"All right, Gib, my lad," he said, affecting to resign himself to
the inevitable, "have it your own way. You're a commodore and I'm
only a plain captain, but I'll follow wherever you lead. I'll go
as far as the next man and we'll glom that black coral if we have
to slaughter every man, woman, and child on the island. Only,
when we're sizzlin' in a pot don't you up and say I never warned
you, because I did. How d'ye propose intimidatin' the natives,
Gib?"

"Scraggsy," said the commodore solemnly, "we've waged a private
war agin a friendly nation, licked 'em, and helped ourselves to
their ship. We've changed her name and rig and her official
number and letters and we're sailin' under bogus papers. That
makes us pirates, and that old _Maggie_ burgee floatin' at the
fore ain't nothin' more nor less than the Jolly Roger. All right!
Let's be pirates. Who cares? When we slip into M'galao harbour
we'll invite the king and his head men aboard for dinner. We'll
get 'em drunk, clap 'em in double irons, and surrender 'em to
their weepin' subjects when they've filled the hold of the
_Maggie II_ with black coral. If they refuse to come aboard we'll
shell the bush with that long gun and the Maxim rapid-fire guns
we've got below decks. That'll scare 'em so they'll leave us
alone and we can help ourselves to the coral."

Scraggs's cold blue eyes glistened. "Lord, Gib," he murmured,
"you've got a head."

"Like playin' post-office," was McGuffey's comment.

The commodore smiled. "I thought you boys would see it that way.