staring fascinated at Mr. Gibney. Captain Scraggs
clutched his mate's arm in a frenzied clasp.

"_What?_" they both interrogated.

"You two boys," continued Mr. Gibney with aggravating
deliberation, "ain't what nobody would call dummies. You're smart
men. But the trouble with both o' you boys is you ain't got no
imagination. Without imagination nobody gets nowhere, unless it's
out th' small end o' th' horn. Maybe you boys ain't noticed it,
but my imagination is all that keeps me from goin' to jail. Now,
if you two had read the address on them two boxes, it wouldn't
'a' meant nothin' to you. Absolutely nothin'. But with me it's
different. I'm blessed with imagination enough to see right
through them Chinamen tricks. Them two boxes is marked "Oriental
Goods" an' consigned (here Mr. Gibney raised a grimy forefinger,
and Scraggs and McGuffey eyed it very much as if they expected it
to go off at any moment)--"them two boxes is consigned to the Gin
Seng Company, 714 Dupont Street, San Francisco."

"Well, that's up in Chinatown all right," admitted Captain
Scraggs, "but how about what's inside the two crates?"

"Oriental goods, of course," said McGuffey. "They're consigned to
a Chinaman, an' besides, that's what it says on the cases, don't
it, Gib? Oriental goods, Scraggs, is silks an' satins, rice, chop
suey, punk, an' idols an' fan tan layouts."

Mr. Gibney tapped gently with his horny knuckles on the honest
McGuffey's head.

"If there ain't Swiss cheese movements in that head block o' yours,
Mac, you an Scraggsy can divide my share o' these two boxes o'
ginseng root between you. Do you get it, you chuckleheaded son of an
Irish potato? Gin Seng, 714 Dupont Street. Ginseng--a root or a herb
that medicine is made out of. The dictionary says it's a Chinese
panacea for exhaustion, an' I happen to know that it's worth five
dollars a pound an' that them two crates weighs a hundred and fifty
pounds each if they weighs an ounce."

His auditors stared at Mr. Gibney much as might a pair of
baseball fans at the hero of a home run with two strikes and the
bases full.

"Gawd!" muttered McGuffey.

"Great grief, Gib! Can this be possible?" gasped Captain Scraggs.

For answer, Mr. Gibney took out his fifty-dollar bill and handed
it to--to McGuffey. He never trusted Captain Scraggs with
anything more valuable than a pipeful of tobacco.

"Scraggsy," he said solemnly, "I'm willin' to back my imagination
with my cash. You an' M