“Oh-oh,” Cookie said, with exaggerated concern, “I hadn’t really meant to put that much in.”
“No harm done,” Mr. Briggs said grandly. “No harm done, really.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.”
“Perfectly okay, Cookie, perfectly okay. By the way, aren’t you going to have a spot yourself?”
“Well, I don’t mind if I do. Here, I’ll just try a little in this cup here.”
They gabbed on like that for a few minutes, their talk reaching Sandy’s ears against the background of the mate’s noisy sipping of his coffee. For a while, Sandy ignored their conversation. He was too busy trying to figure out what Cookie was up to.
Obviously, the little man was trying to get the mate drunk. But why? Cookie knew nothing of the forthcoming deal between Paul Chadwick and Mr. Kennedy. At least, so Sandy thought. So he could not understand Cookie’s actions. But he did see that the little man’s plan was working. As time wore on, and the heaving of the James Kennedy became less and less pronounced, Sandy noticed that the words of Mr. Briggs were also becoming less pronounced. His voice was thickening. He was not even aware that Cookie’s drinks had dwindled away to almost nothing, while his own had swelled in size.
“By the way, mate,” Cookie said, as Mr. Briggs’s head began to loll on his shoulders. “I’ve got a funny one to tell you.”
“Whash that, Cookie, ol’ pal?”
“It’s about that big Swede, Gunnar. He told me he was going to use the ship-to-shore telephone to call his girl-friend back in Duluth. I told him he was crazy because it’s against the ship’s rules to use the ship-to-shore.”