cut-up," Mr. Gibney
ordered. "We had our good time comin' after all that we've been
through but it's time to get down to business agin. Riches has
wings, Scraggsy, old salamander, an' even if we are ashore, I'm
still the commodore. Now, set around an' we'll hold a meetin'."

He banged the chiffonier with his great fist. "Meetin' o' the
_Maggie_ Syndicate," he announced. "Meetin'll come to order. The
first business before the meetin' is a call for volunteers to
furnish a money-makin' idee for the syndicate."

Neils Halvorsen shook his sorrel head. He had no ideas. B.
McGuffey, Esquire, shook his head also. Captain Scraggs wanted to
sing.

"I see it's up to me to suggest somethin'." Mr. Gibney smiled
benignly, as if a money-making idea was the easiest thing on
earth to produce. "The last thing I remember before we went to
that Turkish bath was us four visitin' a fortune teller an'
havin' our fortunes told, past, present, an' future, for a dollar
a throw. Anybody here remember what his fortune was?"

It appeared that no one remembered, not even Mr. Gibney. He
therefore continued:

"The chair will app'int Mr. McGuffey an' himself a committee o'
two to wait on one o' these here clairvoyants and have their
fortunes told agin."

McGuffey, who was as superstitious as a negro, seconded the
motion heartily and the committee forthwith sallied forth to
consult the clairvoyant. Within the hour they returned.

"Members o' the syndicate," the commodore announced, "we got an
idea. Not a heluva good one, but fair to middlin'. Me an' Mac
calls on this Madame de What-you-may-call-her an' the minute she
gets a lamp at my mit (it is worthy of remark here that Mr.
Gibney had a starfish tattooed on the back of his left hand, a
full-rigged ship across his breast, and a gorgeous picture of a
lady climbing a ladder adorned the inner side of his brawny right
fore-arm. The feet of the lady in question hung down below the
fringe of Mr. Gibney's shirt sleeve) she up an' says: 'My friend,
you're makin' a grave mistake remainin' ashore. Your fortune lies
at sea.' Then she threw a fit an' mumbled something about a
light-haired man that was' goin' to cross my path. I guess she
must have meant Scraggsy or Neils, both bein' blondes--an' she
come out of her trance shiverin' an' shakin'.

"'Your fortune lies at sea, my friend,' she kept on sayin'. 'Go
forth an' seek it.'

"'Gimme the longitude an' latitude, ma'am,' I says, 'an' I'll
light ou