When Murphy came on deck and
hailed the tug he nearly fainted at the information that came floating
across the water.
"Murphy, this is Matt Peasley speaking."
"Not Matt Peasley that used to command this old box--"
"Don't speak disrespectfully of my first command, Mike--"
"And you're only a tug captain--a dirty, thieving, piratical towboat
man, holding up every honest skipper that pokes his nose into San
Francisco Bay. Matt, I'm ashamed of you. How are you anyhow?"
"Fine, Mike. Want a tow?"
"I don't need one; I'll have a bit of breeze before long. I'm
independent of you!"
The tug crept in closer. "Don't be foolish, Mike; better let me slip
you a line."
"How much will it cost, Matt? None of your highway robbery now. Be
easy on the Retriever for old times' sake."
"A thousand dollars," Matt Peasley answered pleasantly, and was
rewarded with a volley of oaths from Mike Murphy and his crew.
"You're a thief!" yelled Murphy.
"And you're a fool, Mike. You're not more than two miles off the
breakers, you're in a calm that may last two days, and when the tide
is at flood you'll set in on the beach as sure as death and taxes--and
then I'll have a salvage job that will cost your owners not one
thousand but ten."
"You go to the devil!" was Murphy's reply to this, and the Sea Fox
dropped astern and came round on the starboard bow of the Retriever.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260