HANK, as before mentioned, was a man of resource; there was nothing much he could not do with his hands backed by his head. In two hours on board the Wear Jack he had found the materials for and constructed three tent poles; in the sail room, and by sacrificing the awning, he had obtained the necessary canvas; ropes and pegs evolved themselves from nowhere as if by magic. Then in some way, and from the interior of the Wear Jack, he managed to get planking, not much, but enough for his purpose. Whilst he worked on these matters, George superintended the removal of stores, bully beef, canned tomatoes, canned kippered herrings, biscuits, butter, tea, condensed milk, rice. He sent two Chinks ashore with a boat-load; then, when they came back, the rest of the stuff was loaded into the boat, together with the tent poles and canvas and blankets. Last came a small bundle containing Tommie’s night things and tooth brush. Then they pushed off.

Candon helped in the unloading of the boat and then they set to raising the tents.

In this section of the bay there were two breaks in the line of cliffs, a north and a south break. Hank drew the line of the tents between the breaks and at right angles to the cliffs, so as to escape, as much as possible, the hot land wind when it blew. Also he put a long distance between each tent. Tommie’s was nearest the cliffs, the Chinks’ nearest the sea. By sunset the canvas was up, a fire lit, a beaker filled with fresh water from the issue in the cliff and the stores piled to leeward of the middle tent. Hank had even brought mosquito netting and a plan for using it in the tents. He seemed to have forgotten nothing, till Tommie opened her bundle.

“Where’s my book?” asked Tommie.

“Blest if I haven’t forgot it!” cried Hank. “Chucklehead—say! I’ll put off right now and fetch it.”

“Oh, it’ll wait,” said the other. “I guess I’ll be busy enough for a while not to want books. You can fetch it tomorrow.”

If Hank had known the consequences of delay, he would have fetched it there and then, but he didn’t. He went to attend to the fire. The fire was built of dry seaweed, bits of a broken-up packing case and fragments of wreck wood, and when the kettle was boiled over it and tea made, the sun had set and the stars were looking down on the beach.

After supper Tommie went off to her tent, leaving the men to smoke. The two Chinks, who had built a microscopic fire of their own, were seated close to it talking, maybe of China and home. The wind had died out and through the warm night the sound of the waves all down the beach came like a lullaby.

Hank was giving his ideas of how they should start in the morning attacking the sand, when Candon, who had been smoking silently, suddenly cut in.

“I’ve told her,” said Candon.

“What you say?” asked Hank.

“I’ve told her all about myself and who I am, and the chances, told her when you chaps went off for the stores. Told her it’s possible McGinnis may light down on us before we’ve done, seeing the work before us on that sand, and there’ll maybe be fighting she oughtn’t to be mixed up in.”

“B’gosh!” said Hank. “I never thought of that. What did she say?”

“Oh, she said, ‘Let him come.’ Wouldn’t listen to anything about turning back, said we’d be quitters if we dropped it now.”

“Lord, she’s a peach.”

“She’s more than that,” said Candon. “Well, I’m going for a breather before turning in.” He tapped his pipe out and, rising, walked off down along the sea edge.

George laughed. He was laughing at the size of Candon compared to the size of Tommie, and the quaint idea that had suddenly come to him, the idea that Candon had suddenly become gone on her.

George could view the matter in a detached way, for though T. C. appealed to him as an individual, he scarcely considered her as a girl.

A lot of little signs and symptoms collected themselves together in his head, capped by the tone of those words, “She’s more than that.” Yes, it was highly probable that the heart punch had come to B. C. Why not? Tommie as an anchor wasn’t much, as far as size went, yet as far as character and heart—who could tell? All the indications were in her favour.

“She’s a peach,” murmured Hank, half aloud, half to himself.

Hullo, thought George, has old Hank gone bughouse on her too! Then aloud: “You mean Tommie?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, she’s not so bad.”

“And I went and forgot her book! Bud, d’you remember to-day, when we were all standing like a lot of lost hoodlums, going to turn our backs on this proposition, and the way she yanked us round? It came on me then.”

“What?”

“I dunno. Bud, say—”

“Yes?”

“She’s great. It came on me to-day like a belt on the head with a sandbag. It came to me before. Remember the day she was first aboard and wouldn’t put back, wanting to save our faces? Well, that hit me, but the jaw punch got me to-day, and just now when she trundled off to her tent, lugging that blanket behind her, I seemed to get one in the solar plexus that near sent me through the ropes. Bud, I’m on my back, being counted out.”

“Oh, talk sense,” said Bud. “We’ve too much work on hand to be carrying on with girls. Tie a knot in it, Hank, till we’re clear of this place, anyhow. Besides it’s ten to one there’s some other chap after her.”

A form loomed up coming towards them. It was Candon.