Harrigan

“Eggs!  How perfectly wonderful, Mr. Harrigan!  And I’m starved!”

She looked up to him, radiant with delight; but the triumphant eye of Harrigan fell not upon her but on McTee, who had suddenly grown pensive.

“But how can we cook them?  There’s nothing to boil water in—­and no pan for frying them,” ventured McTee.

“Roast ’em,” said Harrigan scornfully.  “Like this.”

He wrapped several eggs in wet clay and placed them in the glowing ashes of the fire which had now burned low.

“While they’re cooking,” said McTee, “I’m going off.  I’ve an idea.”

Harrigan watched him with a shade of suspicion while he retreated.  He turned his head to find Kate studying him gravely.

“Before you came, Mr. Harrigan—­”

“My name’s Dan.  That’ll save time.”

“While you were gone,” she went on, thanking him with a smile, “Captain McTee told me a great many things about you.”

Harrigan stirred uneasily.

“Among other things, that you had no such record as he hinted at while we were on the Mary Rogers.  So I have to ask you to forgive me—­”

The blue eyes grew bright as he watched her.

“I’ve forgotten all that, for the sea washed it away from my mind.”

“Really?”

“As clean as the wind has washed the sky.”

Not a cloud stained the broad expanse from horizon to horizon.

“That’s a beautiful way to put it.  Now that we are here on the island, we begin all over again and forget what happened on the ship?”

“Aye, all of it.”

“Shake on it.”

He took her hand, but so gingerly that she laughed.

“We have to be careful of you,” he explained seriously.  “Here we are, as McTee puts it, on the rim of the world, two men an’ one woman.  If something happens to one of us, a third of our population’s gone.”

“A third of our population!  Then I’m very important?”

“You are.”

He was so serious that it disconcerted her.  It suddenly became impossible for her to meet his eyes, they burned so bright, so eager, with something like a threat in them.  She hailed the returning figure of McTee with relief.

He came bearing a large gourd, and he knelt before Kate so that she might look into it.  She cried out at what she saw, for he had washed the inside of the gourd and filled it with cool water from the spring.

“Look!” said she to Harrigan.  “It’s water—­and my throat is fairly burning.”

“Humph,” growled Harrigan, and he avoided the eye of McTee.

The gourd was too heavy and clumsy for her to handle.  The captain had to raise and tip it so that she might drink, and as she drank, her eyes went up to his with gratitude.

Harrigan set his teeth and commenced raking the roasted eggs from the hot ashes.  When her thirst was quenched, she looked in amazement at Harrigan; even his back showed anger.  In some mysterious manner it was plain that she had displeased the big Irishman.

He turned now and offered her an egg, after removing the clay mold.  But when she thanked him with the most flattering of smiles, she became aware that McTee in turn was vexed, while the Irishman seemed perfectly happy again.

“Have an egg, McTee,” he offered, and rolled a couple toward the big captain.

“I will not.  I never had a taste for eggs.”

“Why, captain,” murmured Kate, “you can’t live on shellfish?”

“Humph!  Can’t I?  Very nutritious, Kate, and very healthful.  Have to be careful what you eat in this climate.  Those eggs, for instance.  Can you tell, Harrigan, whether or not they’re fresh?”

Harrigan, his mouth full of egg, paused and glared at the captain.

“For the captain of a ship, McTee,” he said coldly, “your head is packed with fool ideas.  Eat your fish an’ don’t spoil the appetites of others.”

He turned to Kate.

“These eggs are new-laid—­they’re—­they’re not more than twenty-four hours old.”

His glance dared McTee to doubt the statement.  The captain accepted the challenge.

“I suppose you watched ’em being laid, Harrigan?”

Harrigan sneered.

“I can tell by the taste partly and partly”—­here he cracked the shell of another egg and, stripping it off, held up the little white oval to the light—­“and partly by the color.  It’s dead white, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“That shows it’s fresh.  If there was a bit of blue in it, it’d be stale.”

McTee breathed hard.

“You win,” he said.  “You ought to be on the stage, Harrigan.”

