Captain Bodfish’s jaw dropped in his astonishment, and his rolling eye now caught for the first time the lettering on the upper panel of the van: “Leviathan Circus and Menagerie, H. Look, Prop.”
“Yes,” went on Hiram, noting the skipper’s gathering scowl, “we’ve come round by land per the Inlet road, crooked as an angle-worm and up and down like a dash chum. It took sweat and axle-grease, but we’re here, Cap, glad to see you and wishin’ you all the compliments of the season. Now, brief and to the point—is the lady aboard that you took out of Palermo this mornin’?”
“None o’ your bus’ness,” replied Captain Bodfish, promptly and emphatically.
“Then I’ll come aboard and look. That’ll save me time and you the wear and tear on your mouth.”
But Captain Bodfish leaped to the gang-plank and straddled himself there.
“No you don’t come aboard no packet o’ mine,” he cried.
“Oh, then she’s here,” said Hiram. “They’re easy, these mossback fellers, Sime,” he added, turning to Peak. “It’s the old pickpocket trick. Jab a jay in the crowd and he flaps his hand onto where he’s carrying his wallet. Then all you have to do is to pick it.”
Bodfish’s rage was gathering fast.
Hiram stepped upon the wharf-end of the plank.
“I say ye can’t come aboard,” shouted the skipper. “You ain’t no policeman and you ain’t no custom officer.” He pulled a marline-spike from a knot of rope at the rail. “You come in reach of me, you circus man, and I’ll drive that plug hat down so fur oh your shoulders that folks will have to slice it off with a can-opener.”