Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII--THE LOGIC OF YOUTH

"I wish I knew whether you are merely headstrong, or whether you
really intend to be a Solomon planter," Sheldon said in the
morning, at breakfast.

"I wish you were more adaptable," Joan retorted. "You have more
preconceived notions than any man I ever met. Why in the name of
common sense, in the name of . . . fair play, can't you get it into
your head that I am different from the women you have known, and
treat me accordingly? You surely ought to know I am different. I
sailed my own schooner here--skipper, if you please. I came here
to make my living. You know that; I've told you often enough. It
was Dad's plan, and I'm carrying it out, just as you are trying to
carry out your Hughie's plan. Dad started to sail and sail until
he could find the proper islands for planting. He died, and I
sailed and sailed until I arrived here. Well,"--she shrugged her
shoulders--"the schooner is at the bottom of the sea. I can't sail
any farther, therefore I remain here. And a planter I shall
certainly be."

"You see--" he began.

"I haven't got to the point," she interrupted. "Looking back on my
conduct from the moment I first set foot on your beach, I can see
no false pretence that I have made about myself or my intentions.
I was my natural self to you from the first. I told you my plans;
and yet you sit there and calmly tell me that you don't know
whether I really intend to become a planter, or whether it is all
obstinacy and pretence. Now let me assure you, for the last time,
that I really and truly shall become a planter, thanks to you, or
in spite of you. Do you want me for a partner?"

"But do you realize that I would be looked upon as the most foolish
jackanapes in the South Seas if I took a young girl like you in
with me here on Berande?" he asked.

"No; decidedly not. But there you are again, worrying about what
idiots and the generally evil-minded will think of you. I should
have thought you had learned self-reliance on Berande, instead of
needing to lean upon the moral support of every whisky-guzzling
worthless South Sea vagabond."

He smiled, and said, -

"Yes, that is the worst of it. You are unanswerable. Yours is the
logic of youth, and no man can answer that. The facts of life can,
but they have no place in the logic of youth. Youth must try to
live according to its logic. That is the only way to learn
better."

"There is no harm in trying?" she interjected.

"But there is. That is the very point. The facts always smash
youth's logic, and they usually smash youth's heart, too. It's
like platonic friendships and . . . and all such things; they are
all right in theory, but they won't work in practice. I