by a violent snatch which made the boat rock. As he jammed the
hat down he broke or displaced some string or clip near his ears.
At any rate his beard came adrift on the side nearest to me. The
man was wearing a false beard. He remedied the matter at once,
very cleverly, so that I may have been the only witness; but I
saw that the boatman was in the man's secret, whatever it was. He
pulled hard on his starboard oar, bringing the boat partly across
the current, thus screening him from everybody except the workers
in the ships. It must have seemed to all who saw him that he was
merely pulling to another arch of London Bridge.

I was not sure of the man's face. It seemed handsome; that was
all that I could say of it. But I was fascinated by the mystery.
I wondered why he was wearing a false beard. I wondered what he
was doing in the schooner. I imagined all sorts of romantic plots
in which he was taking part. I watched his boat go through the
Bridge with the feeling that I was sharing in all sorts of
adventures already. There was a fall of water at the Bridge which
made the river dangerous there even on a flood tide. I could see
that the waves there would be quite enough for such a boat
without the most tender handling. I watched to see how they would
pass through. Both men stood up, facing forwards, each taking an
oar. They worked her through, out of sight, in a very clever
fashion; which set me wondering again what this handsome
gentleman might be, who worked a boat so well.

I hung about at the end of the garden until dinner time, hoping
that they would return. I watched every boat which came
downstream, finding a great pleasure in the watermen's skill, for
indeed the water at the Bridge was frightful; only a strong nerve