“I wouldn’t take your stuff for a thousand pounds now,” said the captain.

“Forgive me, my best friend.  I did not mean to be offensive; you have misunderstood my meaning.  I will give you five hundred pounds, though I know I will have to pay one hundred out of my own purse.  It is very hard.”

The captain hesitated, but was overcome by the thought of making so large a clean profit without involving any material loss of time.  In less than an hour after darkness came on the cargo was being put aboard with amazing facility.  The first lighter was nearly discharged, when the captain asked the agent to pay the freight.  This gentleman, with many greasy apologies, informed him that he had only half of the money with him.  He could not get his friends to agree to pay all before starting, “but they will agree to pay half here and the other half as soon as the lighters come to you at Amonti.”  “Very well, then; I won’t take another bale in, and will steam away at once.”

“But,” said the cunning Rock-scorpion, “you have a lighter of goods aboard.  You are very dreadful for talking about running away with it.”

“You make me sick,” said the captain, with a killing look of scorn.

“Capitan, you say queer things to your best friends.  Now, I tell you what I will do:  I will on my own responsibility give you in cash two-thirds now, and the other third I pledge myself will be paid at Amonti.  It would be a scandal to all concerned to allow it to drop at the present time.”

“Scandal be d——­d!” replied the commander.  “You’re a fine lot to talk about scandal—­you who would rob Jesus Christ of his shoe-strings.”

“Capitan, you do me wrong; I would never do the things you say.”

“Stump up the dross like a man, then, and don’t stand whining there like a sucking turkey craving for pity,” retorted Captain S——.  A look of injured piety came over the old rascal’s face, who was playing a game of Levantine jugglery, subtle and crafty.

“Ah,” said he, “I am so sorry.  Indeed, I cannot express my grief that you should have changed in so short a time from the kind, generous capitan of old times long ago to the very cruel, disobliging person of this minute, who calls me names and refuses to reciprocate kindness for kindness.  I think my friends will say that I tell lies, which they would not think of me, when I tell them that you have become morose and disobliging.  They will stare and say that my judgment has been deceived.  But to show my trust in you, nevertheless, I will, as I have said, give you two-thirds cash, and the other third you will be paid at your destination.  No other man in Gibraltar would do the same; but we are old friends who have done business together before—­not profitable, but still it was business, very hard business.  Come, now, capitan, do be reasonable, and do not look at me as though you would like to strike my face with your fist.”

The captain had been standing in a reflective mood during the Rock-scorpion’s harangue, obviously reviewing the whole position and the policy that should be adopted.  He was dubious as to the wisdom of accepting the terms offered; but seeing that the risk to him was less than it was to them, he spontaneously replied—­