Ain't that logic?"
"I'm afraid," Scraggs replied sadly, "it is. Still, they'd have a
lien on the _Maggie_----"
"Steamer ahoy!" came a voice from the beach.
"Man with a megaphone," Mr. Gibney cried. "Ahoy! Ahoy, there!"
"Who are you an' what's the trouble?"
Captain Scraggs took it upon himself to answer: "American steamer
_Mag_----"
Mr. Gibney sprang upon him tigerishly, placed a horny,
tobacco-smelling palm across Scraggs's mouth and effectively
smothered all further sound. "American steamer _Yankee Prince_,"
he bawled like a veritable Bull of Bashan, "of Boston, Hong Kong
to Frisco with a general cargo of sandal wood, rice, an' silk.
Where're we at?"
"Just outside the Gate. Half a mile south o' the Cliff House."
"Telephone in for a tug. We're in nice shape, restin' easy, but
our rudder's gone an' the after web o' the crank shaft's busted.
Telephone in, my man, an' I'll make it up to you when we get to a
safe anchorage. Who are you?"
"Lindstrom, of the Golden Gate Life Saving Station."
"I'll not forget you, Lindstrom. My owners are Yankees, but
they're sports."
"All right. I'll telephone. On my way!"
"God speed you," murmured Mr.
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