The crew of the _Maggie_ had ceased working cargo for the day and
Captain Scraggs was busy cooking supper in the galley when the
two prodigals, exhausted, crippled, and repentant, came to the
door and coughed propitiously, but Captain Scraggs pretended not
to hear, and went on with his task of turning fried eggs with an
artistic flip of the frying pan. So Mr. Gibney spoke, struggling
bravely to appear nonchalant. With his eyes on the fried eggs and
his mouth threatening to slaver at the glorious sight, he said:
"Hello, there, Scraggsy, old tarpot. How goes it with the owner
o' the fast an' commodious steamer _Maggie_? Git that consignment
o' post-holes aboard yet?"
Mr. Gibney's honest face beamed expectantly, for he was
particularly partial to fried eggs. As for his companion in
distress, anything edible and which would serve to nullify the
gnawing at his internal economy would be welcome. Inasmuch as
Captain Scraggs did not readily reply to Mr. Gibney's salutation,
McGuffey decided to be more emphatic and to the point, albeit in
a joking way.
"Hurry up with them eggs, Scraggs," he rumbled. "Me an' Gib's
walked down from the city an' we're hungry. Jawn D. Rockerfeller'd
give a million dollars for my appetite. Fry mine hard, Scraggsy.
I want somethin' solid."
Scraggs looked up and his cold green eyes were agleam with malice
and triumph as they rested on the unhappy pair. However, he
smiled--a smile reminiscent of a cat that has just eaten a
canary--and cold chills ran down the backs of the exhausted
travellers. "Hello, boys," he piped. He turned from them to toss
a few strips of bacon into the grease with the eggs; then he
peered into the coffee pot and set it on the back of the galley
range to simmer, before facing his guests again. His attitude was
so significant that Mr. Gibney queried mournfully:
"Well, Phineas, you old vegetable hound, ain't you glad to see
us?"
"Certainly, Gib, certainly. I'm deeply appreciative of the honour
o' this visit, although I'm free to say we're hardly prepared for
company. The stores is kind o' low an' I did just figger on
havin' enough, by skimpin' a little, to last me an' my crew until
we get back to San Francisco. I'd hate to put 'em on short
rations, on account of unexpected company, because it gives the
ship a bad name. On the other hand, it's agin my disposition to
appear small over a few fried eggs, while on still another hand,
I realize you two got to get fed." He stepped to the door and
pointed. "See that little shack about two points to starboard o'
the warehouse? Well, there's a Dago livin' there an' he'll fix
you two boys up a bully meal for fifty cents each."
"Scraggsy, ol' hunks, if three-ringed circuses was sellin' for
six bits a throw me an' Bart couldn't buy a whisker from a dead
tiger." The dreadful admission brought a dull flush to Mr.
Gibney's already rubicund countenance.
"Shell out a coupler bucks, Scraggsy," McGuffey pleaded. "Me an'
Gib's so empty we rattle when we walk."
"I ain't got no money to loan you two that ups an leaves me in
the lurch, without no notice," Scraggs flared at them. "If you
two stiffs ain't able to support yourselves you'd ought to apply
for admission to the poorhouse or the Home For the Feeble-minded."
Mr. Gibney smiled fatly. "Scraggsy! You're kiddin' us."
"Not by forty fathom, I ain't."
"Phineas, we just _got_ t' eat," McGuffey declared ominously.
"Eat an' be dog-goned," the skipper snarled. "I ain't a-tryin' to
prevent you. Are you two suckin' infants that I got to _feed_
you? There's plenty o' fresh vegetables out on deck. Green peas
ain't to be sneezed at, an' as for French carrots, science'll
tell you there's ninety-two per cent. more nutriment in a carrot
than----"
Mr. Gibney halted this dissertation with upraised hand. "Scraggs,
it's about time you found out I ain't no potato bug, an' if you
think McGuffey's a coddlin' moth you're wrong agin. Fork over
them eggs an' the coffee an' a coupler slices o' dummy an' be
quick about it or I'll bust your bob-stay."
"Get off my ship, you murderin' pirates," Scraggs screamed.
"Not till we've et," the practical-minded engineer retorted.
"Even then we won't get off. Me an' Gib ain't got any feet left,
Scraggs. If we had to walk another step we'd be crippled for
life. Fry my eggs hard, I tell you."
"This is piracy, men. It's robbery on the high seas, an' I can
put you over the road for it," Scraggs warned them. "What's more,
I'll do it."
"The eggs, Scraggsy," boomed Mr. Gibney, "the eggs."
* * * * *
Half an hour later as the pirates, replete with provender, sat
dangling their damaged underpinning over the stern railing where
the gentle wavelets laved and cooled them, Captain Scraggs
accompanied by the new navigating officer, the new engineer, and
The Squarehead, came aft. The cripples looked up, surveyed their
successors in office, and found the sight far from reassuring.
