The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1926-03-20


strange dignity, Il always carry these with me-
and have used them before"
A faint curl of smoke rose from the finder
A moment later fire was cracking, while Ted
drew apart the two watch-crystals, spilIing the
water between them into the sand.
Week followed week; new moons came and
went For the only time in his life Ted's skill
at little things seemed to be of use. He built
a nest in tree-top for Hilda. He gathered
bananas and plantain fruit-for Hilda. Skins
torn from animals by his bare hands, were
transformed into sack and skirts for her com
fort and protection. And, late one afternoon,
his last two shells went unerringly into the
brain of a lion to save her life, and his Jaws
munched snake-root to soothe her painful
scratches.
That night Ted reached his zenith of haupi- |
ness. When he was bathing Jagged wound on
her palm, blue eyes looked up at him, and an
arm crept across, his narrow; powerful should |
ers. 4o14 bfs aa0 svas.aa |
ooh, my dear. my dear. IL love yOu-so
much"
So, an hour later, Ted lifted his hands to- |
ward the friendly stars, breathed deep of the |
fresh sea breeze, and smiled. Remember-he i
smiled
Every evening since they were marooned. he |
had built a large signal fire on the rocky head
land which formed one side of the bay And |
las he heaped branches upon the cracking |
flames, and scanned the darkness for a light |
upon the ocean double wrinkle would appear |
between his eyes, growing more pronounced on
each succeeding night. Only after the final
armload of fagots was placed on the fire. and |
the darkness surveyed for the last time with |
no ships light seen-only then would Teds |
brows relax; and over his face would steal a |
pleased expression, like that which he always |
wore in Hilda's presence
On this night, the wrinkle became furrow. |
Even his muscles seemed to rebel .'Stop! Oh, |
lplease!' whispered his right hand as he broke |
la dry limb from a tree. "Don't! Oh, DON'T! |
moaned both his arms as he rolled large log
into the flames "Waiti For Gods sake! |
Don't look! Go on back!" implored a voice |
behind his eyes, as he strained them over the |
water. 'Civilization-it gave you nothing; it |
will take what you have, your life, which is |
Hilda. Turn awayw And, altho the darkness
was not rifted by any sign of a ship, an ire |
sistibe lassitude swept over him. so that his
knees trembled, and his body shivered in the |
fragrant night air. And as he made his way
among the rack and trees back to Hilda, his
brows remained knit
So Ted was not surprised, the next morn
ing, when, with his sack of newly-gathered
muscles in his hand, he confronted three men
on the low, sandy beach at the head of the bay.
"Qu'est-ce que vous etes?" queried the tall /
lest.
Ted shook his head.
"Quien es usted?"
Again Ted sgniied that he did not under
stand.
"Who are your" asked the man on the right, |
before the first speaker could shift to another |
language.
There was pronounced difference between
the appearance of the young yachtsmen, on
the one hand, and of Ted Rusten, on the other.
Tall, square-shouldered, almost military in pos
ture and dress, the new arrivals seemed to en-
body the best in modern physical and mental
culture; while Ted in his beard and loin-cloth,
Dronzed and lithesome, harked back to that
dim past when human beings thought less and
lived longer.
Ten hours later Hilda was lingering some
hlmy dresses in the stateroom of the yacht
n nar'c