“While you were searching,” Tom went on, hesitating, but still showing something of his old stolid manner, “I wasn’t a-scared, but I was thinking—I had to think about something—before I could decide what I ought to do.”
“All right, sonny,” said the man in the sailor clothes. “I’m glad you know what’s best for you. Out with it. You’ve got a key to that porthole, eh? Now where is it?”
“You had a flashlight and threw it out, didn’t you?” added the officer. “Come now.”
Tom looked from one to the other. His brother began to speak but was peremptorily silenced.
“It ain’t knowin’ what’s good for me,” Tom managed to say, “’cause as soon as I—as soon as I—made up my mind about that—then right away I knew what I ought to do——”
He gulped and looked straight at the officer so as not to meet his brother’s threatening look.
“I had to decide it myself—’cause—’cause Mr. Ellsworth—a man I know—ain’t here. Maybe a feller’s own family come first and I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t—tell on ’em—if—if they stole—or something like that,” he blurted out, twisting his fingers together. “And—and—I didn’t forget neither—I didn’t,” he added, turning and looking his brother straight in the face, “I didn’t—I——”
He broke down completely and the men stared at him, waiting.
“Anyway—anyway—I got to remember——” He broke off.
“Well, what became of the light?” the officer urged rather coldly.