that it was a toss-up whether the old man was meditating murder or
suicide. In fact, so depressed was Captain Scraggs that he lacked
absolutely the ambition to "rag" his associates; observing which Mr.
McGuffey vouchsafed the opinion that perhaps Scraggsy was "teched a
mite in his head-block."

"Don't you think it," Mr. Gibney warned. "If old Scraggsy's crazy
he's crazy like a fox. What's rilin' him is the knowledge that
he's stung to the heart an' can't admit it without at the same
time admittin' he'd cooked up a deal to double-cross us. He's
just a-bustin' with the thoughts that's accumulatin' inside him.
Right now he'd drown his sorrers in red liquor if he could afford
it."

"He's troubled financially, Gib."

"Well, you know who troubled him, don't you, Bart?"

"I mean about the cost o' them repairs in the engine room. Unless
he can come through in thirty days with the balance he owes, the
boiler people are goin' to libel the _Maggie_ to protect their
claim."

Mr. Gibney arched his bushy eyebrows. "How do you know?" he
demanded.

"He was a-tellin' me," Mr. McGuffey admitted weakly.

"Well, he wasn't a-tellin' me." Mr. Gibney's tones were ominous;
he glared at his friend suspiciously as from the _Maggie's_ cabin