anard the
appearance of lounging back on an incline. You see, when I ripped up the
boards to take a look I broke off a piece at a knot-hole, and that
allows him a chance to look out with one eye. He seems to approve of the
position, however, so I get in at the stern, facing him, and ask if he's
ready. He gives me the nod, and I shove off. Just for company I take my
grave-digging tools along--that is, all but the pick and the shovel. It
was pretty near full when I started, but I lose the cork and drink it up
for safety.

"I don't remember much about the first part of the trip except that I
get awful lonesome. By and by I begin to sing:

"'Oh, the French are in the bay!' said the Shaun Van Vocht.
'The French are in the bay,' said the Shaun Van Vocht.
'The French are in the bay. They'll be here without delay.
'But their colors will decay,' said the Shaun Van Vocht."

"I've got a mean singing-voice when I'm sober, but when I'm kippered
it's positively insulting. It makes my passenger sore, and he shows it.
Now, I'm not saying that Manard wasn't as dead as a dried herring. He
was past and gone, and he'd made his exit all right. He'd moved out, and
his lease had expired. But I saw that box move. It shifted from side to
side. I quit singing. My song-fountain ran dry. Says I to myself: 'I
just neglected to lash you down, Mr. Manard; you didn't really turn
over. It was the motion of the boat.' Then, just to make sure, I break
forth into 'Johnny Crapaud,' keeping my eye on the right lens of the old
man where it showed through the broken board. This time there ain't a
doubt of it. He lurches, box and all, clean out of plumb and nearly
capsizes me. His one lamp blazes. Yes, sir, blazes! I tries to get out
of range of it, but it follers me like a searchlight. I creeps forward
to cover it up with my coat, but the old frog-eater leans to starboard
so far that I have to balance on the port gunnel to keep from going
over. We begin to spin in the current. Manard sees he has me buffaloed,
and it pleases him. He wags his head at me and grins like he did when he
came to me in my sleep.

"Well, sir, that eye enthralls me. It destroys my chain of thought. I
feel the chills stealing into my marrow, and that one hundred and fifty
dollars looks mighty small and insignificant. By and by I begin to
figure it out this way: says I, 'I've outrun him once to-day, and if I
can get ashore I'll try it again.' But when I turn the canoe