In the middle of the raft lay Goles, huddled and silent as ever.  Mrs. Goles, at the farther end of the raft, was mostly watching Jan as he heaved on the oar; but sometimes she seemed to be studying her husband.  The Finn woman, nearest to Jan, was hugging her baby to her under Jan’s great coat.  She, too, when she was not watching her baby, was looking at Jan.  The bartender, between Jan and Goles, was looking out for marks ashore.

The bartender was also thinking that the two other men were about the same age, and yet the man in the middle of the raft, when he let his face be seen, looked the older by ten years.  All night long he had not spoken and he seldom raised his head—­when he did it was to gaze at the land.  He seemed to be taking but small notice of anybody.  Toward the bartender, who was behind him, he had not once turned his head.

Jan worked on the long oar.  The point of land was coming nearer.  “A hard drag yet; but we’ll be there by sunrise!” said Jan in a low voice to the bartender; at which Goles looked round suddenly—­but said nothing.

At last they were under the lee of the point.  The sea was beautifully smooth.  Jan stopped sculling and went forward to Mrs. Goles.  “The tide has her,” he said.  “Soon she will be in and we will all be safe!” She looked back at her husband.

The bartender stood up and shouted aloud.  “Safe—­hah!  Say, but ain’t it like looking at something in a moving picture though?” He stuck a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out Jan’s revolver.  He stared at it; then, with a low whistle and a glance at Goles’s back, he returned it to his pocket.  Only the Finn woman had seen the action.

The bartender shoved a hand into his trousers pocket.  He pulled out a handful of bills and silver.  “Well, what do you know?  And I came near putting that into the safe last night!” He unbuttoned his coat and from his vest pocket he pulled out a cigar.  “Well, what do you know?” He next drew out a metallic match-case.  “Well, well—­dry too!” He lit his cigar, took three or four puffs, contentedly sat down, and began smoothing out and counting the damp bills.  “Well, well!—­forty-five, fifty-five, sixty, seventy—­the only time in my life I ever beat a cash register!  Seventy-two—­four—­and on a good night there’d a been three times the business—­eight-four—­six—­eight.  Eighty-eight dollars.”

Goles looked over his shoulder at the bartender.  He wet his lips and stood up.  After a time he threw off his overcoat.  “How about a drink from that flask?” he asked suddenly.

Jan, without looking around, drew the flask from his pocket and handed it to him.  He had already given the two men a drink each—­and the Finn woman and Mrs. Goles two swallows of it during the night; and almost half the brandy was now gone.  Goles put the flask to his lips.  The bartender stopped counting his silver to watch him; and, seeing it go, he called out:  “Say there, Bill, just leave a taste of that, will you?” Goles drank it to the last drop.  When he had finished he threw the empty flask overboard.  “Well, if you ain’t one fine gentleman!” exploded the bartender.