But Harrigan was deep in another egg.  Kate watched the two with covert glances, amazed, wondering.  They had saved each other from death at sea, and now they were quarreling bitterly over the qualities of eggs.

And not eggs alone, for McTee, not to be outdone in courtesy, passed a handful of his shellfish to Harrigan.  The Irishman regarded the fish and then McTee with cold disgust.

“D’you really think I’m crazy enough to eat one of these?” he queried.

Black McTee was black indeed as he glowered at the big Irishman.

“Open up; let’s hear what you got to say about these shellfish,” he demanded.

Harrigan announced laconically:  “Scurvy.”

“What?” This from Kate and McTee at one breath.

“Sure.  There ain’t any salt in ’em.  No salt is as bad as too much salt.  A friend of mine was once in a place where he couldn’t get any salt food, an’ he ate a lot of these shellfish.  What was the result?  Scurvy!  He hasn’t a tooth in his head today.  An’ he’s only thirty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” cried Kate indignantly, and she laid a tentative finger against her white teeth, as if expecting to find them loose.

“I didn’t want to hurt McTee’s feelin’s.  Besides, maybe a few of them won’t hurt you—­much!”

McTee suddenly burst into laughter, but there was little mirth in the sound.

“Maybe you know these are the great blue clams that are famous for their salt.”

“Really?” said Kate, greatly relieved.

“Yes,” went on McTee, his eyes wandering slightly.  “This species of clam has an unusual organ by which it extracts some of the salt from the sea water while taking its food.  Look here!”

He held up a shell and indicated a blue-green spot on the inside.

“You see that color?  That’s what gives these clams their name and this is also the place where the salt deposit forms.  This clam has a high percentage of salt—­more than any other.”

Harrigan, sending a bitter side glance at McTee, rose to bring some more wood, for it was imperative that they should keep the fire burning always.

“I’m so glad,” said Kate, “that we have both the eggs and the clams to rely on.  At least they will keep us from starving in this terrible place.”

“H’m.  I’m not so sure about the eggs.”

He eyed them with a watering mouth, for his raging hunger had not been in the least appeased by the shellfish.

“But I’ll try one just to keep you company.”

He peeled away the shell and swallowed the egg hastily, lest Harrigan, returning, should see that he had changed his mind.

“Maybe the eggs are all right,” he admitted as soon as he could speak, and he picked up another, “but between you and me, I’ll confess that I shall not pay much attention to what Harrigan has to say.  He’s never been to sea before.  You can’t expect a landlubber to understand all the conditions of a life like this.”

But a new thought which was gradually forming in her brain made Kate reserve judgment.  Harrigan came back and placed a few more sticks of wood on the fire.

“I can’t understand,” said Kate, “how you could make a fire without a sign of a match.”

“That’s simple,” said McTee easily.  “When a man has traveled about as much as I have, he has to pick up all sorts of unusual ways of doing things.  The way we made that fire was to—­”

“The way we made it?” interjected Harrigan with bitter emphasis.

Kate frowned as she glanced from one to the other.  There was the same deep hostility in their eyes which she had noticed when they faced each other in the captain’s cabin aboard the Mary Rogers.

“An’ why were ye sittin’ prayin’ for fire with the gir-rl thremblin’ and freezin’ to death in yer ar-rms if ye knew so well how to be makin’ one?”

“Hush—­Dan,” said Kate; for the fire of anger blew high.

McTee started.

“You know each other pretty well, eh?”

“Tut, tut!” said Harrigan airily.  “You can’t expect a slip of a girl to be calling a black man like you by the front name?”

McTee moistened his white lips.  He rose.

“I’m going for a walk—­I always do after eating.”

And he strode off down the beach.  Harrigan instantly secured a handful of the shellfish.

“Speakin’ of salt,” he said apologetically, “I’ll have to try a couple of these to be sure that the captain’s right.  I can tell by a taste or two.”

He pried open one of the shells and ate the contents hastily, keeping one eye askance against the return of McTee.

“Maybe he’s right about these shellfish,” he pronounced judicially, “but it’s a hard thing an’ a dangerous thing to take the word of a man like McTee—­he’s that hasty.  We must go easy on believin’ what he says, Kate.”