"Welcome, prince of quacks! For a man who has made so many others walk the plank with poison drugs, you do it but poorly yourself," cried the captain, merrily. "You will d-d-draw your last breath with a joke, as a d-d-drunkard sips his last drop with a sigh," responded the doctor. "The captain was born with the corners of his mouth turned up like a dead man's toes," drawled the lugubrious mate. "Where is the judge?" asked the doctor, hitting the captain a hearty slap on the back. "He will be here a little later," the host replied. The three boon companions seated themselves by the gunwale of the vessel, basking in the mellow light of the moon and quaffing the liquor which a negro brought them. While they were drinking and recalling the many revels which they had held together, an hour passed by, and at its close a form was seen coming leisurely down the sloping bank of the river. It was the justice of the peace, come to make merry with the husband of the woman he had just betrayed. Upon that cynical countenance a close observer might have noted even in the pale light of the moon an expression of sardonic pleasure when he returned the hearty greetings with which his coming was hailed. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting," he said. "We have all the b-b-better appetite," responded the doctor. "If, as the old saw says, the time to eat is when the stomach rings the bell, I am ready!" the captain piped, in his high-pitched voice. "Diogenes being asked what time a man ought to eat, responded, 'The rich, when he is hungry, and the poor, when he has food,'" said the judge, whose mind threw up old scraps of classical knowledge as the ocean throws up shells. "As for hunger, my appetite is sharper than a scythe; but my indigestion is duller than a whetstone," said the mate, to whom a feast was always prophetic of subsequent fasting. "Good digestion waits on appetite; but waits too long, eh?" the judge replied. The captain led the way to the cabin. It was a low, dingy room, but ruddy with the light of a dozen tallow candles. On the table was spread a feast that would have tempted the palates of the epicures who gathered about the festive board of the immortal Lucullus. There was neither art nor display in the accompaniments of the food, but every luxury that an ample market could supply had been prepared by a cook who could have won immortality in a Paris restaurant, and the finest whisky that could be distilled in old Kentucky, the rarest wines that could be imported from the Rhine or from sunny Italian slopes, were ready to flow.