"Well, I'm sorry," he answered with every appearance of
contrition. "You fellers got me in the nine-hole an' I can't help
myself. At the same time, I appreciate fully your p'int of view,
while realizin' that I can't convince you o' mine. So we won't
have no hard feelin's at partin', boys, an' to show you I'm a
sport I'll treat to a French dinner an' a motion picture show
afterward. Further, I shall regard a refusal of said invite as a
pers'nal affront."

"By golly, you're gittin' sporty in your old age," the engineer
declared. "I'll go you, Scraggs. How about you, Gib?"

"I accept with thanks, Scraggsy, old tarpot. Personally, I
maintain that seamen should leave their troubles aboard ship."

"That's the sperrit I appreciate, boys. Come to the cabin an'
I'll pay you off. Then wait a coupler minutes till I shift into
my glad rags an' away we'll go, like Paddy Ford's goat--on our
own hook."

"Old Scraggsy's as cunnin' as a pet fox, ain't he?" the new
navigating officer whispered, as Scraggs departed for his
stateroom to change into his other suit. "He's goin' to blow
himself on us to-night, thinkin' to soften our hard resolution.
We'll fool him. Take all he gives us, but stand pat, Bart."

Bart nodded. His was one of those sturdy natures that could
always be depended upon to play the game, win, lose, or draw.