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McGuire understood perfectly; but he tried to point out that Paullen should not be ashore at all; that Nada would have him all to herself, flat on his back, helpless. Williams glared and made a gesture of impatient dismissal.

McGuire had always got along so easily with the rigorous Williams because of a nearly complete understanding of his character, and he had known that a boy of Paullen's type would at once engage his sympathy, but he had miscalculated its extent and nature.

McGuire did not like the outlook. He had no eagerness to go through a month and more of the dirty, stinking work of oyster fishing, for Williams was going on after shell since he had a debt to pay, and would pay it as best he could; but Pulotu was not even a good place to loaf. However, it was the best place at which a sick boy could be put on shore that the Flying Gull (now no longer the Flying Gull, but the Hans Haasbruck—for Williams often used the name of another ship, as it did much to confuse those who searched for him) for many a long month perhaps would be near. It was bad enough to be responsible for one who was sick, but he foresaw that Paullen was sure to be much harder to look after if he got well; and his mission, the place where he was going, with its great, dark, rotting house and uncared-for grounds, his separation from Williams, and almost every condition that he anticipated, dispirited McGuire.