BUTLER--[_Overcome by hysterical rage--stammering._] Who asked you for it--eh? Who--wants the dam thing? Not me! No! You damned lunatics! You oughter all be in the asylum? [_Holding the anklet out contemptuously._] Gold? Ha-ha! This junk? I just bit it to make sure. Gold? Brass, that’s what--and pieces of glass! Junk! Not worth a dam. Here! Take it! You can have it! [_He flings it on the sand before them._ BARTLETT _snatches it up protectingly_.] BARTLETT--[_In a frenzy._] Jimmy! [_But_ BUTLER _runs off left with a terrified cry_. JIMMY _springs to his feet and stands with his hand on his knife, waiting for a further order_.] JIMMY--[_Eagerly._] I go catch--go stick him, Captain? BARTLETT--[_Pausing--with a frown._] No. They’s time enough for that--if need be. Sit down. [JIMMY _sits down again with a childish air of sulking_. BARTLETT _stares at the treasure, continuing to frown, as if Butler’s action had made him uneasy, bewildered and confused him. He mutters half to himself._] Queer! Queer! He threw it back as if ’twas a chunk of mud! He knew--and yet he said he didn’t want it. Junk, he called it--and he knows it’s gold! He said ’twas gold himself a second back. He’s queer. Why would he say junk when he knows it’s gold? D’ye think--he don’t believe? HORNE--He was mad because you knocked him down. BARTLETT--[_Shaking his head grimly._] It ain’t the first time I’ve knocked him down; but he never spoke up to me--like that--before. No, it’s somethin’ else is wrong with him--somethin’. HORNE--No share for him, you told him sir. That’s what wrong with him. BARTLETT--[_Again shaking his head._] No. His eyes--It’s somethin’ he’s got in his head--somethin’ he’s hidin’! His share--maybe he thinks he’ll get his share anyway, in spite o’ us! Maybe he thinks his share wouldn’t be all he wants! Maybe he thinks we’ll die o’ hunger and thirst before we get picked up--and that he’ll live--and then--he’ll come in for the whole chestful! [_Suddenly springing to his feet in a rage, convinced that he has found the truth._] Hell’s fire! That’s it, bullies! That’s his sneakin’ plan! To watch us die--and steal it from us! CATES--[_Rising to his knees and shaking his hand threateningly above his head._] Tell Jimmy to knife him, sir! Tell Jimmy--I ain’t got a knife, or I’d do it myself. [_He totters weakly to his feet._] JIMMY--[_Eagerly._] You speak, I stick him, Captain. I stick boy, too. CATES--[_Weakening._] I’m weak, but I kin do for him yet. I’m weak---- [_His knees sag under him. He pleads piteously._] If I’d only a drink to put some strength in me! If I’d only a sup o’ water, I’d do for him! [_Turning, as if to stagger down toward the beach._] There must be water. Let’s look again. I’ll go look---- [_But the effort he makes is too much for his strength and he falls to the sand, panting with open mouth._] BARTLETT--[_Summoning his strength--sternly._] Put a clapper on that jaw of yours, Cates, or I’ll do it for ye!