But we saw him again when we came into view of the beach. He was down by the water, ostentatious with a boat, which lay stern on to the surf--the only man and the only craft handy in all the waste prospect. Joshua stopped in admiration. “A providence, it seems to me!” said he. “We can’t go with _him_!” I muttered. Our visitor looked at me in wonder. “Why not?” he said. How could I answer? That this seeming opportuneness was nothing more, as I was convinced, than a deliberate self-appropriation by this man of a scheme which he had overheard us discussing in the hall last night? And what then, save a confession on his part of a good trading instinct? I must find something better than that. “He’s a drunkard,” I said, flushing. “He isn’t to be trusted, in my opinion.” “Why?” said Joshua. “Isn’t it his own boat?” “O yes!” I answered; for it was, indeed--the single sound piece of goods which Rampick had saved and clung to out of the wreck of his past. “Isn’t it big enough?” insisted the visitor. “Quite big enough.” “Why,” said Joshua, “a seaman never loses his legs but ashore. And we are three to one, gentlemen. I’m small; but I’ll back myself for a rat to grip. If it’s me you’re thinking of----” Harry hung his head. I was ashamed to say more. It did seem ridiculous that three vigorous bodies should be timorous of this one crazy oaf. The half-truth made us out cravens, and the whole was impossible. Nevertheless, the prospect of such a boatman for the trip quite took off the edge of its pleasure. We followed Joshua hangdog, as he strode down the Gap and across the beach. “You’ve whetted my curiosity,” he said over his shoulder. “A drunken smuggler should be good company.” I scowled at Harry, dropping behind. “Well, why didn’t you take upon yourself to answer him?” he muttered viciously. “We’re in for a nice thing, it seems, knowing what we know. It’ll be pleasant to have to hob-nob with the fellow, and a warrant for his hanging like in our pockets!” “He’s brought it on himself,” I answered. “He heard us last night; and I’ll swear he’s been ready and waiting for us all the morning.” “Well, look out for squalls, that’s all I can say,” said my friend; and, as he spoke, we reached the boat. Rampick, busy over it, never even looked up as we came. But I could see his great hands trembling on the thwarts, as he leaned down. “We want to pull out to the wreck, Mr. Rampick,” I faltered. “Can you let us have your boat?” I essayed to exclude him, as a last resource. He did not raise his head, but answered in a heavy shaking voice from where he bent. “Which it’s well known _to_ you, sir, that my boat and me don’t part company.” “It’s a special occasion, Mr. Rampick.” He came up, with a sudden heaving together of all his bulk, and subsiding rigidly backwards against the gunwale, stood breathing softly, and staring with intense unblinking eyes, _not at us, but at our companion_.