A week had elapsed and nothing of an eventful nature had
transpired to disturb the routine of life aboard the _Maggie_,
until Bartholomew McGuffey, having heard certain waterfront
whispers, considered it the part of prudence to lay his
information before Scraggs and Mr. Gibney.
"Look here, Scraggs," he began briskly. "It's all fine an' dandy
to promise me a new boiler, but when do I git it?"
"Why, jes' as soon as we can get this glut o' freight behind us,
Bart, my boy. The way it's pilin' up on us now, what with this
bein' the height o' the busy season an' all, it stands to reason
we got to wait a while for dull times before layin' the _Maggie_
up."
"What's the matter with orderin' the new boiler now so's to have
it ready to chuck into her over the week-end," McGuffey
suggested. "There needn't be no great delay."
"As owner o' the _Maggie_," Scraggs reminded him with just a
touch of asperity, "you've got to leave these details to me.
You've managed with the old boiler this long, so it 'pears to me
you might be patient an' bear with it a mite longer, Bart."
"Oh, I ain't tryin' to be disagreeable, Scraggs, only it sort o'
worries me to have to go along without bein' able to use our
whistle. We got a reputation for joggin' right along, mindin'
our business an' never replyin' to them vessels that whistle us
they're goin' to pass to port or starboard, as the case may be.
Of course when they whistle, we know what they're goin' to do,
but the trouble is _they_ don't know what we're goin' to do. Dan
Hicks an' Jack Flaherty's been makin' a quiet brag that one o'
these days or nights they'll take advantage o' this well-known
peculiarity of ourn to collide with the _Maggie_ an' sink us, and
in that case we wouldn't have no defense an' no come-back in a
court of law. Me, I don't feel like drownin' in that engine room
or gettin' cut in half by the bow o' the _Bodega_ or the
_Aphrodite_. Consequently, you'd better ship that new boiler you
promised me an' save funeral expenses. We just naturally got to
commence whistlin', Scraggsy."
"We'll commence it when business slacks up," Scraggs decided with
finality.
Mr. Gibney who, up to this moment, had said nothing, now fixed
Captain Scraggs with a piercing glance and threatened him with an
index finger across the cabin table. "We don't have to wait for
the slack season to have that there compass adjusted an' paint
the topsides o' the _Maggie_," he reminded Scraggs. "As for her
upper works, I'll paint them myself on Sundays, if you'll dig up
the paint. How about that program?"
"We'll do it all at once when we lay up to install the boiler,"
Scraggs protested. He glanced at his watch. "Sufferin' sailor!"
he cried in simulated distress. "Here it's one o'clock an' I
ain't collected a dollar o' the freight money from the last
voyage. I must beat it."
When Captain Scraggs had "beaten it," Gibney and McGuffey
exchanged expressive glances. "He's runnin' out on us," McGuffey
complained.
"Even so, Bart, even so. Therefore, the thing for us to do is to
run out on him. In other words, we'll work a month, save our
money, an' then, without a word o' complaint or argyment, we'll
walk out."
"Oh, I ain't exactly broke, Gib. I got eighty-five dollars."
"Then," quoth Gibney decisively, "we'll go on strike to-night.
Scraggsy'll be stuck in port a week before he can get another
engineer an' another navigatin' officer, me an' you bein' the
only two natural-born fools in San Francisco an' ports adjacent,
an' before three days have passed he'll be huntin' us up to
compromise."
"I don't want no compromise. What I want is a new boiler."
"You'll git it. We'll make him order the paint an' the boiler an'
pay for both in advance before we'll agree to go back to work."
The engineer nodded his approval and after sealing their pact
with a hearty handshake, they turned to and commenced discharging
the _Maggie_. When Captain Scraggs returned to the little steamer
shortly after five o'clock, to his great amazement, he discovered
Mr. Gibney and McGuffey dressed in their other suits--including
celluloid collars and cuffs.
"The cargo's out, Scraggsy, my son, the decks has been washed
down an' everything in my department is shipshape." Thus Mr.
Gibney.
"Likewise in mine," McGuffey added.
"Consequently," Mr. Gibney concluded, "we're quittin' the
_Maggie_ an' if it's all the same to you we'll have our time."
"My _dear_ Gib. Why, whatever's come over you two boys?"
"Stow your chatter, Scraggs. Shell out the cash. The only
explanation we'll make is that a burned child dreads the fire.
You've fooled us once in the matter o' that new boiler an' the
paintin', an' we're not goin' to give you a second chance. Come
through--or take the consequences. We'll sail no more with a liar
an' a fraud."
"Them's hard words, Mr. Gibney."
"The truth is allers bitter," McGuffey opined.
Captain Scraggs paused to consider the serious predicament which
confronted him. It was Saturday night. He knew Mr. McGuffey to be
the possessor of more money than usual and if he could assure
himself that this reserve should be dissipated before Monday
morning he was aware, from experience, that the strike would be
broken by Tuesday at the latest. And he could afford that delay.
