Civil War.
Somehow I can't eat an egg that's the least bit rotten."

"It's gettin' so," McGuffey mourned, "that I don't have no more
time off in port. When I ain't standin' by I'm repairin', an'
when I ain't doin' either I'm dreamin' about the danged old
coffee mill. For a cancelled postage stamp I'd jump the ship."

He gulped down his coffee, loaded his pipe, and went below to
relieve Scraggs, for although experience in acting as McGuffey's
relief had given Captain Scraggs what might be termed a working
knowledge of the _Maggie's_ engine, McGuffey was never happy
with Scraggs in charge, even for five minutes. The habit of years
caused him to cast a quick glance at the steam gauge, and he
noted it had dropped five pounds.

"Savin' on the coal again," he roared. "Git out o' my engine
room, you doggoned skinflint." He seized a slice bar, threw open
the furnace door, raked the fire, and commenced shovelling in
coal at a rate that almost brought the tears of anguish to his
owner's eyes. "There! The main bearin's screamin' again," he
wailed. "Oil cup's empty. Ain't I drilled it into your head
enough, Scraggsy, that she'll cry her eyes out if you don't let
her swim in oil?" He grasped the oil can and, in order to test
the efficacy of its squirt, shot a generous stream down Captain
Scraggs's collar.

"That for them rotten eggs, you miser," he growled. "Heraus mit
'em!"

Captain Scraggs fled, cursing, and sought solace in the pilot
house.

"It's as black," quoted Mr. Gibney as he entered, "as the Earl of
Hell's riding boots."

"And as thick," snarled Scraggs, "as McGuffey's head. Lordy me,
Gib, but it's thick. You'd think every bloomin' steam pipe in the
universe had busted."

"If they was all like the _Maggie's_," Mr. Gibney retorted drily,
"we wouldn't need to worry none. Not wishin' to change the
conversation, Scraggsy, but referrin' to them eggs you slipped me
and Bart for supper, all I gotta say is that the next time you go
marketin' in ancient Egypt, me an' Mac's goin' to tell the real
story o' the S.S. _Maggie_ to the Inspectors. Now, that goes.
Scatter along aft, Scraggs, and let me know what that taffrail
log has to say about it."

Captain Scraggs read the log and reported the mileage to Mr.
Gibney, who figured with the stub of a pencil on the pilot house
wall, wagged his head, and appeared satisfied. "Better go for'd,"
he ordered, "an' help The Squarehead on the lookout. At eight
o'clock we ought to b