Part 37 (2/2)
Judge of their surprise, therefore, when one morning who should appear at the door of Scraggs's cabin but Mr. Gibney.
”Mornin', Gib,” began Scraggs cheerily. ”I s'pose you been rolled for your money as per usual, an' you're around lookin' for a job as mate.”
Mr. Gibney ignored this veiled insult. ”Not yet, Scraggsy, I got about five hundred tons o' freight to send up to Dunnigan's Landin' an' I want a lump sum figger for doin' the job. We parted friends an' for the sake o' old times I thought I'd give you a chance to figger on the business.”
”Thanky, Gib. I'll be glad to. Where's your freight an' what does it consist of?”
”Agricultural stuff. It's crated, an' I deliver it here on the steamer's dock within reach o' her tackles. No heavy pieces. Two men can handle every piece easy.”
”Turnin' farmer, Gib?”
”Thinkin' about it a little,” the commodore admitted. ”What's your rate on this freight? It ain't perishable goods, so get down to bra.s.s tacks.”
”A dollar a ton,” declared the greedy Scraggs, naming a figure fully forty cents higher than he would have been willing to accept. ”Five hundred dollars for the lot.”
”Suits me.” The commodore nonchalantly handed Scraggs five hundred dollars. ”Gimme a receipt,” he said.
So Captain Scraggs gave him a receipted freight bill and Mr.
Gibney departed. An hour later a barge was bunted alongside the _Victor_ and Neils Halvorsen appeared in Scraggs's cabin to inform him that the five hundred tons of freight was ready to be taken aboard.
”All right, Neils. I'll put a gang to work right off.” He came out on deck, paused, tilted his nose, and sniffed. He was still sniffing when McGuffey bounced up out of the engine room.
”Holy Sailor!” he shouted. ”Who uncorked that atter o' violets?”
”You dog-gone squarehead,” shrieked Captain Scraggs. ”You been monkeyin' around that codfish again.”
”What smells?” demanded the mate, poking his nose out of his room.
”That tainted wealth I picked up at sea,” shouted a voice from the dock, and turning, Scraggs and McGuffey observed Mr. Gibney standing on a stringer smiling at them.
”Gib, my _dear_ boy,” quavered Captain Scraggs, ”you can't mean to say you've unloaded them gosh-awful codfish----”
”No, not yet--but soon, Scraggsy, old tarpot.”
Captain Scraggs removed his near-Panama hat, cast it on the deck, and pranced upon it in a terrible rage.
”I won't receive your rotten freight, you sc.u.m of the docks,” he raved. ”You'll run me outer house an' home with that horrible stuff.”
”Oh, you'll freight it for me, all right,” the commodore retorted blithely. ”Or I'll libel your old stern-wheel packet for you.
I've paid the freight in advance an' I got the receipt.”
Captain Scraggs was on the verge of tears. ”But, Gib! My _dear_ boy! This freight'll foul the _Victor_ up for a month o'
Fridays--_an' I just took out a pa.s.senger license!_”
”I'm sorry, Scraggsy, but business is business. You've took my money an' you got to perform.”
”You lied to me. You said it was agricultural stuff an' I thought it was plows an' harrers an' sich----”
”It's fertilizer--an' if that ain't agricultural stuff I hope my teeth may drop out an' roll in the ocean. An' it ain't perishable.
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