A moment later, he had placed his bottle of whisky carefully in the boat, and was loosing the chain painter from the willow stump.
"Why not ?" he said to himself.

"It will be easier in midstream,--and more certain." Carefully, so that no sound should break the stillness, he stowed the chain in the bow, and then worked the skiff around until it pointed out into the stream.

Then, with his hands grasping the sides of the little craft, and the weight of his body on one knee in the stern, he pushed vigorously with his free foot against the bank and so was carried well out from the shore.

As the boat lost its momentum, the strong current caught it and whirled it away down the river.
Groping in the darkness, the man found his bottle of whisky, and working the cork out with his pocketknife, drank long and deep.
Already, save for a single light, the town was lost in the night.

As the man watched that red spot on the black wall, the stream swung his drifting boat around a bend, and the light vanished.