"Oh, William—I mean skipper!"
"You won't mind—there's no one there but a cat."
With mingled apprehension and excitement, Joan stole off to the house.
William, left alone, turned to the summer-house, and in his imagination made it vanish into thin air. Then he went through a ferocious and strenuous pantomime of cutting down trees and piling up logs, and finally beheld the completed summer-house with the proud eye of a creator. Then he opened the door and entered.
A ragged, unkempt man rose from the seat rubbing his eyes. A black bag was on the floor.
William and the man stared at each other, neither of them flinching.
"You're jus' wot I wanted to find," said William at last with excitement and friendliness in his voice; "I jus' wanted a native savage."
"Oh, yer did, did yer?" said the man. "Glad I'll do fer yer arl right. An' 'oo may you be if I may be so bold as to arsk?"
"We're shipwrecked," said William, "shipwrecked on a desert island. I've jus' built a hut, an' my chief mate's gone to find things washed up from the wreck, an' you'll do for the native savage. Do you mind bein' called Friday?"
"Not at all, young gent," said the man, "not at all. 'Erbert 'Ammond is my name, but call me Friday, Saturday an' Sunday, if so you've a mind." (He ran his eye speculatively over William.) "But it seems funny to see a shipwrecked sailor in clothes like them. You'd 'ave thought they'd 'ave all got tore to pieces in the wreck, like."