“Guess you’re not extra hungry,” he remarked.
She made no response.
“Mad, eh? Well, toss me the little knife. Mine has got too good a meat-edge to spoil on these husks.”
“It was very kind of you to climb for the nuts, and the wind blowing so hard up there,” she said, as she handed over the penknife. “I am not angry. It is only that I feel tired and depressed. I hope I am not going to be–”
“No; you’re not going to have the fever, or any such thing! You’re played out, that’s all. I’m a fool for bringing you so far. You’ll be all right after you eat and rest. Here; drink this cocoa milk.”
She drained the nut, and upon his insistence, made a pretence at eating. He was deceived until, with the satisfying of his first keen hunger, he again became observant.
“Say, that won’t do!” he exclaimed. “Look at your bowl. You haven’t nibbled enough to keep a mouse alive.”
“Really, I am not hungry. But I am resting.”
“Try another nut. I’ll have one ready in two shakes.”
He caught his hat, which was dragging past in a downward eddy of the wind, and weighted it with a cocoanut. He wedged another nut between his knees, and bent over it, tearing at the husk. It took him only a few moments to strip the fibre from the end and gouge open the germ hole. He held out the nut, and glanced up to meet her smile of acceptance.