Part 7 (1/2)
”It's a whack,” yelled McGuffey joyfully, and whirling, struck Dan Hicks a mighty blow on the jaw. ”Off our s.h.i.+p, you hoodlums.”
He favoured Jack Flaherty with a hearty thump and swung again on Dan Hicks. ”At 'em, Scraggsy. Here's where you prove to Gib whether you're a man--thump--or a mouse--thump--or a--thump, thump--bobtailed--thump--rat.”
Dan Hicks had been upset, and as he sprawled on his back on deck, he appeared to Captain Scraggs to offer at least an even chance for victory. So Scraggs, mustering his courage, flew at poor Hicks tooth and toenail. His best was not much but it served to keep Dan Hicks off Mr. McGuffey while the latter was disposing of Jack Flaherty, which he did, via the rail, even as the towboat men had disposed of Mr. Gibney. Dan Hicks followed Flaherty, and the crew of the _Maggie_ crowded the rail as the enemy swam to the float, crawled up on it and departed, vowing vengeance.
”All's well that ends well, gentlemen,” Mr. McGuffey announced.
”Scraggsy's goin' to buy a drink an' the past is buried an'
forgotten. Didn't old Scraggsy put up a fight, Gib?”
”No, but he tried to, Mac. I'll tell the world he did,” and he thrust out the hand of forgiveness to Scraggsy, who, realizing he had come very handsomely out of an unlovely situation, clasped the hands of Mr. Gibney and McGuffey and burst into tears. While Mr. McGuffey thumped him between the shoulder blades and cursed him affectionately, Mr. Gibney retired to change into dry garments; when he reappeared the trio went ash.o.r.e for the promised grog and a luncheon at the skipper's expense.
CHAPTER IX
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 pa.s.s 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 s.h.i.+p 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 compa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed he'll be huntin' us up to compromise.”