six o’clock
It was as if he had tricked and outwitted torturing memories , had actually managed to get on board without them . He thought of nothing at all . If his mind now and again picked a face out of the grayness , it was Lucius Wilson 's , or the face of an old schoolmate , forgotten for years ; or it was the slim outline of a favorite greyhound he used to hunt jack-rabbits with when he was a boy . Toward six o'clock the wind rose and tugged at the tarpaulin and brought the swell higher . After dinner Alexander came back to the wet deck , piled his damp rugs over him again , and sat smoking , losing himself in the obliterating blackness and drowsing in the rush of the gale . Before he went below a few bright stars were pricked off between heavily moving masses of cloud . The next morning was bright and mild , with a fresh breeze .