"O.K.," Tom said, "you have my word."
"Bart isn't around, is he?" Willie slid down the cliff in a shower of loose rock and dirt.
"You can't stay here, Willie," Tom began, "how are you going to live, to eat?"
"I've got my seeds," Willie said dreamily. "I'll have a real farm." He waved vaguely at the ferns. "Look at the stuff grow. The climate is ideal. I'll build a hut and farm enough to eat."
"Willie," Tom said, trying another angle. "There are no other people here. What'll you do if you get sick or need help?"
"I won't get sick and I won't need help," Willie said. "That's why I want to stay here, 'cause there aren't any people. I can have a thousand acres all to myself. I can stake out a whole square mile and live right in the middle of it." He laughed like a little kid. "Tom, this is what I've wanted all my life. Why should I go back to Earth and then try to come back later, I'm staying here, now."
Tom had the feeling he was trying to argue with an ostrich with its head in the sand. What would Willie do for food if his crops failed when the emergency rations were gone? Willie was gambling his life for a dream, but he didn't know it. Willie saw only what he wanted to see, disregarding everything else. Arguing was useless. The only way they could get Willie back aboard was to carry him back.
"Well, okay, Willie," Tom said. "I'll go back and tell Bart. But I'll get him to hold the ship until tomorrow if you should change your mind."
"I won't," Willie said. "So long, Tom." He held out his hand. "You've been a swell guy."
Tom took the hand and shook it.