"They did that last night. Still, I've known monkeys that would fight an' was human enough to settle a grudge. Follow me, Jack."
Together they repaired to Jackson Street bulkhead. Sure enough there lay the Maggie, rubbing her blistered sides against the bulkhead. Captain Scraggs was nowhere in sight, but Mr. Gibney was at the winch, swinging ashore the crates of vegetables which The Squarehead and three longshoremen loaded into the cargo net.
"We're outnumbered," Jack Flaherty whispered.
"Let's wait until she's unloaded an' Gibney an' Scraggs are aboard alone."
They retired without having attracted the attention of Mr. Gibney, and a few minutes later, Captain Scraggs came down the bulkhead and sprang aboard.
"Well?" his navigating officer queried.
"Couldn't find him," Scraggs confessed. "Scab Johnny says he loaned Mac a dry outfit an' the old boy dug out for breakfast at seven o'clock an' ain't been around since."
"Did you try the saloons, Scraggsy?"
"I did. Likewise the cigar stands an' restaurants, an' the readin' rooms of the Marine Engineers' Association."
"Guess he's out hustlin' a job," Mr. Gibney sighed. He was filled with vague forebodings of evil. "If you'd only listened to my advice last night, Scraggsy—if you'd only listened," he mourned.