to the Old Man, in my hearing.
"We have them all hustling except two," he told Swope. "One jasper the
Swede dosed with his black bottle, and another one who has been
sandbagged. I'll have them on deck by muster. A damned seedy bunch,
taken by and large, Captain. We're one hand shy!"

"What's that? One hand shy?" exclaimed Swope, sharply.

"Yes, sir; cleared out, I expect. Came on board last night--one of the
two the Swede told us about, who picked the ship themselves. There's
one of them at the wheel. But the other one, the big one, was gone
this morning. Best looking beef of the entire lot, too. Good
sailorman, or I'm a farmer; looked like an officer down on his luck."

Swope turned to me. "Where is the fellow who came on board with you?"
he demanded.

"I don't know, sir," I replied. "He had disappeared when I woke up
this morning."

"_Huh_! Sounds fishy!" was his response. "Don't lie to me, my lad, or
I'll wring your neck for you!" He stood silent a moment, opening and
shutting his fingers, just as though he were turning the matter over in
the palms of his hands. Then he cursed.

"You searched about for'ard for him?" he asked Lynch.

"Yes, sir; he isn't on board," the second mate answered.

"Then why are you bothering me?" the Old Man wanted to know. "If the
swab is gone, he's gone. Drive the rest of them the harder to make up
for his loss!"

He resumed his pacing of the poop, while Lynch went forward.

I was well enough pleased by the ending of the incident. For a moment
I had feared the captain would blame me for Newman's absence. With the
little squarehead's fate fresh in my mind I had no desire to foul
Yankee Swope's temper.

But I could not help thinking about Newman. His going was a mystery,
and, moreover, I was sorry to see the last of him. I wondered why he
had not stayed. It was not fear that made him clear out; of that I was
certain. What then? The lady?

I began to think about the _Golden Bough's_ lady. To think of Newman
was to think of her. I was sure she had drawn him on board the ship.
Had she, then, sent him packing ashore, while I slept? What was he--a
discarded lover? Was she the lass in the beggarman's yarn? Had he
shipped so he might worship his beloved from the lowly foc'sle? Or was
he seeking vengeance? Oh, I read my Southworth and Bulwer in those
days, and had some fine ideas regarding the tender passion. I felt
sure there was some romantic heart-b