“Well, dang them pirates to the dickens!” exclaimed Uncle Jerry. “If they be goin’ to keep up this nonsense I’m goin’ to get down-right mad at ’em.” But he signaled the engine-room to slow down, as if it was getting to be a habit with him. One of the upper panes, just above his line of vision, clattered down as he pulled the bell-rope.
At the first volley, Ma Brooks and her daughters dashed into the galley and slammed the door. The remainder of the male Brookses made two jumps to the coal bins and began burrowing into the coal, and the three non-Brooks members of the crew dived into openings between the small piles of cargo stuff and tried to become invisible. When the pirates clambered aboard the Silver Star they seemed to be boarding a deserted vessel. They worked quickly and thoroughly. Piece by piece they threw the cargo of the Silver Sides into the motor-boat until they uncovered the three members of the crew, who leaped from their hiding-place like startled rabbits and loped wildly to places of greater safety. Half a dozen revolver shots followed them. The pirates then leisurely reëmbarked, fired a parting salute, and glided away.
The next morning Greasy appeared at work with his pocket full of Sultana raisins, and offered some to Mr. Gubb.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gubb; “raisins are one of my foremost fondnesses. Nice ones like these are hard to find obtainable.”
“You’re right they are,” said Greasy. “Me lady-friend give me these last night. She’s the girl that knows good raisins, ain’t she?”
Evidently she was, but Philo Gubb had taken occasion to discover, before he went to work that morning, whether the Silver Sides had been pirated again, and he had learned that a half-dozen boxes of Sultana raisins had formed part of the cargo of the Silver Sides. He looked at Greasy severely.
“Your lady-friend is considerably generous in giving things, ain’t she?” he said, trying to hide the guile of his questions in an indifferent tone. “You ain’t cared to mention her name to me as yet to this time.”
“Ain’t I?” said Greasy carelessly. “Well, I ain’t ashamed of her. Her name is Maggie Tiffkins. She’s some girl!”
“You spend most of your evenings with or about her, I presume to suppose?” asked Mr. Gubb carelessly.
“You bet!” said Greasy. “Me and her is going to get married before long, we are. Yep. And I’ll be right glad to have a home to sleep in, instead of a barn.”