“Charter me your tug——”
“Yes, charter you the tug for five thousand dollars for the whole job, and two hundred dollars a day—the two hundred a day in case there’s nothing doin’, in case that Skipper shouldn’t go clear crazy, you see, and put out and she leakin’.”
Wiley put on his hat. “You don’t want much, do you? Five thousand dollars! I’ll give you a thousand for the whole job, or two hundred for every day you’re under charter if we don’t get her.”
“No, no—a cargo of mahogany. Five thousand or nothing.”
“Don’t be unreasonable. You know I can get plenty for a thousand——”
“Not too many sea-going tugs right now. There’s always good pickin’ for a big tug in the Bay this time of year. And there’s a risk in your job.”
“A little. But I can get a tug just as good as yours for a thousand.”
“Can you? Then why don’t you?”
“Well, I will. Good-day.”
Captain Dixey gazed after Wiley going up the dock. “And so he can—for a thousand—if he don’t tell them too much. But that would be a rich haul, and I don’t see why I can’t do a little salvage business on my own account. Why not? She’s anybody’s prize that can get her. Two thousand tons and a bark—in the lee of the Cape somewhere, and loaded with mahogany—he said something about Chatham. It oughtn’t be too hard to find out.”