Part 35 (2/2)

At the end of a week of riot and revelry Mr. Gibney revived sufficiently to muster all hands and lead them to a Turkish bath.

Two days in the bath restored them wonderfully, and when the worthy commodore eventually got them back to the hotel he announced that henceforth the lid was on--and on tight. Captain Scraggs, who was hard to manage in his cups and the most prodigal of prodigals with steam up to a certain pressure, demurred at this.

”No more sky-larkin', Scraggsy, you old cut-up,” Mr. Gibney ordered. ”We had our good time comin' after all that we've been through but it's time to get down to business agin. Riches has wings, Scraggsy, old salamander, an' even if we are ash.o.r.e, I'm still the commodore. Now, set around an' we'll hold a meetin'.”

He banged the chiffonier with his great fist. ”Meetin' o' the _Maggie_ Syndicate,” he announced. ”Meetin'll come to order. The first business before the meetin' is a call for volunteers to furnish a money-makin' idee for the syndicate.”

Neils Halvorsen shook his sorrel head. He had no ideas. B.

McGuffey, Esquire, shook his head also. Captain Scraggs wanted to sing.

”I see it's up to me to suggest somethin'.” Mr. Gibney smiled benignly, as if a money-making idea was the easiest thing on earth to produce. ”The last thing I remember before we went to that Turkish bath was us four visitin' a fortune teller an'

havin' our fortunes told, past, present, an' future, for a dollar a throw. Anybody here remember what his fortune was?”

It appeared that no one remembered, not even Mr. Gibney. He therefore continued:

”The chair will app'int Mr. McGuffey an' himself a committee o'

two to wait on one o' these here clairvoyants and have their fortunes told agin.”

McGuffey, who was as superst.i.tious as a negro, seconded the motion heartily and the committee forthwith sallied forth to consult the clairvoyant. Within the hour they returned.

”Members o' the syndicate,” the commodore announced, ”we got an idea. Not a heluva good one, but fair to middlin'. Me an' Mac calls on this Madame de What-you-may-call-her an' the minute she gets a lamp at my mit (it is worthy of remark here that Mr.

Gibney had a starfish tattooed on the back of his left hand, a full-rigged s.h.i.+p across his breast, and a gorgeous picture of a lady climbing a ladder adorned the inner side of his brawny right fore-arm. The feet of the lady in question hung down below the fringe of Mr. Gibney's s.h.i.+rt sleeve) she up an' says: 'My friend, you're makin' a grave mistake remainin' ash.o.r.e. Your fortune lies at sea.' Then she threw a fit an' mumbled something about a light-haired man that was' goin' to cross my path. I guess she must have meant Scraggsy or Neils, both bein' blondes--an' she come out of her trance s.h.i.+verin' an' shakin'.

”'Your fortune lies at sea, my friend,' she kept on sayin'. 'Go forth an' seek it.'

”'Gimme the longitude an' lat.i.tude, ma'am,' I says, 'an' I'll light out.'

”'Look in the s.h.i.+ppin' news in the papers to-morrower,' she pipes up. 'Five dollars, please.'”

”You didn't give her five dollars, did you?” gasped Captain Scraggs. ”Why, Gib my _dear_ boy, I thought you was sober.”

”So I was.”

”Then, Gib, all I got to say is that you're a sucker. You want to consult the rest of us before you go throwin' away the funds o'

the syndicate on such tom-fool idees as----”

McGuffey saw a storm gathering on Mr. Gibney's brows, and hastened to intervene.

”Meetin's adjourned,” he announced, ”pendin' the issue o' the papers to-morrow mornin'. Scraggsy, you oughter j'ine the Band o'

Hope. You're ugly when you got a drink in you.”

Neils Halvorsen interfered to beg a cigar of Mr. Gibney and the affair pa.s.sed over.

At six o'clock the following morning the members of the syndicate were awakened by a prodigious pounding at their respective doors. Answering the summons, they found Mr. Gibney in undress uniform and the morning paper clutched in his hand.

”Meetin' o' the _Maggie_ Syndicate in my room,” he bawled. ”I've found our fortune.”

The meeting came to order without the formality of dressing, and the commodore, spreading the paper on his knee, read aloud:

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