"Who uncorked that atter o' violets?"

"You dog-gone squarehead," shrieked Captain Scraggs. "You been
monkeyin' around that codfish again."

"What smells?" demanded the mate, poking his nose out of his
room.

"That tainted wealth I picked up at sea," shouted a voice from
the dock, and turning, Scraggs and McGuffey observed Mr. Gibney
standing on a stringer smiling at them.

"Gib, my _dear_ boy," quavered Captain Scraggs, "you can't mean
to say you've unloaded them gosh-awful codfish----"

"No, not yet--but soon, Scraggsy, old tarpot."

Captain Scraggs removed his near-Panama hat, cast it on the deck,
and pranced upon it in a terrible rage.

"I won't receive your rotten freight, you scum of the docks," he
raved. "You'll run me outer house an' home with that horrible
stuff."

"Oh, you'll freight it for me, all right," the commodore retorted
blithely. "Or I'll libel your old stern-wheel packet for you.
I've paid the freight in advance an' I got the receipt."

Captain Scraggs was on the verge of tears. "But, Gib! My _dear_
boy! This freight'll foul the _Victor_ up for a month o'
Fridays--_an' I just took out a passenger license!_"

"I'm sorry, Scraggsy, but business is business. You've took my
money an' you got to perform."

"You lied to me. You said it was agricultural stuff an' I thought
it was plows an' harrers an' sich----"

"It's fertilizer--an' if that ain't agricultural stuff I hope my
teeth may drop out an' roll in the ocean. An' it ain't perishable.
It perished long ago. I ain't deceived you. An' if you don't like
the scent o' dead codfish on your decks, you can swab 'em down with
Florida water for a month."

Captain Scraggs's mate came around the corner of the house and
addressed himself to Captain Scraggs.

"You can give me my time, sir. I'm a steamboat mate, not a grave
digger or a coroner's assistant, or an undertaker, an' I can't
stand to handle this here freight."

Mr. McGuffey tossed his silken engineer's cap over to Scraggs.

"Hop on that, Scraggsy. Your own hat is ground to powder. Ain't
it strange, Gib, what little imagination Scraggsy's got? He'll
stand there a-screamin' an' a-cussin' an' a-prancin'--Scraggsy!
Ain't you got no pride, makin' such a spectacle o' yourself? We
don't have to handle this freight o' Gib's at all. We'll just
hook onto that barge _an' tow it up river_."

"You won't do nothin' o' the sort, Mac, because that's my barge
an' I ain't a-goin' to let it out o' m