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Updated: May 7, 2025
Gibney tapped gently with his horny knuckles on the honest McGuffey's head. "If there ain't Swiss cheese movements in that head block o' yours, Mac, you an Scraggsy can divide my share o' these two boxes o' ginseng root between you. Do you get it, you chuckleheaded son of an Irish potato? Gin Seng, 714 Dupont Street. Ginseng a root or a herb that medicine is made out of.
Like you, me an' Mac is inclined to be uppish at times, particularly in the hour of triumph, an' say an' do things we're apt to be ashamed of later." "Them's my sentiments," McGuffey chimed in. "We ain't comin' aboard to beg you for no job," Mr. Gibney warned. "Git that idea out o' your head if you got it there.
My head aches and I guess Scraggsy's in a similar fix." "Anythin' to be agreeable," acquiesced McGuffey. After breakfast Commodore Gibney ordered that the prisoners be brought before him.
Gibney bawled after him, "an' when that fatal time arrives I'll scatter a can o' Kill-Flea over you an' the shippin' world'll know you no more." "Oh, go to glory, you pig-iron polisher," Captain Scraggs tossed back at him over his shoulder and honour was satisfied.
It was short and sweet and sounded quite sincere; Mr. Gibney read it aloud: On Board the Maggie, Saturday night. DEAR FRIENDS: I am sorry. I apologize to you, Gib, because I hurt your fealings. I also apologize to Bart for hurting the fealings of his dear friend.
How about that program?" "We'll do it all at once when we lay up to install the boiler," Scraggs protested. He glanced at his watch. "Sufferin' sailor!" he cried in simulated distress. "Here it's one o'clock an' I ain't collected a dollar o' the freight money from the last voyage. I must beat it." When Captain Scraggs had "beaten it," Gibney and McGuffey exchanged expressive glances.
Gibney corrected him. "Bart, I got your number. Good-bye." Mr. McGuffey had a wild impulse to cast himself upon the Gibney neck and weep, but his honour forbade any such weakness. So he invited Mr.
"I am, Gib, but I'll be prouder'n ever if you can follow them towboats in without havin' to claw off Baker's beach or the Point Bonita rocks." "Calamity howler," Gibney growled. Half an hour later he caught the echo of the Bodega's whistle as the sound was hurled back from the high cliffs at Land's End, off to starboard.
"If you two got a thousand dollars each in bank an' I ain't disputin' it, for I hear on good authority you got that much for salvin' the Chesapeake what're you hangin' around the Maggie for?" Mr. Gibney approached and placed his great right arm fraternally across Scraggs's skinny shoulder. Mr.
"Just simply grand. I'll pull ten thousand out of this job." Mr. Gibney whistled shrilly through his teeth. "That's the ticket for soup," he said admiringly. "I tell you, Scraggs, this soldier of fortune business may be all right, but it don't amount to much compared to being a sailor of fortune, eh, Scraggsy?
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