"Nothing about it, man," said the plant. "I was only thinking."
"Don't waste your time on philosophy," said Calvin harshly. "Use some of that brain power on a way to get loose and get off."
"Perhaps that and philosophy are one and the same."
"You're not going to convince me of that," said Calvin, getting up. "I'm going to take another look around the island."
The island, as he walked around its short margin, showed itself to be definitely smaller. He paused again by the black rock. The moss was lost now, under the water, and the crack was all but under as well. He stood shielding his eyes against the wind-driven rain, peering across at the still visible shore. The waves, he noted, were not extreme—some four or five feet in height—which meant that the storm proper was probably paralleling the land some distance out in the gulf.
He clenched his fists in sudden frustration. If only he had hung on to the sailplane—or any decent-sized chunk of it! At least going into the water then would have been a gamble with some faint chance of success.
He had nowhere else to go, after rounding the island. He went back to the plant.
"Man," said the plant, "one of my people has been blown to shelter a little downstream."
Calvin straightened up eagerly, turning to stare into the wind.