Make me go back to the ship," explained the boy.
"Best thing for you," affirmed Lingard with conviction.
"No," retorted the boy; "me want stop here; not want go home.

Get money here; home no good." "This beats all my going a-fishing," commented the astonished Lingard.
"It's money you want?
Well! well! And you were not afraid to run away, you bag of bones, you!" The boy intimated that he was frightened of nothing but of being sent back to the ship.

Lingard looked at him in meditative silence.
"Come closer," he said at last.

He took the boy by the chin, and turning up his face gave him a searching look.

"How old are you ?" "Seventeen." "There's not much of you for seventeen.