne’s, with a little water between them. I’m hoping to kindle a fire with it.
TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir!
(After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.)
ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat!