I went to Alice’s cabin, where I found Mrs. Lee writing in what appeared to be a diary, took from a shelf the book Alice had asked me to fetch, and returned to her side; and I had opened the volume and had found the place where I had left off when I last read to her, and was beginning to read aloud when I found my attention disturbed by the sound of voices behind our chairs. I turned my head, and observed that Mr. Wedmold and Mr. Clack had seated themselves, regardless of the heat of the sun, upon a grating near the wheel. They were arguing.
‘It is impossible for me to read,’ I exclaimed, ‘while those men are talking so loud.’
‘What are they arguing about?’ said Alice Lee; ‘let us listen.’
‘Yes, I am with you there,’ said Mr. Wedmold. ‘Defoe’s English is admirable. But “Robinson Crusoe” is full of blunders.’
‘Blunders,’ cried Mr. Clack, whose collars held his neck so rigid that he could not turn his head without moving his body from the waist. ‘I have read “Robinson Crusoe” often enough, and cannot recollect a single blunder for the life of me.’
‘Will you bet?’
‘No, I will not bet.’
‘Will you bet there are no absurdities in “Robinson Crusoe”?’
‘I will stand a drink,’ said Mr. Clack, ‘if you can point out—so as to convince me—a single absurdity in “Robinson Crusoe”.’
‘Right you are!’ exclaimed Mr. Wedmold, with an accent of victorious elation; ‘what about the mark of the foot?’