"You're getting wise," he cried, as he scrambled toward me; "but don't
think you've walloped him. He'll come back at you when he has a better
opportunity of beating you up."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER V
I MAKE A PROMISE
The morning following the unpleasant incident with Leith broke clear and
sunny. The Pacific, as if tired after its mad pranks of the preceding
three days, was a shimmering stretch of placid blue water, and the
shattered spars and loose cordage of _The Waif_ were the only reminders
of the terrific storm that had swept us before it.
Captain Newmarch set all hands at work to repair the damage, and before
midday we were bowling along under as much canvas as we could spread.
The storm being directly from the southwest had not carried us from our
course, and Newmarch chuckled when he had taken an observation.
"We'll strike it in the morning," he growled.
"What? Penrose Island?" I asked.
"No, the Isle of Tears," he answered sharply.
"The Isle of Tears?" I repeated.
"That's what I said," he remarked sourly. "And now you know as much as I
know.
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