Gibney laid five one-hundred-dollar bills in the mate's palm.
"Good-bye," he said gently, "an' see if you can't be as much of a
man an' as good a sport hereafter as them you've wronged an'
who's forgive you fully and freely."
One by one the three freebooters of the green-pea trade pumped
the stricken mate's hand, tossed him a scrap of advice, and went
overside into the small boat which was to take them ashore. It
was a solemn parting and Mr. Gibney and McGuffey were snuffling
audibly. Captain Scraggs, however, was made of sterner stuff.
"'Pears to me, Gib," he remarked when they were clear of the
schooner, "that you're a little mite generous with the funds o'
the syndicate, ain't you?"
Mr. Gibney picked up a paddle and threatened Scraggs with it.
"Dang your cold heart, Scraggs," he hissed, "you're un-Christian,
that's what you are."
"Quit yer beefin', you shrimp," bellowed McGuffey. "Them
cannibals would have et you if it wasn't for that poor devil of a
mate."
Captain Scraggs snarled and remained discreetly silent.
Nevertheless, he was in a fine rage. As he remarked _sotto voce_
to Neils Halvorsen, five hundred dollars wasn't picked up in the
street every day.
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