Part 21 (2/2)
Lemme see, now,” he continued, and got out a stub of lead pencil with which he commenced figuring on the white oilcloth table cover.
”We paid twenty dollars for them two derelicts an' a dollar towage.
That's twenty-one dollars, an' a third o' twenty-one is seven, an'
seven dollars from twenty-five leaves eighteen dollars comin' to you. Here's your eighteen dollars, Scraggsy, you lucky old vagabond--all clear profit on a neat day's work, no expense, no investment, no back-breakin' interest charges or overhead, an' sold out at your own figger.”
Captain Scraggs's face was a study in conflicting emotions as he raked in the eighteen dollars. ”Thanks, Gib,” he said frigidly.
”Me an' Gib's goin' ash.o.r.e for lunch at the Marigold Cafe,”
McGuffey announced presently, in order to break the horrible silence that followed Scraggsy's crus.h.i.+ng defeat. ”I'm willin' to spend some o' my profits on the deal an' blow you to a lunch with a small bottle o' Dago Red thrown in. How about it, Scraggs?”
”I'm on.” Scraggs sought to throw off his gloom and appear sprightly. ”What'd you peddle them two cadavers for, Gib?”
Mr. Gibney grinned broadly but did not answer. In effect, his grin informed Scraggs that _that_ was none of the latter's business--and Scraggs a.s.similated the hint. ”Well, at any rate, Gib, whatever you soaked him, it was a mighty good sale an' I congratulate you. I think mebbe I might ha' done a little better myself, but then it ain't every day a feller can turn an eighteen-dollar trick on a corpse.”
”Comin' to lunch with us?” McGuffey demanded.
”Sure. Wait a minute till I run forward an' see if the lines is all fast.”
He stepped out of the cabin and presently Gibney and McGuffey were conscious of a rapid succession of thuds on the deck. Gibney winked at McGuffey.
”'Nother new hat gone to h.e.l.l,” murmured McGuffey.
CHAPTER XVIII
It was fully a week before Captain Scraggs's mental hemorrhage, brought on every time his mind reverted to his loss on the ”ginseng”
deal, ceased. During all of that period his peregrinations around the _Maggie_ were as those of one for whom the sweets of existence had turned to wormwood and vinegar. Mr. Gibney confided to McGuffey that it was a toss-up whether the old man was meditating murder or suicide. In fact, so depressed was Captain Scraggs that he lacked absolutely the ambition to ”rag” his a.s.sociates; observing which Mr.
McGuffey vouchsafed the opinion that perhaps Scraggsy was ”teched a mite in his head-block.”
”Don't you think it,” Mr. Gibney warned. ”If old Scraggsy's crazy he's crazy like a fox. What's rilin' him is the knowledge that he's stung to the heart an' can't admit it without at the same time admittin' he'd cooked up a deal to double-cross us. He's just a-bustin' with the thoughts that's acc.u.mulatin' inside him.
Right now he'd drown his sorrers in red liquor if he could afford it.”
”He's troubled financially, Gib.”
”Well, you know who troubled him, don't you, Bart?”
”I mean about the cost o' them repairs in the engine room. Unless he can come through in thirty days with the balance he owes, the boiler people are goin' to libel the _Maggie_ to protect their claim.”
Mr. Gibney arched his bushy eyebrows. ”How do you know?” he demanded.
”He was a-tellin' me,” Mr. McGuffey admitted weakly.
”Well, he wasn't a-tellin' me.” Mr. Gibney's tones were ominous; he glared at his friend suspiciously as from the _Maggie's_ cabin issued forth Scraggsy's voice raised in song.
”h.e.l.lo! The old boy's thermometer's gone up, Bart. Listen at him.
'Ever o' thee he's fondly dreamin'.' Somethin's busted the spell an' I'll bet a cooky it was ready cash.” He menaced Mr. McGuffey with a rigid index finger. ”Bart,” he demanded, ”did you loan Scraggsy some money?”
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