Instantly a change came over the oysterman. "Take the bread from an honest man's mouth, would you?" he snarled, turning upon Alec. "Take his job away from him, would you? You young pup, I'll fix you!"
His attitude was so threatening that Alec stepped back in alarm.
Captain Bagley grasped the sailor by the arm and spun him around. "You get your clothes and get out here before you get in trouble," he said sternly.
The oysterman swore viciously, but obeyed, and went shambling down the pier to the boat.
"You'd better keep your weather-eye on him," said the captain. "I don't believe he'd really try to hurt you, but he's a bad actor when he gets drunk. So just watch him. I'll go aboard and see that he behaves himself on the Bertha B."
Alec hastened to have a look at his surroundings before darkness came. Although it was late in the day, there was still much activity on the piers, for this was the rush season. In the slips between piers were many square-ended scows, some loaded deep with oysters that were covered with burlap sacks against a sudden cold snap, while others were entirely emptied of their cargo, their sacks laid in neat piles amidships.
Still other scows were being unloaded. Mostly four scow men were at work in each scow, counting and culling the oysters. As fast as the baskets were filled, they were hoisted to the piers, where other men emptied them into sacks and tossed the empty baskets back into the scows. Six baskets filled a sack. The sacks were sewed up as fast as they were filled, and trundled off on trucks to the waiting cars. Such rattlers and empty shells as had gotten in among the good oysters were thrown in little heaps in the centres of the scows.
Presently Alec saw a rough looking old fellow sculling a flat-bottomed boat into a slip where some empty scows were floating.
"Can I have your shells, Cap'n?" asked the boatman of the shipper who stood on the pier, sewing up the last of his sacks.