He was almost dead of fever when I found him in his little
palmetto shack. I got medicine for him, stayed until he was well.
That's why he told me about the gold."
"Think of that!" says Mrs. Mumford. "He had been a pirate himself,
hadn't he?"
"Well, hardly," says Rupert. "A tinsmith, I think he told me. He was
a tough old citizen, though--an atheist or something like that. Very
profane. Used chewing tobacco."
Mrs. Mumford shudders. "And you were alone with such a desperado, on a
desert island!" she gasps, rollin' her eyes.
"Oh, I can generally look out for myself," says Rupert, tappin' his hip
pocket.
He was fairly beamin', Rupert was, for Mrs. Mumford was not only
lettin' him write his own ticket, but was biddin' his stock above par.
And all the rest of the day he swells around chesty, starin' out at the
ocean as important as if he owned it all.
"At last," says I, "we know the romance of Rupert."
"I hope it doesn't keep me awake nights," says Vee.
"Look at the bold, bad ex-school teacher," says I. "Wonder what
blood-curdlin' mind plays he's indulgin' in now? There! He's
unlimberin' the glasses again."
It must have been about four o'clock, for I remember hearin' eight
bells strike and remarkin' to Vee what a silly way that was to keep
track of time.
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