The next day, as the _Hilonian_ steamed out of the harbour,
bearing the syndicate back to San Francisco, they looked across
at the little _Maggie II_ for the last time, and observed that
the mate was on deck, superintending three Kanaka sailors who
were hoisting supplies aboard from a bumboat.
Commodore Gibney bade his first command a misty farewell.
"Good-bye, little ship," he yelled and waved his hand. "Gawd! You
was a witch in a light wind."
"He'll be flyin' outer the harbour an' bound south by sunset,"
rumbled McGuffey. "I suppose that lovely gas engine o' mine'll go
to hell now."
Captain Scraggs sighed dismally. "It costs like sixty to be a
Christian, Gib, but what's the odds as long as we're safe an'
homeward bound? Holy sailor! But I'm hungry for a smell o'
Channel creek at low tide. I tell you, Gib, rovin' and wild
adventure's all right, but the old green-pea trade wasn't so
durned bad, after all."
"You bet!" McGuffey's response was very fervid.
"Them was the happy days," supplemented the commodore. He was as
joyous as a schoolboy. Four long years had he been roving and
now, with his pockets lined with greenbacks, he was homeward
bound to his dear old San Francisco--back to steam beer, to all
of his old cronies of the Embarcadero, to moving picture
shows--to Life! And he was glad to get back with a whole skin.
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