fore
him, "but beyond your power or mine to accomplish. Is the amount I named
large enough? Could you fill a position on my bridge?"

"I can fill a higher; and your company is not rich enough to buy me."

"You seem to be a man without ambition; but you must have wants."

"Food, clothing, shelter--and whisky," said Rowland with a bitter,
self-contemptuous laugh. The captain reached down a decanter and two
glasses from a swinging tray and said as he placed them before him:

"Here is one of your wants; fill up." Rowland's eyes glistened as he
poured out a glassful, and the captain followed.

"I will drink with you, Rowland," he said; "here is to our better
understanding." He tossed off the liquor; then Rowland, who had waited,
said: "I prefer drinking alone, captain," and drank the whisky at a
gulp. The captain's face flushed at the affront, but he controlled
himself.

"Go on deck, now, Rowland," he said; "I will talk with you again before
we reach soundings. Meanwhile, I request--not require, but request--that
you hold no useless conversation with your shipmates in regard to this
matter."

To the first officer, when relieved at eight bells, the captain said:
"He is a broken-down wreck with a temporarily active conscience; but is
not the man to buy or intimidate: he knows too much. However, we've
found his weak point. If he gets snakes before we dock, his testimony is
worthless. Fill him up and I'll see the surgeon, and study up on drugs."

When Rowland turned out to breakfast at seven bells that morning, he
found a pint flask in the pocket of his pea-jacket, which he felt of but
did not pull out in sight of his watchmates.

"Well, captain," he thought, "you are, in truth, about as puerile,
insipid a scoundrel as ever escaped the law. I'll save you your drugged
Dutch courage for evidence." But it was not drugged, as he learned
later. It was good whisky--a leader--to warm his stomach while the
captain was studying.

CHAPTER V

An incident occurred that morning which drew Rowland's thoughts far from
the happenings of the night. A few hours of bright sunshine had brought
the passengers on deck like bees from a hive, and the two broad
promenades resembled, in color and life, the streets of a city. The
watch was busy at the inevitable scrubbing, and Rowland, with a swab and
bucket, was cleaning the white paint on the starboard taffrail, screened
from view by the after deck-house, which shut off a narrow space at