That settled matters for Bartholomew McGuffey. The metallic sound
was the protest from the wheels of a Cliff House trolley car
rounding a curve; the blue flame was an electric manifestation
due to the intermittent contact of her trolley with the wire, wet
with fog. McGuffey knew the exact position of the _Maggie_ now,
so he poised a moment on her bow; as a wave swept past him, he
leaped overboard, scrambled ashore, made his way up the beach to
the Great Highway which flanks the shore line between the Cliff
House and Ingleside, sought a roadhouse, and warmed his interior
with four fingers of whiskey neat. Then, feeling quite content
with himself, even in his wet garments, he boarded a city-bound
trolley car and departed for the warmth and hospitality of Scab
Johnny's sailor boarding house in Oregon Street.
CHAPTER V
Captain Scraggs continued to hurl other people's vegetables into
the murk forward for at least two minutes after Mr. McGuffey had
shaken the coal dust of the _Maggie_ from his feet, and was only
recalled to more practical affairs by the bored voice of Mr.
Gibney.
"The owners o' them artichokes expect to get half a dollar apiece
for 'em in New York, Scraggsy.
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