her swim in oil?" He grasped the oil can and, in order to test
the efficacy of its squirt, shot a generous stream down Captain
Scraggs's collar.

"That for them rotten eggs, you miser," he growled. "Heraus mit
'em!"

Captain Scraggs fled, cursing, and sought solace in the pilot
house.

"It's as black," quoted Mr. Gibney as he entered, "as the Earl of
Hell's riding boots."

"And as thick," snarled Scraggs, "as McGuffey's head. Lordy me,
Gib, but it's thick. You'd think every bloomin' steam pipe in the
universe had busted."

"If they was all like the _Maggie's_," Mr. Gibney retorted drily,
"we wouldn't need to worry none. Not wishin' to change the
conversation, Scraggsy, but referrin' to them eggs you slipped me
and Bart for supper, all I gotta say is that the next time you go
marketin' in ancient Egypt, me an' Mac's goin' to tell the real
story o' the S.S. _Maggie_ to the Inspectors. Now, that goes.
Scatter along aft, Scraggs, and let me know what that taffrail
log has to say about it."

Captain Scraggs read the log and reported the mileage to Mr.
Gibney, who figured with the stub of a pencil on the pilot house
wall, wagged his head, and appeared satisfied. "Better go for'd,"
he ordered, "an' help The Squarehead on the lookout. At eight