TRUANTS OUT OF SCHOOL
He returned to the terrace, lightly whistling. The morning was
perfect, a delightfully refreshing zephyr lightly stirring in the
trees. Elaine beheld him approaching, and nodded from the cliff.
"The jugs look beautiful!" she called, enthusiastically. "The fire is
barely warm."
He had brought their supply of water in the sea-shell, so variously
employed. Before providing fruits for their breakfast, he went to his
furnace with Elaine. The firing was complete, though the vessels were
not yet cool. A few were cracked, slightly, despite the care that
Grenville had exercised, and one was hopelessly ruined. However, he
felt the product as a whole was surprisingly satisfactory, especially
some of his molds and the crucibles meant for his foundry.
"At noon we'll fill a jug with water," he said, "and you'll find it
will keep surprisingly cool. The clay is slightly porous. The water
oozes through, evaporates on the surface, and thereby chills the
contents. They use nothing else in Egypt, and, I think, in Mexico.
"If it weren't for the tiger," said Elaine, "I could often go to the
spring."
"Right ho!" said Grenville, cheerily, believing he understood a wish
that lay beneath her speech. "That reminds me. I believe I could
manage to deepen a basin I saw in the rock on our lowermost shelf above
the sea, back yonder, and easily fill it by dipping salt water with a
jug on the end of a rope. Any nymph should enjoy such a pool."
"Oh!" said Elaine, delighted by the thought; "do you really think you
could make it?"
"Well--I've thought of it, you see, on an empty stomach. After
breakfast---- There's quite a bit to do, by the way, after breakfast."
With the fruits now presently gathered, he brought a fresh supply of
creepers and leaves of the sisal, for labors soon to begin. And while
Elaine prepared what was left of the meat, and the other things
afforded by their larder, he went to the shelf of rock so completely
protected by its wall, and made up his mind that, with one good tool,
plus a hammer, he could hew out a bath with amazingly little trouble.
"Meant to go fishing this morning!" he confessed, as the sight of the
clear, limpid tide below aroused new desires in his being. "There must
be oysters and many good fish, if I had the time to get them."
Fish-lines and other "diversions" were again postponed when the
breakfast was concluded, while Grenville braided fibers and tied stout
rungs along their length, to form a rude sort of ladder. This he
carried to the spring at length, and hung across the limb of his tree
by lifting its end on a pole.
Once in the tree, he labored diligently, breaking or cutting away a
number of interfering branches, and arranging a makeshift for a seat,
on which to rest as he waited. The bomb would be better prepared in
the afternoon.
On his way, returning to the camp, he gathered a bundle of the special
wood that he used to retain his fire. It was while he was thus
engaged, in an unexplored part of the thicket, that he came upon a
fallen tree, fairly brittle with resin. He snapped off branch after
branch of this, till his load was too heavy to carry. With all he
could take he climbed the trail.
A piece that he tried at the embers of his fire blazed promptly enough,
producing a volume of thick, black smoke, and a flame that burned
slowly down the wood, as he held the lighted end aloft.
"If we happen to need a torch," he said to Elaine, who, as usual, was
watching results, "this will always be stored here, ready." He placed
the fagots in a near-by hollow of the rocks, against possible future
need.
There was nothing further to be done at the spring until the hour of
sunset. The jugs and vessels from the furnace were found to be
sufficiently cool for handling, and were brought to the rear of his
shelter.
The molds he had made excited anew his various ambitions.
"To-morrow I shall start operations on the smelter," he told his
companion. "No tools means no boat--and no boat means no escape."
Elaine felt a bound of excitement in her veins at the mere suggestion
of escape. She inquired: "How long will it take to build your boat?"
"Can't tell," said Grenville, briefly. "Never built one on a toolless
island before."
"I only meant about how long," Elaine explained. "It will take at
least a week, I suppose."
"More likely two," he answered, as before. "Meantime I'm going
fishing. Want to come?"
Elaine had little liking for any such off-hand invitation.
"Not at present, thank you." She turned away from him, coldly.
"It's an art and a sport you ought to cultivate," he informed her,
cheerfully. "Might sometime keep you from starving." He gathered up
the necessary paraphernalia, adding, "I hope the fish will bite," and
started on his way.
He had fully two hundred feet of the line he had braided from fibers.
It was thoroughly "waxed" with juices from the rubber tree, and
although it was frequently knotted along its length, it was strong as a
wire, and not inclined to kink.
His wooden hook was clumsy, but tough as steel, while its point and its
barb were exceedingly sharp. Also, the bait he thrust upon it
concealed it well, except where the line was stoutly attached. With
one of his old rusted hinges for a sinker, it was presently ready for
use.
He had chosen that protected shelf of rock whereon he meant to hew out
a bath for Elaine, since this was the nearest possible approach he
could make to the water from the cliff. There, alas! at the very first
cast attempted, his line was atrociously tangled, while the hook
remained suspended some ten feet up from the tide.
In patience he sat himself down on the ledge to restore the line to
order. Elaine, who had doubtless pondered wisely on his observation,
anent fishing as an art to be acquired, came half reluctantly wandering
over to his side, while Grenville was still engrossed with his mess of
tangles. She watched him in silence for a time, then, finally, sank to
the bench of rock and began to lend her assistance. He made not the
slightest comment, and even failed to thank her when the task was
finally concluded.
