A proverb of Our Harbour maintains that a fool and his life are soon parted.
Doctor Luke invented the saying.
"'Twould be engraved on my stationery," he would declare, out of temper with recklessness, "if I had any engraved stationery!"
Yet now, impatient of precaution, when he thought of Dolly West, Doctor Luke presently chanced a leap. It was error. As the meager light disclosed the path, a chasm of fifteen feet intervened between the edge of the upturned pan upon which he and Billy Topsail stood and a flat-topped hummock of Arctic ice to which he was bound. There was footing for the tip of his gaff midway below. He felt for this footing to entertain himself whilst the moon delayed.
It was there. He was tempted. It was an encouragement to rash conduct. The chasm was critically deep for the length of the gaff. Worse than that, the hummock was higher than the pan. Doctor Luke peered across. It was not much higher. Was it too high? No. It would merely be necessary to lift stoutly at the climax of the leap. And there was need of haste—a little maid in hard case at Ragged Run and a rising cloud threatening black weather.
"Ah, sir, don't leap it!" Billy pleaded.
"Tut!" scoffed the Doctor.
"Wait for the moon, sir!"