“I’m very sorry to incommode you, sir,” I replied, “but it’s too late now to be sorry that I wasn’t drowned.”
“I might kill you, I suppose,” continued Mr. Crusoe. “I suppose that would make it all right; but I don’t want to do it if I can help it. Still, there’s the fact that I’m not following my grandfather’s example in coming ashore alone, and living alone, and I feel uneasy about it.”
“Hadn’t we better wait till we get through this job, sir?” I asked. “You couldn’t cut down all these trees alone very well.”
“That’s so,” said he, brightening up. “I’ll not kill you anyway until we get this piece of ground cleared, and in the mean time we can talk it over. I’m sure I don’t want to kill you, Mike, if we can see any way out of it.”
This was a nice state of things. I began to think that perhaps Mr. Crusoe’s mind might have gone adrift, and that perhaps he really would try to kill me. But then I couldn’t really think that of him, for he had been so good to me, and I made up my mind that he was joking. However, I thought I’d be on the safe side, so I said,
“Mr. Crusoe, did your grandfather ever kill anybody except cannibals and such?”
“No,” said he, “I don’t think he did, except the mutineers that came ashore with Will Atkins.”
“Then you wouldn’t be following his example if you killed me, would you?” I asked.
“Perhaps you’re right, Mike,” he answered; “but don’t let us talk any more about it. I don’t think it’s a pleasant subject!”
And I’m sure I didn’t think so either.