A COMMERCIAL PROPOSITION

Merriman was roused next morning by the feeling rather than the
sound of stealthy movements going on not far away. He had not
speedily slept after turning in. The novelty of his position, as
well as the cramped and somewhat knobby bed made by the locker,
and the smell of oils, had made him restless. But most of all
the conversation be had had with Hilliard had banished sleep, and
he had lain thinking over the adventure to which they had committed
themselves, and listening to the little murmurings and gurglings of
the water running past the piles and lapping on the woodwork beside
his head. The launch kept slightly on the move, swinging a little
backwards and f0rwards in the current as it alternately tightened
and slackened its mooring ropes, and occasionally quivering gently
as it touched the wharf. Three separate times Merriman had heard
the hour chimed by the city clocks, and then at last a delightful
drowsiness crept over him, and consciousness had gradually slipped
away. But immediately this shuffling had begun, and with a feeling
of injury he roused himself to learn the cause. Opening his eyes
he found the cabin was full of light from the dancing reflections
of sunlit waves on the ceiling, and that Hilliard, dressing on the
opposite locker, was the author of the sounds which had disturbed
him.

"Good!" cried the latter cheerily. "You're awake? Quarter to five
and a fine day."

"Couldn't be," Merriman returned, stretching himself luxuriously.
"I heard it strike two not ten seconds ago."