Part 8 (1/2)
They felt better after breakfast and for the s.p.a.ce 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 gla.s.s 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' a.s.sociation 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 s.h.i.+ps to mate on a rotten little b.u.mboat--people don't respect him none. But it's different with a marine engineer. You might be first a.s.sistant on a P.M.
boat to-day an' second a.s.sistant 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' dest.i.toote, 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.
CHAPTER X
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:
”h.e.l.lo, 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 appet.i.te. Fry mine hard, Scraggsy.