"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.
North snatched up the seaman's clothes, and retired with them into a little room back of the bar. He had got over the first shock of nervousness regarding the dead body lying upstairs, but still shrunk from looking on it again with shuddering terror. The remembrance of his crime did not prevent the contemplation of another equally atrocious, but he did not care to look on that sight again. After a little he came out from the room, so completely changed that the sick man stared wildly at him, and called out,
"Where away, messmate; are you one of the fellows we saved from the wreck?"