"He had a decent enough sail when I saw him last," explained the skipper, "and I don't mean to say that he's a thief. He paid for the boat, right enough, though he bargained pretty close. He wanted to see more of Cuba, you know, but the Spaniards wouldn't have anything more to do with him, because of something he wrote, so he just got me to steam in five weeks ago, and let him off in the port life-boat. Now he's back again, with a nigger." "What's his game?" asked Hemming. "Search me,--unless it's just trouble," said the mariner, returning the glass and hurrying down to the deck. By this time the _Laura_ was rolling lazily. The captain ordered a man to stand ready with a line; the poncho was lowered, aboard the adventurous rowboat, and the nigger manned the oars; the white man in the stern sheets stood up and raised his Panama hat, and the passengers along the _Laura's_ rail replied with cheers. The captain leaned far over the side. "What about that bet?" he shouted. The stranger drew his hand from a pocket of his ragged ducks and held something aloft,--something crumpled and green. Then he regained his soaring seat, and gripped the tiller. The captain lifted a beaming countenance to Hemming on the bridge. "That's the first white man who ever got out of Cuba with ten dollars," he bawled. Evidently the captain did not consider Spaniards as white men. The line was thrown, and went circling and unfolding through the air until it fell into the boat. The ladder was unlashed and dropped over the _Laura's_ side. In a minute O'Rourke and the pacifico were on the deck, and in another minute the port life-boat was back on its davits. O'Rourke was warmly welcomed aboard. Even the chief engineer appeared from below to shake his hand. The captain hurried him to the chart-room, and beckoned to Hemming from the door. When Hemming entered, he found the newcomer lying full length on the locker, with a glass of whiskey and water in his left hand, and the other under his head. He got stiffly to his feet upon the Englishman's entrance, and, after shaking hands cordially, lay down again. "Now what do you think of that?" queried the skipper, glancing from O'Rourke to the other. O'Rourke laughed good-naturedly, but with a note of weariness. "I must confess it was not exactly a Sunday-school picnic," he said, "and a chap's insides get fearfully squirmy on a diet of sugar-cane and a few random plantains." The skipper, who had been carefully, even lovingly, mixing drinks in two more glasses, eyed O'Rourke severely. "You'd better get married, and give up them tomfool actions," he said, "or some fine day the Spaniards will catch up to you, and then,--well, you'll be sorry, that's all." "They caught up to several of our party this time," remarked O'Rourke, casually. "By Jove!" exclaimed Hemming, straightening his eye-glass. The man with the Irish name and non-committal accent turned his head on the locker, and smiled at the other adventurer.