Captain Scraggs | Page 5

seen us headed north. Jes' listen at them a-bellerin' off there to
port. They're a-watchin' and a-listenin', expectin' to cut us down at
every turn o' the screw. First thing you know, Gib, you'll be losin' your
ticket for failin' to be courteous on the high seas."
"Six o' one an' half a dozen o' the other, Bart. If I whistle I'll use up all
your steam, an', then if we should find ourselves in the danger zone we
won't be able to get out of our own way."
"Let's refuse to take her out again until Scraggsy spends some money
on her. 'Tain't Christian the way he acts."
"Got to get in another pay day before I start the high an' mighty, Bart.
But I'll speak to the old man about them eggs. They taste like they'd
been laid by a pelican before the Civil War. Somehow I can't eat an egg
that's the least bit rotten."
"It's gettin' so," McGuffey mourned, "that I don't have no more time off
in port. When I ain't standin' by I'm repairin', an' when I ain't doin'
either I'm dreamin' about the danged old coffee mill. For a cancelled
postage stamp I'd jump the ship."

He gulped down his coffee, loaded his pipe, and went below to relieve
Scraggs, for although experience in acting as McGuffey's relief had
given Captain Scraggs what might be termed a working knowledge of
the Maggie's engine, McGuffey was never happy with Scraggs in
charge, even for five minutes. The habit of years caused him to cast a
quick glance at the steam gauge, and he noted it had dropped five
pounds.
"Savin' on the coal again," he roared. "Git out o' my engine room, you
doggoned skinflint." He seized a slice bar, threw open the furnace door,
raked the fire, and commenced shovelling in coal at a rate that almost
brought the tears of anguish to his owner's eyes. "There! The main
bearin's screamin' again," he wailed. "Oil cup's empty. Ain't I drilled it
into your head enough, Scraggsy, that she'll cry her eyes out if you
don't let her swim in oil?" He grasped the oil can and, in order to test
the efficacy of its squirt, shot a generous stream down Captain
Scraggs's collar.
"That for them rotten eggs, you miser," he growled. "Heraus mit 'em!"
Captain Scraggs fled, cursing, and sought solace in the pilot house.
"It's as black," quoted Mr. Gibney as he entered, "as the Earl of Hell's
riding boots."
"And as thick," snarled Scraggs, "as McGuffey's head. Lordy me, Gib,
but it's thick. You'd think every bloomin' steam pipe in the universe had
busted."
"If they was all like the Maggie's," Mr. Gibney retorted drily, "we
wouldn't need to worry none. Not wishin' to change the conversation,
Scraggsy, but referrin' to them eggs you slipped me and Bart for supper,
all I gotta say is that the next time you go marketin' in ancient Egypt,
me an' Mac's goin' to tell the real story o' the S.S. Maggie to the
Inspectors. Now, that goes. Scatter along aft, Scraggs, and let me know
what that taffrail log has to say about it."
Captain Scraggs read the log and reported the mileage to Mr. Gibney,

who figured with the stub of a pencil on the pilot house wall, wagged
his head, and appeared satisfied. "Better go for'd," he ordered, "an' help
The Squarehead on the lookout. At eight o'clock we ought to be right
under the lee o' Point San Pedro; when I whistle we ought to catch the
echo thrown back by the cliff. Listen for it."
Promptly at eight o'clock, Mr. McGuffey was horrified to see his steam
gauge drop half a pound as the Maggie's siren sounded. Mr. Gibney
stuck his ingenious head out of the pilot house and listened, but no
answering echo reached his ears. "Hear anything?" he bawled.
"Heard the Maggie's siren," Captain Scraggs retorted venomously.
Mr. Gibney leaped out on deck, selected a small head of cabbage from
a broken crate and hurled it forward. Then he sprang back into the pilot
house and straightened the Maggie on her course again. He leaned over
the binnacle, with the cuff of his watch coat wiping away the moisture
on the glass, and studied the instrument carefully. "I don't trust the
danged thing," he muttered. "Guess I'll haul her off a coupler points an'
try the whistle again."
He did. Still no echo. He was inclined to believe that Captain Scraggs
had not read the taffrail log correctly, and when at eight-thirty he tried
the whistle again he was still without results in the way of an echo from
the cliff, albeit the engine room howler brought him several of a
profuse character from the perspiring McGuffey.
"We've passed