Part 35 (1/2)

Mr. Gibney laid five one-hundred-dollar bills in the mate's palm.

”Good-bye,” he said gently, ”an' see if you can't be as much of a man an' as good a sport hereafter as them you've wronged an'

who's forgive you fully and freely.”

One by one the three freebooters of the green-pea trade pumped the stricken mate's hand, tossed him a sc.r.a.p of advice, and went overside into the small boat which was to take them ash.o.r.e. It was a solemn parting and Mr. Gibney and McGuffey were snuffling audibly. Captain Scraggs, however, was made of sterner stuff.

”'Pears to me, Gib,” he remarked when they were clear of the schooner, ”that you're a little mite generous with the funds o'

the syndicate, ain't you?”

Mr. Gibney picked up a paddle and threatened Scraggs with it.

”Dang your cold heart, Scraggs,” he hissed, ”you're un-Christian, that's what you are.”

”Quit yer beefin', you shrimp,” bellowed McGuffey. ”Them cannibals would have et you if it wasn't for that poor devil of a mate.”

Captain Scraggs snarled and remained discreetly silent.

Nevertheless, he was in a fine rage. As he remarked _sotto voce_ to Neils Halvorsen, five hundred dollars wasn't picked up in the street every day.

The next day, as the _Hilonian_ steamed out of the harbour, bearing the syndicate back to San Francisco, they looked across at the little _Maggie II_ for the last time, and observed that the mate was on deck, superintending three Kanaka sailors who were hoisting supplies aboard from a b.u.mboat.

Commodore Gibney bade his first command a misty farewell.

”Good-bye, little s.h.i.+p,” he yelled and waved his hand. ”Gawd! You was a witch in a light wind.”

”He'll be flyin' outer the harbour an' bound south by sunset,”

rumbled McGuffey. ”I suppose that lovely gas engine o' mine'll go to h.e.l.l now.”

Captain Scraggs sighed dismally. ”It costs like sixty to be a Christian, Gib, but what's the odds as long as we're safe an'

homeward bound? Holy sailor! But I'm hungry for a smell o'

Channel creek at low tide. I tell you, Gib, rovin' and wild adventure's all right, but the old green-pea trade wasn't so durned bad, after all.”

”You bet!” McGuffey's response was very fervid.

”Them was the happy days,” supplemented the commodore. He was as joyous as a schoolboy. Four long years had he been roving and now, with his pockets lined with greenbacks, he was homeward bound to his dear old San Francisco--back to steam beer, to all of his old cronies of the Embarcadero, to moving picture shows--to Life! And he was glad to get back with a whole skin.

Seven days after leaving Honolulu, the _Hilonian_ steamed into San Francis...o...b..y. The syndicate could not wait until she had tied up at her dock, and the minute the steamer had pa.s.sed quarantine Mr. Gibney hailed a pa.s.sing launch. Bag and baggage the happy quartette descended to the launch and landed at Meiggs wharf. Mr. Gibney stepped into the wharfinger's office and requested permission to use the telephone.

”What's up, Gib?” demanded Captain Scraggs.

”I want to 'phone for a automobile to come down an' snake us up town in style. This syndicate ain't a-goin' to come rampin' home to Gawd's country lookin' like a lot o' Eyetalian peddlers. We're goin' to the best hotel an' we're goin' in _style_.”

McGuffey nudged Captain Scraggs, and Neils Halvorsen nudged Mr.

McGuffey.

”Hay bane a sport, hay bane,” rumbled the honest Neils.

”You bet he bane,” McGuffey retorted. ”Ain't he the old kiddo, Scraggsy? Ain't he? This feller Adelbert P. Gibney's a farmer, I guess.”

With the a.s.sistance of the wharfinger an automobile was summoned, and in due course the members of the syndicate found themselves ensconced in a fas.h.i.+onable suite in San Francisco's most fas.h.i.+onable hotel. Mr. Gibney stored the syndicate's pearls in the hotel safe, deposited an emergency roll with the hotel clerk, and banked the balance of the company funds in the names of all four; after which the syndicate gave itself up to a period of joy unconfined.