yourself. Don't argue with me, Gib. I'm master here an' you're
mate. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do, Scraggsy. But it won't avail you nothin'. You're only
master becuz of a gentleman's agreement between us two, an'
because I'm man enough to figger there's certain rights due you
as owner o' the _Maggie_. But don't you forget that accordin' to
the records o' the Inspector's office, I'm master of the
_Maggie_, an' the way I figger it, whenever there's any call to
show a little real seamanship, that gentleman's agreement don't
stand."

"But this ain't one o' them times, Gib."

"You're whistlin' it is. If we run from this here fog, it's
skiffs to battleships we don't get into San Francisco Bay an'
discharged before six o'clock to-morrow night. By the time we've
taken on coal an' water an' what-all, it'll be eight or nine
o'clock, with me an' McGuffey entitled to mebbe three dollars
overtime an' havin' to argue an' scrap with you to git it--not to
speak o' havin' to put to sea the same night so's to be back in
Halfmoon Bay to load bright an' early next mornin'. Scraggsy, I
ain't no night bird on this run."

"Do you mean to defy me, Gib?" Captain Scraggs' little green eyes
gleamed balefully. Mr. Gibney looked down upon him with
tolerance, as a Great Dane gazes upon a fox terrier. "I certainly
do, Scraggsy, old pepper-pot," he replied calmly. "What're you
goin' to do about it?" The ghost of a smile lighted his jovial
countenance.