A lidless cigar-box nailed against the wall contained a razor, a lather-brush, and half a cake of soap. He picked up the razor and once more studied himself in the mirror.
"No," he said, shaking his head slowly as he returned the razor to its place. "Don't get foolish. You can't be useful and beautiful at the same time."
He replaced the lantern on the table and went to the cot, where he stretched himself on the gray blankets and lay staring up at the roof-boards for many minutes. The boatman's thoughts were apparently amusing, for once he laughed aloud, while many times he chuckled.
"That was a close go last night," he remarked, addressing himself to a knot-hole, through which, by a little maneuvering of his head, he could focus a brilliant star. "Just a little closer and they'd have had me. It was the master mechanic who did the trick.
"Some mechanic, too! A pal worth having, that lady—a sort of lucky strike, it looks to me. She's not gentle exactly, with that tongue of hers; but she's all there when it comes to getting action. Had a gun in her pocket, too."
He laughed again.
"A gun—for poor Sam!" he added. "Guess I'll have to be careful. And yet—
"No, sir! I'm not going to lose sight of this proposition. It looks too good to me. And right on the same island, by Jiminy! Couldn't be planted better—for me. Why, she's just got to be a pal!"
Presently he closed his eyes and made an effort to sleep, a task which he abandoned with suddenness after five minutes.
"No use; I'm too curious," he muttered, rising. "I'm going up to Clayton. It might happen to have come in."