His heart paused when he saw the boat returning in the afternoon without Hicks. The others reported that they had separated before dinner, and that they had not seen him since, though Captain Jenness had spent an hour trying to look him up before starting back to the ship. The captain wore a look of guilty responsibility, mingled with intense exasperation, the two combining in as much haggardness as his cheerful visage could express. “If he's here by six o'clock,” he said, grimly, “all well and good. If not, the Aroostook sails, any way.” Lydia crept timidly below. Staniford complexly raged to see that the anxiety about Hicks had blighted the joy of the day for her. “How the deuce could he get about without any money?” he demanded of Dunham, as soon as they were alone. Dunham vainly struggled to look him in the eye. “Staniford,” he faltered, with much more culpability than some criminals would confess a murder, “I lent him five dollars!” “You lent him five dollars!” gasped Staniford. “Yes,” replied Dunham, miserably; “he got me aside, and asked me for it. What could I do? What would you have done yourself?” Staniford made no answer. He walked some paces away, and then returned to where Dunham stood helpless. “He's lying about there dead-drunk, somewhere, I suppose. By Heaven, I could almost wish he was. He couldn't come back, then, at any rate.” The time lagged along toward the moment appointed by the captain, and the preparations for the ship's departure were well advanced, when a boat was seen putting out from shore with two rowers, and rapidly approaching the Aroostook. In the stern, as it drew nearer, the familiar figure of Hicks discovered itself in the act of waving a handkerchief He scrambled up the side of the ship in excellent spirits, and gave Dunham a detailed account of his adventures since they had parted. As always happens with such scapegraces, he seemed to have had a good time, however he had spoiled the pleasure of the others. At tea, when Lydia had gone away, he clapped down a sovereign near Dunham's plate. “Your five dollars,” he said. “Why, how--” Dunham began. “How did I get on without it? My dear boy, I sold my watch! A ship's time is worth no more than a setting hen's,--eh, captain?--and why take note of it? Besides, I always like to pay my debts promptly: there's nothing mean about me. I'm not going ashore again without my pocket-book, I can tell you.” He winked shamelessly at Captain Jenness. “If you hadn't been along, Dunham, I couldn't have made a raise, I suppose. _You_ wouldn't have lent me five dollars, Captain Jenness.” “No, I wouldn't,” said the captain, bluntly. “And I believe you'd have sailed without me, if I hadn't got back on time.” “I would,” said the captain, as before.