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Updated: August 23, 2024
"I ain't a-scared of any such breed of chunker as Rack Slimson," said she, calmly. "I can manage him my own self. You goin' back to Farewell, Racey?" "Right now." "Then I'll be going with you." "You'll do no such a thing. There's no sense in yore running into trouble thataway. You'll come in to Farewell after me and from another direction." "Shore, I was going to.
Sometimes when a chunker captain, waiting to unload, shoves a few tons aboard a sneak-boat at night, Tom will spot him every time. They try to fool her into indorsing their bills of lading in full, but it don't work for a cent." "You call her Tom Grogan?" Babcock asked, with a certain tone in his voice. He resented, somehow, Crane's familiarity. "Certainly. Everybody calls her Tom Grogan.
I got home, hooked up by twelve o'clock last night, an' before daylight I had me rig up an' the fall set and the buckets over her hatches. At six o'clock this mornin' I took the teams and was a-runnin' the coal out of the chunker, when down comes Mr. Daniel McGaw with a gang and his big derrick on a cart."
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