"Are you going to see what that fool wants?" asked the Skipper.
"No," returned I. "I am tired of playing tag with the Bo's'n and the Haïtien girl. Besides, I am famished."
We sat down on the rocks and ate our salt pork from a plate made of hard bread. We washed it down with water from the spring at the base of the rocks, and I heard no remarks upon the coarse fare.
Cynthia said only that she had never known how good salt pork and ship's biscuits were, and that she should get Aunt Mary 'Zekel to have them three times a week when she got home.
"Where's that Minion?" asked the Skipper, with his mouth full.
As nothing was to be seen of the boy, we left his breakfast with the Bo's'n's share and that reserved for the Haïtien girl, and I started to go to the rescue of the Bo's'n, who was still waving violently. I had taken but a few steps when I heard a call from Cynthia.
"Mr. Jones," she called, "bring me a biscuit before you go." My heart sank down like lead. In the pleasure of gathering the oysters and the walk which I had had with her alone I had forgotten that the day of reckoning was near at hand. I took a piece of bread from the cask and ran to meet her.
"Hungry again?" I asked, outwardly smiling. There was a singing in my ears. I could hardly see.
"Oh, no," said she in answer; "but 'a merciful man,' you know, and my poor beast must be starving."
"Yes, I think he is," said I. I forgot the Bo's'n's signal; I forgot everything.