ucked three each under their belts--all at Captain Scraggs's
expense. When he proposed a fourth, Mr. Gibney's perfect
sportsmanship caused him to protest, and reluctantly Captain
Scraggs permitted Gibney to buy. Scraggs decided to have a cigar,
however, instead of another Martini. The ethics of the situation
then indicated that McGuffey should "set 'em up," which he did
over Captain Scraggs's protest--and again the wary Scraggs called
for a cigar, alleging as an excuse for his weakness that for
years three cocktails before dinner had been his absolute limit.
A fourth cocktail on an empty stomach, he declared, would kill
the evening for him.

The fourth cocktail having been disposed of, the barkeeper,
sensing further profit did he but play his part judiciously,
insisted that his customers have a drink on the house. Captain
Scraggs immediately protested that their party was degenerating
into an endurance contest--and called for another cigar. He now
had three cigars, so he gave one each to his victims and forcibly
dragged them away from the bar and up to a Pine Street French
restaurant, the proprietor of which was an Italian. Captain
Scraggs was for walking the six blocks to this restaurant, but
Mr. McGuffey had acquired, on six cocktails, what is colloquially
described as "a start," and insisted upon chartering a taxicab.

But why descend to sordid and vulgar details? Suffice that when
the artful Scraggs, pretending to be overcome by his potations
and very ill into the bargain, begged to be delivered back aboard
the _Maggie_, Messrs. McGuffey and Gibney loaded him into a
taxicab and sent him there, while they continued their search for
excitement. Where and how they found it requires no elucidation
here; it is sufficient to state that it was expensive, for when
men of the Gibney and McGuffey type have once gotten a fair start
naught but financial dissolution can stop them.

On Monday morning, Messrs. Gibney and McGuffey awoke in Scab
Johnny's boarding house. Mr. Gibney awoke first, by reason of the
fact that his stomach hammered at the door of his soul and bade
him be up and doing. While his head ached slightly from the fiery
usquebaugh of the Bowhead saloon, he craved a return to a solid
diet, so for several minutes he lay supine, conjuring in his
agile brain ways and means of supplying this need in the absence
of ready cash. "I'll have to hock my sextant," was the conclusion
at which he presently arrived. Then he