"I don't see any boat."

"There is where the wager comes in, my son. Hurry up--the moon will pop
out in another minute, and spoil the sport."

"Drifting, you say. Bet you she's empty--broke away from her moorings
and riding down with the current. Bet you half a dollar. My second bet,"
he said, warming to the work, "is an old washerwoman and her little boy,
out on their rounds collecting clothes. It's Monday. In case both firsts
are wrong, second choices get the money."

"My bet is--Ha! Stand ready with your half! There she comes--Jove!"

"Good God!" cried Peter and sprang up.

For the moon had jumped out from behind its cloud like a cuckoo in a
clock, and fallen full upon the drifting boat, now hardly fifty yards
away. In the bottom of it lay a man, sprawled over his useless oars,
his upturned face very white in the moonlight, limp legs huddled under
him anyhow. Something in the abandon of his position suggested that he
would not get up any more.




CHAPTER IV


WHICH CONCERNS POLITICS AND OTHER LOCAL MATTERS