On a certain day in February Mr. Skinner, coming into Cappy Ricks'
office with a cablegram in his hand, found his employer doubled up at
his desk and laughing in senile glee.
“I have a cablegram--” Mr. Skinner began.
“I have a good story,” Cappy interrupted. “Let me tell it to you,
Skinner. Oh, dear! I believe this is about going to kill the boys up on
'Change when I tell them.” He wiped his eyes, controlled his mirth and
turned to the general manager. “Skinner,” he said, “did you know I had
gotten back into the harness while you were up at the Astoria mill? Well
I did, Skinner. I had to, you know. If it was the last act of my life I
had to square accounts with that man Hudner, of the Black Butte Lumber
Company.”
Mr. Skinner nodded. He was aware of the feud that existed between Cappy
and Hudner, and the reasons therefor. The latter had stolen from Cappy a
stenographer, who had grown to spinsterhood in his employ--one of those
rare stenographers who do half a man's thinking for him. Cappy always
paid a little more than the top of the market for clever service; and
whenever, a competitor stole one of his favorite employees, sooner or
later that competitor paid for his sins, “through the nose.”
“While you were away,” Cappy went on, “I met Hudner a luncheon.
'Hudner,' I said, 'It's been my experience that nobody gets anything
good in this world without paying for it--and you stole the finest
stenographer I ever had. So I'm going to make you pay for her. See if I
don't.' Well, sir, Skinner, he laughed at me and told me to go as far as
I liked; and, a number of my youthful friends being present, they each
bet Hudner a five-dollar hat I'd hang his hide on my fence within sixty
days.
“Well, Skinner, you know me. Any time it's raining duck soup you'll
never catch me out with a fork; and, of course, when the boys showed
such faith in my ability to trim Hudner I had to make good. I have a
letter from Hudner to prove it; and to-day at luncheon, when we're all
gathered at the Round Table, I'm going to read that letter and my reply
to the same; and Hudner will have fifty dollars' worth of hat bills to
pay!”
“How did you tan his pelt?” Skinner queried.
“Easy! While you were away I chartered his steamer Chehalis for a load
of redwood lumber from Humboldt Bay to San Francisco at three dollars
and a half a thousand feet. Of course, you know a boat like the
Chehalis, with a big pay-roll, will break just even on such a low
freight rate; but inasmuch as he was going to lay the Chehalis up in
Oakland Creek, owing to lack of business, when I offered him a load of
redwood he concluded to take it, just to keep the vessel moving and pay
expenses. I stipulated discharge in San Francisco Bay.
“Well, sir, when the Chehalis got to our mill, Skinner, I ordered them
to load her with sinkers--oh! oh, this will be the death of me yet,
Skinner. And we gave her poor dispatch in loading. Then she had to lay
behind the bar two days longer before she could cross out; and when she
got here I ordered her to discharge into the British bark Glengarry--and
discharging from one vessel in to another is the slowest work in the
world. And Hudner--he's--written--me, Skinner, declaring he'll never
charter a boat to me again; says the Chehalis lost two thousand dollars
on the voyage.” And Cappy went off into a gale of laughter, and handed
Skinner the letter to read.
For the benefit of the reader, who may desire a closer insight into
Cappy's Machiavellian nature, be it known that a sinker is a heavy,
close-grained clear redwood butt-log, which, if cut in the spring,
when the tree is alive with sap, is so heavy it will not float in the
millpond; hence the term sinker. A vessel laden with lumber sawed from
sinkers, therefore, will carry just fifty per cent. of her customary
cargo; and unless the freight rate be extremely high, she cannot make
money.
“Do you know, Skinner,” Cappy announced presently, “I think you'd better
hunt up a steady job for me! Dadding it, boy, I never knew there was so
much fun in business until I had practically retired! Really, Skinner, I
must take more interest in my affairs.”
“Here's something to sharpen your teeth on, Mr. Ricks,” the general
manager replied, and presented the cablegram he had been holding for
five minutes.
Cappy took it and read, thereby becoming aware for the first time, that
he had in his employ an individual by the name of Matthew Peasley.
Cape Town, February 15, --.
Bluestar, San Francisco:
Captain knifed Kru boy argument boat fare. Instruct consignees
honor my drafts as captain.
Matthew Peasley, Mate.
“The murdering black hound!” Cappy murmured in an awed voice. “If he
hasn't gone and killed the best skipper I ever had! Poor Kendall! Why,
Noah and I were good friends, Skinner. Every time the Retriever touched
in at her home port I always had Noah Kendall up to the house for
dinner, and we went to the theatre together afterward. Thank God! It
isn't a week since his life insurance premium fell due and I had the
cashier pay it.”
Cappy sat gazing dejectedly at the carpet.
“Poor old Cap'n Noah!” he soliloquized aloud. “Twenty-five years you
sailed under the Blue Star, and in all that time there was never once
when I had to jack up and tell you to 'tend to business. And, Noah, you
could make a suit of sails last longer than any man I ever knew; but you
did have a hell of a temper.” And having delivered this touching eulogy
on the late Captain Kendall, Cappy roused himself and faced Skinner.
“I should say I have a job on my hands,” he announced, “with the finest
sailing ship in the fleet down in South Africa without a skipper!
Skinner, I'll tell you what you do, my boy: You dictate the nicest
letter you know how to dictate to Noah's widow, up in Port Townsend.
Tell her how much we thought of Noah and extend our sympathy, and a
check for his next three months' salary. Put her on my private pension
list, Skinner, and send her Cap'n Noah's salary every quarter-day as
long as she lives. Tell her we'll attend to the collection of the life
insurance and will bring Noah's body home to Port Townsend at our own
expense. It's the least we can do, Skinner. He was the only skipper I
ever had who did not, at one time or another, manage to embroil me in a
lawsuit. Who are our consignees at Cape Town?”
“The Harlow & Benton Company, Limited.”
“Cable them for confirmation of the mate's message, and request them
to have Cap'n Noah's body embalmed and shipped to Port Townsend,
Washington, prepaid, deducting charges from our invoice.”