I said, “I don’t understand. What do you mean? What are you going to do? I didn’t call you a liar, Herve. You admit I didn’t, and I’m blamed glad I didn’t. You did ’phone then—did you? Just say you did—just say it so I can say I believe you. Tell me more—I—I believe every blamed word that you say. I admit I’m a punk scout—now are you satisfied?”
He said, sort of more pleasant, “You’re not so bad, it’s Arnoldson and that crowd—the keepers.”
I said, “Go on and tell me.”
“Didn’t you notice a light away across the lake when you came out of Administration Shack?” he asked me.
I said, “I thought it was the reflection of the light.”
“Somebody is out there,” he said. “You can’t see the light now on account of the mist. But somebody is out there. I can see a little glimmer now and then.”
“I can’t see anything now,” I said.
“That’s because nobody called you a liar,” he told me. “It means more to me than it does to you.”
I just gulped, I could hardly speak. I put my hand on his bare arm, it was all tattooed by some old sailor that he met once, and I said, “You’re—you’re not going to get away with that, Hervey—not with me. It means just as much to me—it does—as—as it does to you. It’s just like as if he called me a liar. That’s the way I feel now. I can’t see any light out there, but whatever you’re going to do I’m with you. If that crazy fool came to camp and sneaked into Administration Shack hunting for the chart he had heard about, he’s a bigger fool than I thought he was. Do you suppose his name is Wilkins?” I asked Hervey.
“No, he just gave that name,” Hervey said. “If he’d had any sense he’d have stood the receiver off when the ’phone rang. I suppose he got rattled. It’s just a crazy fool enterprise all through. He’s out there now, fishing around, I suppose.”