I had resigned the binoculars to him, but he never
brought report of a sail.
"On two points--which served us again and again for furious
quarrels--the fool was quite obstinate. He would not budge from our
first encampment--that is to say, out of sight of Santa's grave; and
he flatly refused to fit new planks to the ruinated boat which now
lay, a thing of ribs, high and dry as we had hauled her close
underneath the fern-brake beside the cascade. Again and again I
pointed out to him that, patched up, she would serve me for fishing.
To this he answered, truly enough, that we had a plenty of fish in
the rock-pools and a plenty of oysters on the shore. Then I urged
that, if we sighted a ship--though it didn't matter to me--we might
need a boat to get out to her. He retorted that, though it mattered
to him, he would never set foot again in that cursed craft or help me
to set foot in her. Finally, one day when I was absent on an
expedition after food, he broke her remains to shreds.
"Upon this we had an insane quarrel--the more insane because it all
turned on my dwelling on the detriment to his chances of escape and
his reminding me of my indifference.
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