Benny was unusually quiet as they walked along the bluffs, glancing from time to time over the placid waters illumined by the moon, and after ten minutes or more had passed in silence Sam asked:
“What has gone wrong with you, No. 8? Ain’t a solid silver collar rich enough for Fluff C. Foster, or did you think the medal might have been bigger?”
“I’d be terribly ashamed of myself to think anything like that, Mr. Hardy. Of course the collar and medal ain’t any better than Fluff deserves; but they’re a good deal nicer than I ever thought he’d get, and it makes me feel fine to think of his having them.”
“Then what is keepin’ you so glum? You haven’t opened your mouth since we left the station.”
“That is ’cause I’ve been thinking.”
“About what, No. 8?”
“I’m afraid I shan’t do enough, and that the crew will find out I ain’t coming up to the praise I’m getting. Everybody has been so good to me since the ship was wrecked, that I can’t even begin to pay it back.”
“There isn’t any danger so long as you have such thoughts in your head, Benjamin. I don’t believe in praisin’ boys, as a general thing, because it’s apt to spoil ’em; but you don’t seem to be one of that kind. Keep on as you’ve started, No. 8, and I guarantee all hands of us will be satisfied.”
Then Sam Hardy told Benny of a boy who had been saved from a wreck two years previous, and who was anything rather than an agreeable companion, following this story with another, until the four hours passed so quickly that it seemed to No. 8 as if they had not been on duty one quarter of the required time.
Mr. Bradford had started for home nearly two hours before Benny and Sam came in, their night’s work finished, and no one except Fluff was awake.