The engineer of the Maggie came up on deck and waved his arms wildly. "Leggo," he bawled. "I've blown out two tubes. It'll be all I can do to get home without that tow."
"Jump on that, Scraggsy," quoth McGuffey softly and cast his silken engineer's cap on the deck at Scraggs's feet. The latter's face was ashen as he turned to the skipper of the Chesapeake. "I'm through," he gulped. "I'll have to cast off. Your ship's drivin' on to the beach now."
"Oh, say not so, Scraggsy," said Mr. Gibney softly, and with a blow of the hammer knocked out the stopper on the windlass and let the anchor go down by the run. "Not this voyage, at least." The Chesapeake rounded up with a jerk and Mr. Gibney took Captain Scraggs gently by the arm. "Into the small boat, old ruin," he whispered, "and I'll row you an' The Squarehead back to the Maggie. If she drifts ashore with that load o' garden truck, you might as well drown yourself."
Captain Scraggs was beyond words. He suffered himself to be taken back to the Maggie, after which kindly action Mr. Gibney returned to the Chesapeake, climbed aboard, and with the assistance of McGuffey, hauled the work boat up on deck.
CHAPTER XIII
"Now," Mr. Gibney inquired, approaching the skipper of the Chesapeake, "what'll you give me an' Mac, sir, to sail you in? Has it dawned on you, sir, that if I hadn't had sense enough to cockbill that anchor again you'd be on the beach this minute?"
"One thousand dollars," the skipper answered weakly.
"You refused to let us do it for a hundred. Now it'll cost you two thousand, an' I'm lettin' you off cheap at that. Of course, you can take a chance an' wait until word o' your predicament sifts into San Francisco an' a tug comes out for you, but in the meantime the wind may increase an' with the tide at the flood how do you know your anchor won't drag an' pile you up on them rocks to leeward?"
"I'll pay two thousand, Mr. Gibney."