“If he was such a fool as to put to sea on a crazy raft it ain’t my fault,” he said. “I couldn’t help it, could I?”
“If you hadn’t left him there he would still be alive and well.”
John Trafton pulled out his red cotton handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead, on which the beads of perspiration were gathering.
“Of course I wouldn’t have left him there if I’d known what he would do,” he muttered.
“Did you mean to leave him there all night?” asked Bence.
“Yes, I meant it as a lesson to him,” said the fisherman.
“A lesson to him? You are a fine man to give a lesson to him! You, who spend all your earnings for drink and leave me to starve! John Trafton, I charge you with the death of poor Robert!” exclaimed Mrs. Trafton with startling emphasis.
Perhaps nothing more contributed to overwhelm John Trafton than the wonderful change which had taken place in his usually gentle and submissive wife. He returned her accusing glance with a look of deprecation.
“Come now, Jane, be a little reasonable,” he said. “You’re very much mistaken. It was only in fun I left him. I thought it would be a good joke to leave him on the island all night. Say something for me, Ben—there’s a good fellow.”
But Ben Bence was not disposed to waste any sympathy on John Trafton. He was glad to see Trafton brought to judgment and felt like deepening his sense of guilt rather than lightening it.