night's work is not ended. Have The Squarehead row you ashore in
the skiff; I'll stay up an' work the patent foghorn so he can
find his way back to the _Maggie_, while you hike down town----"

"What for?" Scraggs demanded irritably. "I'm all wore out."

"This adventure ain't ended," Mr. Gibney warned him. "There's a
witness to our perfidy still at large. His name is B. McGuffey,
esquire, an' I'll lay you ten to one you'll find him asleep in
Scab Johnny's boardin' house. Go to him, Scraggsy, an' bring a
pint flask with you when you do; wake him up, beg his pardon,
take him to breakfast, and promise him you'll do somethin' for
his boilers. Old Mac's got a heart as tender as a infant's. You
can win him over."

"Oh, Gib, use some common sense. Mac'll lay abed until noon. It
stands to reason he'll have to, because he didn't take no change
of clothin' with him, so he'll just naturally have to wait till
his wet clothes get dry before venturin' forth an' spreadin' the
news that the _Maggie's_ on the beach. He doesn't know we're off,
an' once we're tied up at the dock and we hear Mac's been talkin'
we'll just spread the word that he was so soused he jumped
overboard an' swum ashore without waitin' to see if we could back
off. Lordy, Gib, don't work me to death. I'm that weary I could
flop on this wet deck an' be off to sleep in a pig's whisper."

"I dunno but what there's reason in what you say," Mr. Gibney
agreed. "Well, turn in, Scraggsy, but the minute we hit the dock
you run up town and fix things up with Bart."