If they insist upon takin' forcible
possession o' my ship on the high seas, there's only one name for
the crime--an' that's piracy, punishable by hangin' from the
yard-arm. We'll just let 'em stay aboard an' turn 'em over to the
police when we git back to the city."
He started for his cabin and the crew, vastly relieved, followed
him. The pirates once more sat down and permitted their hot feet
to loll overboard.
"It's cold down here nights, Gib," McGuffey opined presently.
"Where're we goin' to sleep?"
"In our old berths, of course." The success of his bluff had
operated on Gibney like a tonic. "Hop into your shoes, Bart, an'
we'll snake them two scabs out o' their berths in jig time."
"I'm dodgin' fights to-night, Gib. Let's borrow a blanket or two
from The Squarehead an' curl up on deck. It'll be warm over the
engine-room gratin'."
Mr. Gibney yawned. "I guess you're right, Bart. While you're at
it, make Scraggs come through with a blanket an' an overcoat for
a pillow. Run up an' threaten him. He'll wilt."
So McGuffey staggered forward. What arguments he used shall not
be recorded here. Suffice it, he returned with what he went
after.
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