"
"I'll bet a ripe peach he's a Jap, with a scoundrelly white
skipper and white mates. They'll all stick together for a
five-dollar bill and swear they never was on the beach at all. If
they do, how're we goin' to prove it?"
"That's logic," the eavesdropping Gibney murmured to the
binnacle.
"Oh, hell's bells, shut up and let's go home," Dan Hicks cried
wearily. "We can catch him when he comes in."
"Suppose he doesn't come in. Suppose he's bound for Seattle,
Dan."
"We can libel him wherever he goes."
"I'll bet he gave us a fictitious name, Dan!"
"Stow that grief, Jack. Stow it, or I'll go mad. The _Bodega_ has
more speed than the _Aphrodite_, so poke ahead there and let's
try to get in an hour's sleep before daylight. If you can't feel
your way in I can."
"I'll just tag along silent and lazy-like after you two
misfortunates," Mr. Gibney decided, "an' you'll do my whistlin'
for me." He called Scraggs on the howler and explained the
situation. "Regular Cook's tour," he exulted. "Personally
conducted. Off again, on again, away again, Finnegan--and not a
nickel's worth of loss unless you count them vegetables you hove
at McGuffey.
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