“That’s it–you’re a not! That’s true!” broke in Blake, with sudden grim humor. “You’re a nothing. A fellow can’t even wipe his shoes on nothing!”
The change to sarcasm came as an immense relief to Winthrope.
“Ah, I say now, Blake,” he drawled, pulling together his assurance the instant the dangerous light left Blake’s eyes, “I say now, do you think it fair to pick on a man who is so much your–er–who is ill and weak?”
“That’s it–do the baby act,” jeered Blake. “But say, I don’t know just how much eavesdropping you did; so there’s one thing I’ll repeat for the special benefit of your ludship. It’ll be good for your delicate health to pay attention. From now on, the cliff top belongs to Miss Leslie. Gents and book agents not allowed. Understand? You don’t go up there without her special invite. If you do, I’ll twist your damned neck!”
He turned on his heel, and left the Englishman cowering.
CHAPTER XIX
AN OMINOUS LULL
The three saw nothing more of each other that day. Miss Leslie had withdrawn into the baobab, and Blake had gone off down the cleft for more salt. He did not return until after the others were asleep. Miss Leslie had gone without her supper, or had eaten some of the food stored within the tree.
When, late the next morning, she finally left her seclusion, Blake was nowhere in sight. Ignoring Winthrope’s attempts to start a conversation, she hurried through her breakfast, and having gathered a supply of food and water, went to spend the day on the headland.
Evening forced her to return to the cleft. She had emptied the water flask by noon, and was thirsty. Winthrope was dozing beneath his canopy, which Blake had moved some yards down towards the barricade. Blake was cooking supper.