“Not many? I should say it was, the way things are ashore--Seamen’s Union, Coaster Unions, Shipping Board paying eighty dollars a month for ordinary sailors. No, it isn’t many, but they are going to be hard to get. Make it one hundred and twenty-five dollars a man.” “How are you going about getting them aboard, Abie?” “A new idea with me. I’m a government detective, see. I know the hangouts and scatters of all the crooks in San Francisco. I know where they’re coinin’ the queer. I know of a few stills. I heard yesterday of two new hop joints right on Dupont Street.” “You’ll represent yourself as an officer of the law?” “I’ve got a gold badge. I’ll make the pinch, turn them over to an assistant detective who will bring them out to this ship, and you can do the rest. They’ll be glad enough for getaway when I get done with them.” “I’ll make it one hundred and twenty-five, Abie, if you hurry.” The crimp paused with one foot on the ladder which led to the quarter-deck of the Bowhead. “There’s a detective in town, cap, nobody ever saw as far as I can find out. His name is James Keenon. They’re afraid as hell of him. I’ll be Keenon to-night. I’ll make six quiet pinches and send the men out to you.” “But they might start trouble before they sign on for the voyage.” Abie the Crimp laid his hand over his heart. “Cap,” he declared, “there’s men ashore--Chinks and crooks--who would pay you five hundred dollars to get away from Keenon. See the point?” Captain Gully nodded. “All right, I’ll be waiting, Abie. Do you need a boat?” “Lend me your dingey. Let me have that mate, Hansen. He’s got a pair of blue pants on--just the thing to imitate a copper’s.” “Where will the boat be if I want it?” “At the foot of Meigg’s wharf.” “What time are you going to send out the first men?” “God knows, cap; but it’s an awful crooked part of town where I’m going to make those phony pinches in.” Captain Gully followed Abie up the ladder. Hansen took the skipper’s orders, touched his cap, pulled the dingey alongside the rudder-post, and motioned for the crimp to slide down. The seaman hitched the painter to a pile at the foot of Meigg’s wharf after a swift row over the bay, and followed the gliding figure of Abie along East Street until the Blubber Room was reached. “We’ll get some hardware,” explained Abie. “Come in the back room. Sit down. If you want a drink, tell my mother you’re with me.” The crimp appeared within ten minutes. A black, soft-brimmed hat hid his sharp eyes. A long raincoat reached to his heels. He looked the part of a sleuth, except his weak chin. “Where are you going, Abie?” asked his mother. Abie the Crimp leaned over the bar and touched his lips to a muscular arm. He was a good son in many ways.