him off forever. Possibly his disappearance had caused them to
suspect him; even now they might be regarding him as a defaulter,
as a fugitive from justice. His accounts, no doubt, were being
carefully overhauled. In actual time, two days and two nights had
passed; to David it seemed many ages.

On the third day he crawled to the stern, where there seemed less
motion, and finding a boat's cushion threw it in the lee scupper
and fell upon it. From time to time the youth in the golf cap had
brought him food and drink, and he now appeared from the cook's
galley bearing a bowl of smoking soup.

David considered it a doubtful attention.

But he said, "You're very kind. How did a fellow like you come to
mix up with these pirates?"

The youth laughed good-naturedly.

"They're not pirates, they're patriots," he said, "and I'm not
mixed up with them. My name is Henry Carr and I'm a guest of
Jimmy Doyle, the captain."

"The barkeeper with the derby hat?" said David.

"He's not a barkeeper, he's a teetotaler," Carr corrected, "and
he's the greatest filibuster alive. He knows these waters as you
know Broadway, and he's the salt of the earth. I did him a favor
once; sort of mouse-helping-the-lion idea. Just through dumb luck
I found out about this expedition. The government agents in New