Independent of his personal hurt, the boatman was suffering from intense anxiety regarding the duties of his occupation. It had been his employer's pride to be always first in the incoming course of the California steamers, and now his little craft lay with its sails furled in a cove below the house, waiting for a signal to put to sea. The man had been very anxious to intercept the steamers of that month, because it was thought that Mr. Mellen might possibly be on board, and he was sure of a good round sum, in that case, for bringing this gentleman on shore, while his superior, the pilot, took the steamer into port. North heard all these muttered regrets as he sat gloomily in the bar-room, and they seemed to affect him more than so unimportant a subject should have done. It was now drawing towards night, and the man became terribly restless, for the pilot was expected every moment, and from vague conjecture the poor fellow worked his mind up into a certainty that Mellen would come, and the reward for bringing him on shore be lost. "If there was only a man about that could take care of the craft," he said, "I'd divide with him a fair half to take my place, but there isn't, and ten chances to one the boss loses his chance with the steamer, all because of this confounded foot of mine. I wish we'd let the passengers drown; well, not quite so bad as that, but it's plaguey hard on a fellow to give up his luck in this way." The bar-room happened to be empty just then, with the exception of North and the injured man. North aroused himself and looked around. Seeing no listeners near, he went up to the grumbler, and began to condole with him. "Is there no one who can take your place?" he questioned. "Not a man. These fellows do well enough in fishing boats that can hug the shore, but sometimes the boss runs his craft clear out to sea. Besides, this weather is enough to frighten a fresh hand," was the impatient answer. "What if I should make an offer to go." "You!" The man laughed in spite of his pain and annoyance. "You. I like that." "But I can handle a boat in pretty rough waters, let me tell you, my man." "But you look too much of a gentleman. The boss would never trust you." "Oh, a suit of your clothes, which I see they have had sense enough to dry, and a few things I have on hand will make that all right." "But, how much? how much?" inquired the man, anxiously. "Why, nothing; I shall go for the fun of it, or not at all." "That's the idea," answered the seaman, rubbing his hands--which still trembled with weakness--in sudden delight, "a real gentleman and no mistake, but bear a hand at once. It won't do for the commodore to find you in this rig." "Aye, aye," answered North, sailor fashion, and in a voice that seemed hoarse from years of sea service. The man started up on the settee, aroused to dangerous enthusiasm by astonishment. "That's the time o' day," he cried in high glee.