Chapter XXVIII--Capitulation

by Jack London

　　When Sheldon emerged from among the trees he found Joan waiting atthe compound gate, and he could not fail to see that she wasvisibly gladdened at the sight of him.

　　"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," was her greeting."What's become of Tudor? That last flutter of the automatic wasn'tnice to listen to. Was it you or Tudor?"

　　"So you know all about it," he answered coolly. "Well, it wasTudor, but he was doing it left-handed. He's down with a hole inhis shoulder." He looked at her keenly. "Disappointing, isn'tit?" he drawled.

　　"How do you mean?"

　　"Why, that I didn't kill him."

　　"But I didn't want him killed just because he kissed me," shecried.

　　"Oh, he did kiss you!" Sheldon retorted, in evident surprise. "Ithought you said he hurt your arm."

　　"One could call it a kiss, though it was only on the end of thenose." She laughed at the recollection. "But I paid him back forthat myself. I boxed his face for him. And he did hurt my arm.It's black and blue. Look at it."

　　She pulled up the loose sleeve of her blouse, and he saw thebruised imprints of two fingers.

　　Just then a gang of blacks came out from among the trees carryingthe wounded man on a rough stretcher.

　　"Romantic, isn't it?" Sheldon sneered, following Joan's startledgaze. "And now I'll have to play surgeon and doctor him up.Funny, this twentieth-century duelling. First you drill a hole ina man, and next you set about plugging the hole up."

　　They had stepped aside to let the stretcher pass, and Tudor, whohad heard the remark, lifted himself up on the elbow of his soundarm and said with a defiant grin, -

　　"If you'd got one of mine you'd have had to plug with a dinner-plate."

　　"Oh, you wretch!" Joan cried. "You've been cutting your bullets."

　　"It was according to agreement," Tudor answered. "Everything went.We could have used dynamite if we wanted to."

　　"He's right," Sheldon assured her, as they swung in behind. "Anyweapon was permissible. I lay in the grass where he couldn't seeme, and bushwhacked him in truly noble fashion. That's what comesof having women on the plantation. And now it's antiseptics anddrainage tubes, I suppose. It's a nasty mess, and I'll have toread up on it before I tackle the job."

　　"I don't see that it's my fault," she began. "I couldn't help itbecause he kissed me. I never dreamed he would attempt it."

　　"We didn't fight for that reason. But there isn't time to explain.If you'll get dressings and bandages ready I'll look up 'gun-shotwounds' and see what's to be done."

　　"Is he bleeding seriously?" she asked.

　　"No; the bullet seems to have missed the important arteries. Butthat would have been a pickle."

　　"Then there's no need to bother about reading up," Joan said. "AndI'm just dying to hear what it was all about. The Apostle is lyingbecalmed inside the point, and her boats are out to wing. She'llbe at anchor in five minutes, and Doctor Welshmere is sure to be onboard. So all we've got to do is to make Tudor comfortable. We'dbetter put him in your room under the mosquito-netting, and send aboat off to tell Dr. Welshmere to bring his instruments."

　　An hour afterward, Dr. Welshmere left the patient comfortable andattended to, and went down to the beach to go on board, promisingto come back to dinner. Joan and Sheldon, standing on the veranda,watched him depart.

　　"I'll never have it in for the missionaries again since seeing themhere in the Solomons," she said, seating herself in a steamer-chair.

　　She looked at Sheldon and began to laugh.

　　"That's right," he said. "It's the way I feel, playing the fooland trying to murder a guest."

　　"But you haven't told me what it was all about."

　　"You," he answered shortly.

　　"Me? But you just said it wasn't."

　　"Oh, it wasn't the kiss." He walked over to the railing and leanedagainst it, facing her. "But it was about you all the same, and Imay as well tell you. You remember, I warned you long ago whatwould happen when you wanted to become a partner in Berande. Well,all the beach is gossiping about it; and Tudor persisted inrepeating the gossip to me. So you see it won't do for you to stayon here under present conditions. It would be better if you wentaway."

　　"But I don't want to go away," she objected with ruefulcountenance.

　　"A chaperone, then--"

　　"No, nor a chaperone."

　　"But you surely don't expect me to go around shooting everyslanderer in the Solomons that opens his mouth?" he demandedgloomily.

　　"No, nor that either," she answered with quick impulsiveness."I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll get married and put a stop toit all. There!"

　　He looked at her in amazement, and would have believed that she wasmaking fun of him had it not been for the warm blood that suddenlysuffused her cheeks.

　　"Do you mean that?" he asked unsteadily. "Why?"

　　"To put a stop to all the nasty gossip of the beach. That's apretty good reason, isn't it?"

　　The temptation was strong enough and sudden enough to make himwaver, but all the disgust came back to him that was his when helay in the grass fighting gnats and cursing adventure, and heanswered, -

　　"No; it is worse than no reason at all. I don't care to marry youas a matter of expedience--"

　　"You are the most ridiculous creature!" she broke in, with a flashof her old-time anger. "You talk love and marriage to me, verymuch against my wish, and go mooning around over the plantationweek after week because you can't have me, and look at me when youthink I'm not noticing and when all the time I'm wondering when youhad your last square meal because of the hungry look in your eyes,and make eyes at my revolver-belt hanging on a nail, and fightduels about me, and all the rest--and--and now, when I say I'llmarry you, you do yourself the honour of refusing me."

