There wasn't much space between Ben's seat and Sally's. The girl ate little herself. Somehow, women seem to feed their own spiritual flames best by stoking the physical fires of their mates. And with the avidity of the woman long denied the right to care for a loved one's needs, she was filling Ben's plate, with more than even his appetite, whetted by ranging the hills at sunrise, could take care of.
After breakfast, Ben called the mate aside. He suddenly recollected that there was such a custom in the world as shaving.
"Can you lend me a razor and some civilized duds, so I'll look like a human once more?"
"That is hardly a proper courtin' rig," the other commented, "With them bushwhacker whiskers a Maori wench 'ud kiss you for her mate."
And he gave the castaway a jocular dig in the ribs, but the Captain came to Ben's rescue, taking him into his own cabin. Then, observing the toughness of the unwelcome beard, he actually ordered hot water from the galley.
Hot water, soap that floated, razor, and strop! All these hair-splitting conveniences of civilization! For a man fresh from the wilds the shock was almost overpowering.
Even when, a little later, the boy and girl sat before his hut, and he wore the cleanest of white duck, the crude moccasins still encased his feet. Had he even attempted the heavy shoes Captain Brent had lent him, he would have been lamed for life. Still, it was a considerable improvement, for, shorn of its auburn thicket of beard, the pleasant lines of the jaw now emerged, clean-cut and firm as of old, though
