“I don’t know about being scared, but I certainly ain’t going to try it over again.” “You ain’t?” “No.” Jack did not say a word for a little while, but Tom felt that he was looking at him very hard. At last he spoke again. “It’s my belief, Tom Granger,” said he, “that you haven’t got an ounce of pluck left about you. I believe that you’re that dull that you’d be content to live here forever, if you could get enough to fill your belly!” This was too much for Tom. He sat up suddenly, facing the other. “Jack Baldwin,” said he, and his voice trembled with his anger, “understand me, once for all. If we’re to live together, or to talk together, or to have anything to do with one another, I never want to hear such speech from your mouth as you’ve just given me; do you understand me?” Here he paused for a moment, and then he burst out passionately: “What do you know how much I want to get away? Do you suppose that I don’t want to get away because I don’t keep up an everlasting whimpering and whining about it, as you do? What do you want to get away for, anyhow? Is the only woman that you love in all the world waiting at home for you, looking for you, and praying for you, and wondering why she don’t hear from you—thinking, maybe, that you’re dead. God help her! I wish that I was dead, and that she knew it. It would be better for us both, I guess!” Then he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, rocking his body to and fro as he sat. Jack did not say another word, and in a few moments Tom heard him get up and walk away. After a little while Tom got a grip on himself and looked up again. Jack was standing just below the wreck and over toward the ocean. He had gathered what seemed to be a handful of small, black, flat shells, and he was busy in skimming them out across the surf. Presently Tom got up and walked slowly over to where he was standing. He was heartily ashamed of the way in which he had spoken to the other, and would have given a great deal if he could only have recalled his words; but that is a thing that can never be done. He stood a little behind Jack, with his hands in his breeches pockets, looking down at the sand the while. After a while Jack spoke, without looking around. “Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, doggedly, “I’m sorry I spoke to you the way that I did. I didn’t know that you had a sweetheart at home,—you ought to ha’ told me before. I’ll never say any more about getting away, if I have to stay on this d—d island to the crack of doom, and that I promise you.” “That’s all right,” muttered Tom; “don’t let’s say any more about it.” One of the round black things that Jack was skimming out to sea, lay at his feet, and without knowing what he did, he stooped and picked it up as he was speaking. He turned it over and over in his palm in an absent sort of a way, for he was feeling very uncomfortable at the time.