ut all these things. It has quite
drinkable water, I understand. It is one of the Grenadines--one of the
Windward Islands. Yonder, dim and blue, are others of the Grenadines.
There are quantities of Grenadines, but the majority are out of sight.
I have often wondered what these islands are for--now, you see, I am
wiser. This one at least is for you. Sooner or later some simple native
will come along and take you off. Say what you like about us then--abuse
us, if you like--we shan't care a solitary Grenadine! And here--here
is half a sovereign's worth of silver. Do not waste that in foolish
dissipation when you return to civilisation. Properly used, it may give
you a fresh start in life. And do not--Don't beach her, you beggars,
he can wade!--Do not waste the precious solitude before you in foolish
thoughts. Properly used, it may be a turning-point in your career. Waste
neither money nor time. You will die rich. I'm sorry, but I must ask you
to carry your tucker to land in your arms. No; it's not deep. Curse
that explanation of yours! There's not time. No, no, no! I won't listen.
Overboard you go!"

And the falling night found Mr. Ledbetter--the Mr. Ledbetter who had
complained that adventure was dead--sitting beside his cans of food,
his chin resting upon his drawn-up knees, staring through his glasses in
dismal mildness over the shining, vacant sea.

He was picked up in the course of three days by a negro fisherman
and taken to St. Vincent's, and from St. Vincent's he got, by the
expenditure of his last coins, to Kingston, in Jamaica. And there he
might have foundered. Even nowadays he is not a man of affairs, and then
he was a singularly helpless person. He had not the remotest idea what
he ought to do. The only thing he seems to have done was to visit all
the ministers of religion he could find in the place to borrow a passage
home. But he was much too dirty and incoherent--and his story far
too incredible for them. I met him quite by chance. It was close upon
sunset, and I was walking out after my siesta on the road to Dunn's
Battery, when I met him--I was rather bored, and with a whole evening
on my hands--luckily for him. He was trudging dismally towards the
town. His woebegone face and the quasi-clerical cut of his dust-stained,
filthy costume caught my humour. Our eyes met. He hesitated. "Sir," he
said, with a catching of the breath, "could you spare a few minutes for
what I fear will seem an incredible story?"