knew him for a quick man, dominant, one with
the will to lead; and now he found himself supplanted, dependent on the
word of his own younger brother.... Every one knew that Mark and Joel had
always been rather enemies than comrades; so, now, they wondered, and
waited, and watched with all their eyes. Joel saw them, by twos and
threes, whispering together about the ship; and he knew what it was they
were asking each other.

Of all those on the _Nathan Ross_ that day, Mark himself seemed least
conscious of the dramatic possibilities of the situation. He was glad to
be back among friends; but beyond that he did not go. He gave Joel an
exaggerated measure of respect, so extreme that it was worse than scorn
or mockery. Otherwise, he took no notice of the potentialities created by
his return.

Priss had planned to go ashore in the afternoon; but Mark dissuaded her.
This was not difficult; he did it so laughingly and so dextrously that
Priss changed her mind without knowing just why she did so. Mark took it
upon himself to make up for her disappointment; they were together most
of the long, hot afternoon. Joel could hear their laughter now and then.

He had expected to go ashore with Priss; but when she came to him and
said: "Joel, Mark says it's just dirty and hot and ugly, ashore, and I'm
not going," he changed his mind. There was no need of his making the
trip, after all. Varde and Morrell had brought out water, towing long
strings of almost-filled casks behind their boats; and boats from the
shore had come off to sell fresh food. So at dusk, the anchor came up,
and the _Nathan Ross_ spread her dingy sails, and stalked out of the
harbor with the utmost dignity in every stiff line of her, and the night
behind them swallowed up the island. Mark and Priss were astern to watch
it blend in the darkness and lose itself; and Priss, when their last
glimpse of it faded, heard the man draw a deep breath of something like
relief. She looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"What is it?" she asked softly. "Were you--unhappy there?"

Mark laughed aloud. "My dear Priss," he said, in the elder-brother manner
he affected toward her. "My dear Priss, the South Sea Islands are no
place for a white man, especially when he is alone. I'm glad to get back
in the smell of oil, with an honest deck underfoot. And I don't mind
saying so."

Priss shuddered, and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, how I hate that smell," she
exclaimed. "But, Mark--tell m