Gibney ordered Scraggs, and tore the telescope from the owner's
hands. "There ain't enough real seamanship in the crew o' this
craft to tax the mental make-up of a Chinaman. Hum--m--m!
American bark _Chesapeake_. Starboard anchor out; yards braced
a-box; royals an' to'-gallan'-s'ls clewed up; courses hangin' in
the buntlines an' clew garnets, Stars-an'-Stripes upside down."

He lowered the glass and roared at Neils Halvorsen, who was at
the wheel, "Starboard your helm, Squarehead. Don't be afraid of
her. We're goin' over there an' hook on to her. I should say she
is a pick-up."

Mr. Gibney had abdicated as a pirate and assumed command of the
S.S. _Maggie_. With the memory of a scant breakfast upon him,
however, Captain Scraggs was still harsh and bitter.

"Git out o' my pilot house an' aft where the police can find you
when they come lookin' for you," he screeched. "Don't you give no
orders to my deckhand."

"Stow it, you ass. Don't fly in the face of your own interests,
Scraggsy, you bandit. Yonder's a prize, but it'll require
imagination to win it; consequently you need Adelbert P. Gibney
in your business, if you're contemplatin' hookin' on to that
bark, snakin' her into San Francisco Bay, an' libelin' her for
ten thousand dollars' salvage. You an' me an' Mac an' The
Squarehead here have sailed this strip o' coast too long together
to quarrel over the first good piece o' salvage we ever run into.
Come, Scraggsy. Be decent, forget the past, an' let's dig in
together."