day's work." He
grinned broadly. "One o' these bright days, Scraggs, when me an'
Mac is just wallerin' in salvage money, drop around to see us an'
we'll give you a kick in the face. Farewell, you boobs," and he
dove overboard.

"Ta-ta," McGuffey cried in his tantalizing falsetto voice, and
followed his leader into the briny deep. As they came up and
snorted, grampus-like, shaking the water out of their eyes, they
glanced back at the _Maggie_ and observed that Captain Scraggs
was, for the third time that never-to-be-forgotten voyage,
jumping on his hat.

"If I was that far gone in a habit," quoth Mr. McGuffey as he
hauled up alongside Mr. Gibney, "I'll be switched if I wouldn't
go bareheaded an' save expenses."

CHAPTER XII

The tide was still at the flood and the two adventurers made fast
progress toward the _Chesapeake_. Choosing a favourable
opportunity as the vessel dipped, they grasped her martingale,
climbed up on the bowsprit, and ran along the bowsprit to the
to'gallan'-fo'castle. On the deck below a dead man lay in the
scuppers, and such a horrible stench pervaded the vessel that
McGuffey was taken very ill and was forced to seek the rail.

"Scurvy or somethin'," Mr. Gibney announced quite calmly. "Here's
the devil to pay. There should be chloride of lime in the mate's
storeroom--I'll scatter some on these poor devils. Too close to
port now to chuck 'em overboard. Anyhow, Bart, me an' you ain't
doctors, nor yet coroners or undertakers, so you'd better skip
along an' build a fire under the donkey aft. Matches in the
galley, of course."

"I wish she was a schooner," McGuffey complained, edging over to
the weather rail. "It'd be easier for us two to sail her then.
I'm only a marine engineer, Gib, an' while I been goin' to sea
long enough to pick up something about handlin' a vessel, still
I'll get dizzy if I go aloft--an' I'm sure to get sick. You'll
have to do all the high an' lofty tumblin'--an' how in blue
blazes us two're goin' to sail a square-rigger into port is a
mystery to me."

"Leave the worryin' to your Uncle Gib, Bart. You can take the
wheel an' steer, can't you? She has enough sail practically set
now to make her handle good. Look at them courses hangin' in the
buntlines an' the yards braced a-box! All we got to do is to
square 'em around--but never mind explanations. I'll show you how
it's done after we get steam up in the donkey. I'd prefer a wind
about two points aft her beam, b