The lightkeeper rose once more. “I'm goin' on watch,” he said with decision. “You turn in. You'll feel better in the mornin'.”
He started towards the tower. But John Brown sprang from the bench and followed him.
“Not until you've answered my question,” he declared. “AM I to be your assistant?”
“No, course you ain't. It's dum foolishness. Besides, I ain't got the say; the government hires its own keepers.”
“But you can square the government. That will be easy. Why,” with a modest gesture, “look what the government is getting. It will jump at the chance. Atkins, you must say yes.”
“I sha'n't, neither. Let go of my arm. It's blame foolishness, I tell you. Why,” impatiently, “course it's foolishness! I don't know the first thing about you.”
“What of it? I don't know anything about you, either.”
Again the lightkeeper seemed unaccountably agitated. He stopped in his stride and whirled to face his companion.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded fiercely. Before the young man could reply, he turned again, strode to the door of the light, flung it open, and disappeared within. The door closed behind him with a thunderous bang.
John Brown gazed after him in bewilderment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and returned to the bench.