Mr. Gibney stored the syndicate's pearls in
the hotel safe, deposited an emergency roll with the hotel clerk,
and banked the balance of the company funds in the names of all
four; after which the syndicate gave itself up to a period of joy
unconfined.
At the end of a week of riot and revelry Mr. Gibney revived
sufficiently to muster all hands and lead them to a Turkish bath.
Two days in the bath restored them wonderfully, and when the
worthy commodore eventually got them back to the hotel he
announced that henceforth the lid was on--and on tight. Captain
Scraggs, who was hard to manage in his cups and the most prodigal
of prodigals with steam up to a certain pressure, demurred at
this.
"No more sky-larkin', Scraggsy, you old cut-up," Mr. Gibney
ordered. "We had our good time comin' after all that we've been
through but it's time to get down to business agin. Riches has
wings, Scraggsy, old salamander, an' even if we are ashore, I'm
still the commodore. Now, set around an' we'll hold a meetin'."
He banged the chiffonier with his great fist. "Meetin' o' the
_Maggie_ Syndicate," he announced. "Meetin'll come to order. The
first business before the meetin' is a call for volunteers to
furnish a money-makin' idee for the syndicate.
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