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Gibney cried furiously. "Or I'll bang you in that other eye that's ready for bangin'." "If you're shy a few bucks " McGuffey began. "I am," Captain Scraggs wailed. "I'm worried to death. I don't know how I'm ever goin' to pay for that bloody boiler an' git to sea with the Maggie " "Little sorrel-top," Mr. Gibney murmured, ruffling Scraggs's thin blonde hair.
While the Victor was running with light freights and consequently at a loss, the prospect for ultimate good business was very bright and Scraggs and McGuffey were not at all worried about the future. 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.
Due to Captain Scraggs's stupidity and the general inefficiency of the Maggie, the new navigating officer was of the opinion that he had been swindled out of his share of the salvage, while the new engineer, furious at having been engaged to baby such a ruin as the Maggie's boiler turned out to be, blamed Scraggs's parsimony for the loss of his share of the salvage.
An' if you don't like the scent o' dead codfish on your decks, you can swab 'em down with Florida water for a month." Captain Scraggs's mate came around the corner of the house and addressed himself to Captain Scraggs. "You can give me my time, sir. I'm a steamboat mate, not a grave digger or a coroner's assistant, or an undertaker, an' I can't stand to handle this here freight." Mr.
Scraggs's voice rose in a crashing crescendo; his teeth clicked together and he shook his skinny fist under the great Gibney nose. Gibney paled and drew away from him. "How was I to know, Scraggsy?" he faltered. "The whole bunch was runts sickly, measly little fellers.
Upon a night, which happened to be Scraggs's night off, and when he was particularly lonely and inclined to drown his sorrows in the Bowhead saloon, he was approached by Scab Johnny, and invited to repair to the latter's dingy office for the purpose of discussing what Scab Johnny guardedly referred to as a "proposition."
Ezekiel George Washington Scraggs, late of Missouri, later of Utah, and latest of North Dakota, stood an even six-foot unshod. He had an air of leanness, almost emaciation, not borne out by any fact of anatomy. We make our hasty estimates from the face. Brother Scraggs's face was gaunt.
If it should cost him a leg, Captain Scraggs was resolved to make those two corpses pay for the repairs in the Maggie's engine room. Following his departure, Messrs. Gibney and McGuffey sat on deck smoking and striving to fathom the hidden design back of Scraggs's offer to buy them out. "He's got his lines fast somewhere you can bank on that," was Mr.
Gibney, and dashed at the post which held Captain Scraggs prisoner. He struck it a powerful blow with his shoulder and Scraggs and the post crashed to the ground. In an instant Mr. Gibney was on his knees, tearing at Scraggs's rope shackles with his teeth. Five minutes later, Captain Scraggs's hands were free. Then Scraggs did a like service for Gibney.
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!"
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