“Oh, that’s no way to talk to your host,” complained Hartley. “It has a tendency to make a man peevish; and you don’t want me to be peevish, do you?”
Connorton did not; and he realized that it would be the part of wisdom to hold his temper in check. “I beg your pardon, Hartley,” he said. “It’s not your fault, of course, but I’ve endured such unspeakable horrors during the last few days that my nerves are all on edge.”
“That’s better,” commended Hartley. “You shall have a nice highball for that; and then we’ll tuck you in your little bed and sing you to sleep.”
BIG SPLASH, as Joe called him, was awakened in the morning by the sound of a big splash, and he shuddered. It made him think of the great splash of the night before. Looking out from under the canvas, however, he discovered that this splash was made by Hartley, who was enjoying an early swim.
Connorton’s clothes, still damp, hung from the branch of a tree near at hand, but he did not wait to put them on. He recalled the fact that he had a very deep and special interest in the life of Hartley, and Hartley was recklessly splashing about beyond the end of the shelving rock, where the water was deep. Wherefore, wrapping his blanket about him, Connorton hurried down to the rock and pleaded with the inventor to come out.
“What for?” asked Hartley.
“You might drown,” replied Connorton. “I can’t swim, so I couldn’t help you.”
“Bosh!” returned Hartley. “This is fine! Better come in yourself and get freshened up for the day.”
But Connorton would not, and neither would he abandon his station on the rock, even to dress, until Hartley came out. He could at least summon the guides to the rescue if the foolhardy man should be in danger. So he stood there, looking more like a distressed Indian squaw than a white man, until Hartley left the water.
“He needs me,” reflected Hartley; “he needs me very, very much! Else why this anxiety for my safety? And,” he added whimsically, “I can see much sport ahead, whatever his purpose may be.”