Once again, at last, he swung the line for a cast far out in the
waters. It seemed to Elaine the hook and sinker would never cease
sailing outward. Yet they fell and sank, much closer in than even
Grenville had expected.
He began to pull it back at once, since there might be rocks on which
the hook would foul, and his labor be wholly lost. The sinker, and
then the bait, emerged from the crystal depths of brine without so much
as a nibble. Again Grenville sent them full length out, and again drew
in with no results, save a possible inquiry, far below, where he
fancied he saw a gleam of silver.
The third cast fared no better than the others. But the fourth was no
more than started homeward when a sharp, heavy strike was briskly
reported on the line, and Grenville's jerk responded.
"Oh! you've got one!--you've got one!" cried Elaine, with all the true
pleasure of a sportsman. "Please, please don't let it get away!"
Grenville was taking no chances on slack in the line, with his simple
wooden hook. He hauled in, hand over fist, while his catch fought
madly to escape. With a wild inward dash and a mighty flop, the
silvery captive on the barb leaped entirely out of the water.
Grenville's answering maneuver with the line, snatching up fully a yard
of its length, and instantly stooping to clutch it low again, was all
that saved the situation. His fish barely touched the surface, after
that, then was swiftly sailing up in air.
He was a beautiful specimen of his kind, but the species was new to his
captor.
"What's the use of going to school?" was Grenville's query, his eyes as
bright as a boy's. "The next one may be a whale."
The next one, however, was a long time coming. When it was hooked, the
wise fisherman knew it was small, and, most unexpectedly, he delivered
the line to Elaine.
"Now, then, give him the dickens!" he instructed. "You want to make
him think he's struck by lightning."
Surprised as she was, and unprepared for this particular favor, Elaine
did her best, and hauled in valiantly, but the captive got away.
Five or six casts were made after that before the hook was once more
nibbled. Grenville was rather inclined to change for a spot more
popular with the purple water's tribe. Yet he made another of his
longest throws, and had drawn in much of the dripping line when a clean
young tortoise so deeply swallowed the hook that he could not have spat
it out to save him.
The fight he offered was tremendous. He dived and skittered through
the crystal tides like some giant saucer of dynamics. Whole lines of
the brightest silver bubbles arose as he visibly flapped about and
scuttled towards the bottom. The line raced wildly here and there,
cutting the waves with the sound of something hot and sizzling.
But it held for a full half hour of fighting. It was strong enough for
the weight of a man, as Grenville afterward declared. It conquered the
tortoise finally, and drew him up, but not before he had wearied the
fisherman's muscles and greatly fatigued Elaine, who was panting with
sheer excitement.
"There you are," said Grenville, boyishly exultant, "he's wash basin,
comb, a few hairpins, and what-not, all in one, not to mention turtle
soup."
There was no more fishing done that afternoon, nor were knitting
needles carved. What with his turtle, his fish, the digging of several
yams, and the making of his bomb, Grenville was amply employed.
Elaine was at length made acquainted with his programme for the night.
She made no effort to dissuade him from his purpose, but excitement
rose in her bosom. She feared for what the tiger might by mischance
accomplish, and, also, she felt that in some occult way her own fate
and the animal's were alike, if not related--that if such a brute must
helplessly succumb to the man's superior prowess, there was no chance
at all for anything as feeble as herself.
A wild, unreasoning hope was in her breast that the tiger might escape,
or die in some different manner--do something, almost anything, rather
than contribute one more testimony to Sidney Grenville's might. She
could not wish the creature to live, nor yet to injure this bold,
audacious man. She only knew that some dread of the being who could
dare engage or attack this savage monster of the jungle was once more
assailing her quaking heart and stirring her nature to rebellion.
In a manner that was largely automatic, she assisted in providing an
early evening meal. It was dusk, however, when Grenville was finally
ready to leave her on the hill.
She followed him down to the gate against the wall, in the way of a
child who fears long hours alone.
"Good-night," he said to her, cheerily. "If you hear my little
imitation of Bunker Hill--you might drop one tear for the departed."
Her dread of the night, and the outcome of his excursion, had suddenly
increased. "If you kill him," she said, "you'll come home?"
He nodded. "Tickled to death and bragging like a pirate."
Then he placed the logs and rocks against the barrier, and once more
bade her good-night. She waited till his final footsteps died away in
the gloom, then hastened once more to the brink above for a final
glimpse of his form.
He had passed, however, across the clearing, and not even the spark
that he bore to the gathering darkness threw her back a dull red ray.
He had lost little time after leaving the foot of the trail. The
jungle was wrapped in somber shadows as he made his way to the spring.
Some nimble little creature leaped lightly away when he came to the
place. Otherwise there was not a sign or a sound to disturb the
ringing silence. His bomb he placed beside the ebon water, where a
ledge of rock would throw its violence outward. The fuse, which he
carefully uncoiled and laid upon the grass, was amply long to meet his
needs.
At length, with his fire-stick held between his teeth, he ascended the
ladder to his perch. The end of the fuse he now brought to the limb,
conveniently near for lighting. Then he settled himself to wait.
Once he blew on the coal slowly eating his brand, to clean the
incandescent cone. Of a sudden, then, he heard the sound of something
directly beneath him, rudely brushing the foliage aside.
His heart for a second stood still.