"I've already ordered you two tramps off'n my ship," Scraggs
began formally, "an' I hereby, in the presence o' reliable
witnesses, repeats the invitation. You ain't wanted; your room's
preferred to your comp'ny, an' by stayin' a minute longer, in
defiance o' my orders, you're layin' yourselves liable to a
charge o' piracy. It'd be best for you two boys to mosey along
now an' save us all a lot o' trouble."
Mr. Gibney carefully laid his pipe aside and stood up. He was
quite an imposing spectacle in his bare feet, with his trousers
rolled up to his great knees, thereby revealing his scarlet
flannel underdrawers. With a stifled groan, McGuffey rose and
stood beside his partner, and Mr. Gibney spoke:
"Scraggs, be reasonable. We ain't lookin' for trouble; not
because we don't relish it, for we do where a couple o' scabs is
concerned, but for the simple reason that we ain't in the best o'
condition to receive it, although if you force it on us we'll do
our best. If you chuck us off the _Maggie_ an' force us to walk
back to San Francisco, we're goin' to be reported as missin'.
Honest, now, Scraggsy, old side-winder, you ain't goin' to maroon
us here, alone with the vegetables, are you?"
"You done me dirt. You quit me cold. Git out. Two can play at a
dirty game an' every dog must have his day. This is my day, Gib.
Scat!"
"Pers'nally," McGuffey announced quietly, "I prefer to die aboard
the _Maggie_, if I have to. This ain't movin' day with B.
McGuffey, Esquire."
"Them's my sentiments, too, Scraggsy."
"Then defend yourselves. Come on, lads. Bear a hand an' we'll
bounce these muckers overboard." The Squarehead hung back having
no intention of waging war upon his late comrades, but the
engineer and the new navigating officer stepped briskly forward,
for they were about to fight for their jobs. Mr. Gibney halted
the advance by lifting both great hands in a deprecatory manner.
"For Heaven's sake, Scraggsy, have a heart. Don't force us to
murder you. If we're peaceable, what's to prevent you from givin'
us a passage back to San Francisco, where we're known an' where
we'll have at least a fightin' chance to git somethin' to eat
occasionally."
"You know mighty well what's to prevent me, Gib. I ain't got no
passenger license, an' I'll be keel-hauled an' skull-dragged if I
fall for your cute little game, my son. I ain't layin' myself
liable to a fine from the Inspectors an' maybe have my ticket
book took away to boot."
"You could risk your danged old ticket. It ain't no use to you on
salt water anyhow," McGuffey jeered insultingly.
"We can work our passage an' who's to know the difference,
Scraggsy?"
"You for one an' McGuffey for two. You'd have the bulge on me
forever after. You could blackmail me until I dassen't call my
ship my own."
"Don't worry, you snipe. Nobody else will ever hanker to own
her." Another insult from McGuffey. Having made up his mind that
a fight was inevitable, the honest fellow was above pleading for
mercy.
"Enough of this gab," Mr. Gibney roared. "My patience is
exhausted. I'm dog-tired an' I'm goin' to have peace if I have to
fight for it. Me an' Bart stays aboard the steamer _Maggie_ until
she gets back to Frisco town or until we're hove overboard in the
interim by the weight of numbers. An' if any man, or set o' male
bipeds that calls theirselves men, is so foolish as to try to
evict us from this packet, then all I got to say is that they're
triflin' with death." (Here Mr. Gibney thrust out his superb
chest and thumped it with his horny fists, after the fashion of
an enraged gorilla. This was sheer bluff, however, for while
there was not a drop of craven blood in the Gibney veins, he
realized that his footwork, in the event of battle, would be
sadly deficient and he hesitated to wage a losing fight.) "I got
my arms left, even if my feet is on the fritz, Scraggs," he
continued, "an' if you start anything I'll hug you an' your crew
to death. I'm a rip-roarin' grizzly bear once I'm started an'
there's such a thing as drivin' a man to desperation."
The bluff worked! Captain Scraggs turned to his retainers and
with a condescending and paternal smile, said: "Boys, let's give
the dumb fools their own way. If they insist upon takin' forcible
possession o' my ship on the high seas, there's only one name for
the crime--an' that's piracy, punishable by hangin' from the
yard-arm. We'll just let 'em stay aboard an' turn 'em over to the
police when we git back to the city."
He started for his cabin and the crew, vastly relieved, followed
him. The pirates once more sat down and permitted their hot feet
to loll overboard.
"It's cold down here nights, Gib," McGuffey opined presently.
"Where're we goin' to sleep?"
"In our old berths, of course." The success of his bluff had
operated on Gibney like a tonic. "Hop into your shoes, Bart, an'
we'll snake them two scabs out o' their berths in jig time."
"I'm dodgin' fights to-night, Gib. Let's borrow a blanket or two
from The Squarehead an' curl up on deck. It'll be warm over the
engine-room gratin'."
Mr. Gibney yawned. "I guess you're right, Bart. While you're at
it, make Scraggs come through with a blanket an' an overcoat for
a pillow. Run up an' threaten him. He'll wilt."
So McGuffey staggered forward. What arguments he used shall not
be recorded here. Suffice it, he returned with what he went
after.