He resolved, therefore, on diplomacy.
"Well, I'm sorry," he answered with every appearance of
contrition. "You fellers got me in the nine-hole an' I can't help
myself. At the same time, I appreciate fully your p'int of view,
while realizin' that I can't convince you o' mine. So we won't
have no hard feelin's at partin', boys, an' to show you I'm a
sport I'll treat to a French dinner an' a motion picture show
afterward. Further, I shall regard a refusal of said invite as a
pers'nal affront."
"By golly, you're gittin' sporty in your old age," the engineer
declared. "I'll go you, Scraggs. How about you, Gib?"
"I accept with thanks, Scraggsy, old tarpot. Personally, I
maintain that seamen should leave their troubles aboard ship."
"That's the sperrit I appreciate, boys. Come to the cabin an'
I'll pay you off. Then wait a coupler minutes till I shift into
my glad rags an' away we'll go, like Paddy Ford's goat--on our
own hook."
"Old Scraggsy's as cunnin' as a pet fox, ain't he?" the new
navigating officer whispered, as Scraggs departed for his
stateroom to change into his other suit. "He's goin' to blow
himself on us to-night, thinkin' to soften our hard resolution.
We'll fool him. Take all he gives us, but stand pat, Bart."
Bart nodded. His was one of those sturdy natures that could
always be depended upon to play the game, win, lose, or draw.
As a preliminary move, Captain Scraggs declared in favour of a
couple of cocktails to whet their appetites for the French
dinner, and accordingly the trio repaired to an adjacent saloon
and tucked three each under their belts--all at Captain Scraggs's
expense. When he proposed a fourth, Mr. Gibney's perfect
sportsmanship caused him to protest, and reluctantly Captain
Scraggs permitted Gibney to buy. Scraggs decided to have a cigar,
however, instead of another Martini. The ethics of the situation
then indicated that McGuffey should "set 'em up," which he did
over Captain Scraggs's protest--and again the wary Scraggs called
for a cigar, alleging as an excuse for his weakness that for
years three cocktails before dinner had been his absolute limit.
A fourth cocktail on an empty stomach, he declared, would kill
the evening for him.
The fourth cocktail having been disposed of, the barkeeper,
sensing further profit did he but play his part judiciously,
insisted that his customers have a drink on the house. Captain
Scraggs immediately protested that their party was degenerating
into an endurance contest--and called for another cigar. He now
had three cigars, so he gave one each to his victims and forcibly
dragged them away from the bar and up to a Pine Street French
restaurant, the proprietor of which was an Italian. Captain
Scraggs was for walking the six blocks to this restaurant, but
Mr. McGuffey had acquired, on six cocktails, what is colloquially
described as "a start," and insisted upon chartering a taxicab.
But why descend to sordid and vulgar details? Suffice that when
the artful Scraggs, pretending to be overcome by his potations
and very ill into the bargain, begged to be delivered back aboard
the _Maggie_, Messrs. McGuffey and Gibney loaded him into a
taxicab and sent him there, while they continued their search for
excitement. Where and how they found it requires no elucidation
here; it is sufficient to state that it was expensive, for when
men of the Gibney and McGuffey type have once gotten a fair start
naught but financial dissolution can stop them.
On Monday morning, Messrs. Gibney and McGuffey awoke in Scab
Johnny's boarding house. Mr. Gibney awoke first, by reason of the
fact that his stomach hammered at the door of his soul and bade
him be up and doing. While his head ached slightly from the fiery
usquebaugh of the Bowhead saloon, he craved a return to a solid
diet, so for several minutes he lay supine, conjuring in his
agile brain ways and means of supplying this need in the absence
of ready cash. "I'll have to hock my sextant," was the conclusion
at which he presently arrived. Then he commenced to heave and
surge until presently he found himself clear of the blankets and
seated in his underclothes on the side of the bed. Here, he
indulged in a series of scratchings and yawnings, after which he
disposed at a gulp of most of the water designed for his
matutinal ablutions. Ten minutes later he took his sextant under
his arm and departed for a pawnshop in lower Market Street. From
the pawnshop he returned to Scab Johnny's with eight dollars in
his pocket, routed out the contrite McGuffey, and carried the
latter off to ham and eggs.
They felt better after breakfast and for the space of an hour
lolled at the table, discussing their adventures of the past
forty-eight hours. "Well, there's one thing certain," McGuffey
concluded, "an' that thing is sure a cinch. Our strike has
petered out. I'm not busted, but I ain't heeled to continue on
strike very long, so let's mosey along down to the _Maggie's_
dock an' see how Scraggsy's gettin' along. If he has our places
filled we won't say nothin', but if he hasn't got 'em filled
he'll say somethin'."
