"Yes, captain," responds "Parson," his head out of his pilot-house window. "A most heavenly inspiration it was which impelled me in this direction in weather like this."
"Doubtless, doubtless, the hand o' Providence," says Judkins in a downcast voice; and then, more lively: "What is your judgment of this gale, Captain Davies?"
Gale! A man could have almost gone motor-boating with a bunch of seaside hotel guests in it.
"If I know anything of weather, captain," says "Parson," rolling his head this way and that at the sky, "she's comin' on to blow a hurricane. And for you to keep your crew aboard your doomed ship durin' the fury of it would be nothin' less than criminal, captain. Not" (raising one pious hand) "that I would set my judgment over agin yours, captain, for your vast experience of the sea qualifies you to judge of these things even better than I."
By this time most of our crew had left their high roosts and were crowding the lee rail to get aboard the Niobe; and Judkins says: "All right, men—go aboard." And all went aboard the tug, Judkins checking off every man by the ship's list as we passed him at the rail. And the Niobe headed back to Bayport.
On the run back to Bayport Judkins and Davies were alone in the cabin of the tugboat. I spent all that same way back trying to figure out their little game. I didn't feel too sure I had it right, but when the Niobe hit the dock I went four bells and the jingle up the street looking for Wheezer, and found him where anybody in town could of a Wednesday or Saturday night:
TERPSICHORE HALL
25 Cents for Gents—15 for Ladies
There was the illuminated sign hanging out over the sidewalk so that even a drunken sailor couldn't miss it.
You didn't have to haul Wheezer into any dry dock to see that his lines weren't laid down for speed, but his first rush, when I told him what was in sight, carried him clear to the head of the dock.
"The salvage! O the lovely salvage! We'll get her off!" says Wheezer. "We'll charter a tug, hah?"