The captain had the advantage, three to one, and I made no doubt his employer bitterly regretted not having a boatman whose principles were more strict.  At the end of the hour Captain Jay, who by nature was inclined to be taciturn and crabbed, waxed loquacious and even jovial.  He sang us the songs he had learned in the winter lumber-camps, which Mr. Cooke never failed to encore to the echo.  My client vowed he had not spent a pleasanter afternoon for years.  He plied the captain with cigars, and explained to him the mystery of the strings and labels; and the captain experimented until he had broken some of the bottles.

Mr. Cooke was not a person who made any great distinction between the three degrees, acquaintance, friendship, and intimacy.  When a stranger pleased him, he went from one to the other with such comparative ease that a hardhearted man, and no other, could have resented his advances.  Mr. Drew was anything but a hard-hearted man, and he did not object to my client’s familiarity.  Mr. Cooke made no secret of his admiration for Mr. Drew, and there were just two things about him that Mr. Cooke admired and wondered at, above all else,—­the bushy red whiskers.  But it appeared that these were the only things that Mr. Drew was really touchy about.  I noticed that the detective, without being impolite, did his best to discourage these remarks; but my client knew no such word as discouragement.  He was continually saying:  “I think I’ll grow some like that, old man,” or “Have those cut,” and the like,—­a kind of humor in which the captain took an incredible delight.  And finally, when a certain pitch of good feeling had been arrived at, Mr. Cooke reached out and playfully grabbed hold of the one near him.  The detective drew back.  “Mr. Cooke,” said he, with dignity, “I’ll have to ask you to let my whiskers alone.”

“Certainly, old man,” replied my client, anything but abashed.  “You’ll pardon me, but they seemed too good to be true.  I congratulate you on them.”

I was amused as well as alarmed at this piece of boldness, but the incident passed off without any disagreeable results, except, perhaps, a slight nervousness noticeable in the detective; and this soon disappeared.  As the sun grew low, the Celebrity’s conductors straggled in with fishing-rods and told of an afternoon’s sport, and we left the captain peacefully but sonorously slumbering on the bank.

“Crocker,” said my client to me, afterwards, “they didn’t feel like the real, home-grown article.  But aren’t they damned handsome?”

CHAPTER XIII

After supper, Captain Jay was rowed out and put to bed in his own bunk on the Scimitar.  Then we heaped together a huge pile of the driftwood on the beach and raised a blazing beacon, the red light of which I doubt not could be seen from the mainland.  The men made prongs from the soft wood, while Miss Thorn produced from the stores some large tins of marshmallows.