　　"You can't make me any more ridiculous than I feel," he answered,rubbing the lump on his forehead reflectively. "And if this is theaccepted romantic programme--a duel over a girl, and the girlrushing into the arms of the winner--why, I shall not make a biggerass of myself by going in for it."

　　"I thought you'd jump at it," she confessed, with a naivete hecould not but question, for he thought he saw a roguish gleam inher eyes.

　　"My conception of love must differ from yours then," he said. "Ishould want a woman to marry me for love of me, and not out ofromantic admiration because I was lucky enough to drill a hole in aman's shoulder with smokeless powder. I tell you I am disgustedwith this adventure tom-foolery and rot. I don't like it. Tudoris a sample of the adventure-kind--picking a quarrel with me andbehaving like a monkey, insisting on fighting with me--'to thedeath,' he said. It was like a penny dreadful."

　　She was biting her lip, and though her eyes were cool and level-looking as ever, the tell-tale angry red was in her cheeks.

　　"Of course, if you don't want to marry me--"

　　"But I do," he hastily interposed.

　　"Oh, you do--"

　　"But don't you see, little girl, I want you to love me," he hurriedon. "Otherwise, it would be only half a marriage. I don't wantyou to marry me simply because by so doing a stop is put to thebeach gossip, nor do I want you to marry me out of some foolishromantic notion. I shouldn't want you . . . that way."

　　"Oh, in that case," she said with assumed deliberateness, and hecould have sworn to the roguish gleam, "in that case, since you arewilling to consider my offer, let me make a few remarks. In thefirst place, you needn't sneer at adventure when you are living ityourself; and you were certainly living it when I found you first,down with fever on a lonely plantation with a couple of hundredwild cannibals thirsting for your life. Then I came along--"

　　"And what with your arriving in a gale," he broke in, "fresh fromthe wreck of the schooner, landing on the beach in a whale-boatfull of picturesque Tahitian sailors, and coming into the bungalowwith a Baden-Powell on your head, sea-boots on your feet, and awhacking big Colt's dangling on your hip--why, I am only too readyto admit that you were the quintessence of adventure."

　　"Very good," she cried exultantly. "It's mere simple arithmetic--the adding of your adventure and my adventure together. So that'ssettled, and you needn't jeer at adventure any more. Next, I don'tthink there was anything romantic in Tudor's attempting to kiss me,nor anything like adventure in this absurd duel. But I do think,now, that it was romantic for you to fall in love with me. Andfinally, and it is adding romance to romance, I think . . . I thinkI do love you, Dave--oh, Dave!"

　　The last was a sighing dove-cry as he caught her up in his arms andpressed her to him.

　　"But I don't love you because you played the fool to-day," shewhispered on his shoulder. "White men shouldn't go around killingeach other."

　　"Then why do you love me?" he questioned, enthralled after themanner of all lovers in the everlasting query that for ever hasremained unanswered.

　　"I don't know--just because I do, I guess. And that's all thesatisfaction you gave me when we had that man-talk. But I havebeen loving you for weeks--during all the time you have been sodeliciously and unobtrusively jealous of Tudor."

　　"Yes, yes, go on," he urged breathlessly, when she paused.

　　"I wondered when you'd break out, and because you didn't I lovedyou all the more. You were like Dad, and Von. You could holdyourself in check. You didn't make a fool of yourself."

　　"Not until to-day," he suggested.

　　"Yes, and I loved you for that, too. It was about time. I beganto think you were never going to bring up the subject again. Andnow that I have offered myself you haven't even accepted."

　　With both hands on her shoulders he held her at arm's-length fromhim and looked long into her eyes, no longer cool but seeminglypervaded with a golden flush. The lids drooped and yet bravely didnot droop as she returned his gaze. Then he fondly and solemnlydrew her to him.

　　"And how about that hearth and saddle of your own?" he asked, amoment later.

　　"I well-nigh won to them. The grass house is my hearth, and theMartha my saddle, and--and look at all the trees I've planted, tosay nothing of the sweet corn. And it's all your fault anyway. Imight never have loved you if you hadn't put the idea into myhead."

　　"There's the Nongassla coming in around the point with her boatsout," Sheldon remarked irrelevantly. "And the Commissioner is onboard. He's going down to San Cristoval to investigate thatmissionary killing. We're in luck, I must say."

　　"I don't see where the luck comes in," she said dolefully. "Weought to have this evening all to ourselves just to talk thingsover. I've a thousand questions to ask you."

　　"And it wouldn't have been a man-talk either," she added.

　　"But my plan is better than that." He debated with himself amoment. "You see, the Commissioner is the one official in theislands who can give us a license. And--there's the luck of it--Doctor Welshmere is here to perform the ceremony. We'll getmarried this evening."

　　Joan recoiled from him in panic, tearing herself from his arms andgoing backward several steps. He could see that she was reallyfrightened.

　　"I . . . I thought . . ." she stammered.

　　Then, slowly, the change came over her, and the blood flooded intoher face in the same amazing blush he had seen once before thatday. Her cool, level-looking eyes were no longer level-looking norcool, but warmly drooping and just unable to meet his, as she cametoward him and nestled in the circle of his arms, saying softly,almost in a whisper, -

　　"I am ready," Dave."