"Push, and go, and energy, and independence.

What do you think, skipper ?" "I think she is young, very young, only a girl," replied the captain of the _Minerva_, continuing to stare into the blackness that hid the sea.
The blackness seemed suddenly to increase in density, and they stumbled up the beach, feeling their way to the gate.
"Watch out for nuts," Sheldon warned, as the first blast of the squall shrieked through the palms.

They joined hands and staggered up the path, with the ripe cocoanuts thudding in a monstrous rain all around them.
They gained the veranda, where they sat in silence over their whisky, each man staring straight out to sea, where the wildly swinging riding- light of the _Minerva_ could be seen in the lulls of the driving rain.
Somewhere out there, Sheldon reflected, was Joan Lackland, the girl who had not grown up, the woman good to look upon, with only a boy's mind and a boy's desires, leaving Berande amid storm and conflict in much the same manner that she had first arrived, in the stern-sheets of her whale-boat, Adamu Adam steering, her savage crew bending to the oars.

And she was taking her Stetson hat with her, along with the cartridge-belt and the long-barrelled revolver.

He suddenly discovered an immense affection for those fripperies of hers at which he had secretly laughed when first he saw them.