"That's logic, Bart," Gibney agreed, and forthwith they set out
to interview Captain Scraggs. The owner of the _Maggie_ greeted
them cheerily, but after discussing generalities for half an
hour, Scraggs failed to make overtures, whereupon Mr. Gibney
announced casually that he guessed he and Mac would be on their
way. "Same here, boys," Captain Scraggs piped breezily. "I got a
new mate an' a new engineer comin' aboard at ten o'clock an' we
sail at twelve."
"Well, we'll see you occasionally," Mr. Gibney said at parting.
"Oh, sure. Don't be strangers. You're always welcome aboard the
old _Maggie_," came the careless rejoinder.
Somewhat crestfallen, the striking pair repaired to the Bowhead
saloon to discuss the situation over a glass of beer. However,
Mr. Gibney's spirits never dropped below zero while he had one
nickel to rub against another; hence such slight depression as he
felt was due to a feeling that Captain Scraggs had basely
swindled him and McGuffey. He was disappointed in Scraggs and
said as much. "However, Bart," he concluded, "we'll never say
'die' while our money holds out, and in the meantime our luck may
have changed. Let's scatter around and try to locate some kind of
a job; then when them new employees o' Scraggsy quit or get
fired--which'll be after about two voyages--an' the old man comes
round holdin' out the olive branch o' peace, we'll give him the
horselaugh."
Three days of diligent search failed to uncover the coveted job
for either, however, and on the morning of the fourth day Mr.
Gibney announced that it would be necessary to "raise the wind,"
if the pair would breakfast. "It'll probably be a late breakfast,"
he added.
"How're we goin' to git it, Gib?"
"We must test our credit, Mac. You go down to the rooms o' the
Marine Engineers' Association and kick somebody's eye out for
five dollars. I'd get out an' do some rustlin' myself, but I
ain't got no credit. When a man that's been a real sailor sinks
as low as I've sunk--from clipper ships to mate on a rotten
little bumboat--people don't respect him none. But it's different
with a marine engineer. You might be first assistant on a P.M.
boat to-day an' second assistant on a bay tug to-morrow but
nothin's thought of it."
"What're we goin' to do with the five dollars?"
"Well, we might invest it in a lottery ticket an' pray for the
capital prize--but we won't. Ain't it dawned on you, Mac, that
it's up to you an' me to find the steamer _Maggie_ an' git back
to work quick an' no back talk? Scraggs has new men in our jobs
an' these new men has got to be got rid of, otherwise there's no
tellin' how long they'll last. Naturally, this here riddance can
be accomplished easier an' without police interference on the
dock at Halfmoon Bay. We got to walk twenty miles to Halfmoon Bay
to connect with the _Maggie_ an' the five dollars is to keep us
from starvin' to death in case we miss him an' have to walk back
or wait for the return trip o' the _Maggie_."
"But suppose, after we've walked all that distance, we find
Scraggs won't take us back? Then what?"
"Why, of course he'll take us back, Bart. He'll be glad to after
we've finished with them scabs that's took our jobs an' are doin'
us out of an honest livin'. He won't be able to work the _Maggie_
back to San Francisco alone, will he?"
McGuffey nodded his approbation, and set forth to borrow the
needful five dollars. Whatever the reason, he was not successful,
and when they met again at Scab Johnny's, Mr. Gibney employed his
eloquence to obtain credit from that cold-hearted publican, but
all in vain. Scab Johnny had been too long operating on a cash
basis with Messrs. Gibney and McGuffey to risk adding to an old
unpaid bill.
They retired to the sidewalk to hold a caucus and Mr. McGuffey
located a dime which had dropped down inside the lining of his
coat. "That settles it," Gibney declared. "We've skipped two
meals but I'll be durned if we skip another. We'll ride out to
the San Mateo county line on the trolley with that dime an' then
hoof it over the hills to Halfmoon Bay. Scraggs won't git away
from the dock here until after twelve o'clock, so we know he'll
lie at Halfmoon Bay all night. If we start now we'll connect with
him in time for supper. Eh, Bart?"
"A twenty-mile hike on a tee-totally empty stomach, with a battle
royal on our hands the minute we arrive, weak an' destitoote,
ain't quite my idea o' enjoyment, Gib, but I'll go you if it
kills me. Let's up hook an' away. I'm for gittin' back to work
an' usin' moral persuasion to git that new boiler."
They took a hitch in their belts and started. From the point at
which they left the trolley to their journey's end was a stiff
six-hour jaunt, up hill and down dale, and long before the march
was half completed the unaccustomed exercise had developed sundry
galls and blisters on the Gibney heels, while the soles of poor
McGuffey's feet were so hot he voiced the apprehension that they
might burn to a crisp at any moment and drop off by the wayside.
Men less hardy and less desperate would have abandoned the trip
before ten miles had been covered.