The Island of Doctor Moreau.
Mister Shut-up. If they can’t have you, you goes overboard. But, anyhow, you go—with your friends. I’ve done with this blessed island for evermore, amen! I’ve had enough of it.
“But, Montgomery,” I appealed.
He distorted his lower lip, and nodded his head hopelessly at the grey-haired man beside him, to indicate his powerlessness to help me.
“I’ll see to you, presently,” said the captain.
Then began a curious three-cornered altercation. Alternately I appealed to one and another of the three men,—first to the grey-haired man to let me land, and then to the drunken captain to keep me aboard. I even bawled entreaties to the sailors. Montgomery said never a word, only shook his head. “You’re going overboard, I tell you,” was the captain‘s refrain. “Law be damned! I’m king here.” At last I must confess my voice suddenly broke in the middle of a vigorous threat. I felt a gust of hysterical petulance, and went aft and stared dismally at nothing.
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