When Matt Peasley's report of that long voyage reached the Blue Star
Navigation Company it was opened by Mr. Skinner, who, finding no letter
enclosed, had a clerk check and verify it, and then pass it on to old
Cappy Ricks.
“Where's the letter that came with this report, Skinner?” Cappy piped.
“He didn't enclose one, Mr. Ricks.”
“Im-possible!”
“All of Captain Peasley's communications with this office since he
entered our employ have been by wire.”
“But--dad-burn the fellow, Skinner--why doesn't he write and tell us
something?”
“About what?”
“Why, about his ship, his voyage--any old thing. An owner likes to have
a report on his property once in a while, doesn't he? Unless we happen
to charter the Retriever for a cargo to her home port, you know very
well, Skinner, we may not see her for years. Besides, I've never seen
the man Peasley, and if he'd only write now and then I could get a
line on him from his letters. I can always tell a fool by the letter he
writes, Skinner.”
“Well, then,” Skinner replied. “Peasley must be a wise man, because he
never writes at all. The only specimen of that fellow's handwriting I've
ever seen is his signature on the drafts he draws against us. You will
notice that he has even engaged a stenographer--at his own expense, so
the clerk informs me--to typewrite his statement of account.”
“Then that explains it, Skinner. The big-fisted brute can't write a hand
that anybody could read. But, still, he should have dictated a letter,
Skinner. The least he might have done was to say: 'Enclosed herewith
find my report of disbursements for last voyage.' And then he could have
slipped in some mild complaint about the creosote, the trouble he had in
getting a crew, and so on.
“I don't see why you complain about a lack of correspondence, sir,” Mr.
Skinner protested. “For my part, I think it a profound relief to have a
captain that isn't writing or wiring in complaints about slow dispatch
in loading or discharging, his private feuds with marine cooks and
walking delegates from the Sailors' Union. Confound these fellows that
are always unloading a cargo of woe on their owners! It strikes me that
they're trying to square themselves for incompetence.”
“I agree with you, Skinner. But then, all the Thomaston Peasleys were
quick-tempered and wouldn't be imposed on; and I hate to think I've
picked the only one of the tribe who will dog it and never let a peep
out of him.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Skinner. “I see! You want him to start something with
you, eh?”
Cappy evaded this blunt query, however, and turned his attention to the
report.
“Hello!” he said. “I'm blessed if he hasn't anticipated the very
question I should have asked. Here's a footnote in red ink: 'Decided
not to carry third mate. Two mates ample.' And so two mates are ample,
Skinner, though I used to humor Cap'n Noah with three. This confirms me
in the belief that Peasley must be a young man, Skinner, and not afraid
to stand a watch himself if necessary. And here's another footnote:
'Chief Mate Michael J. Murphy very gallantly declined to leave when
he smelled the creosote, and was a tower of strength when it came to
stowing the nitrate. He holds an unlimited mate's license, is sober,
intelligent, courageous, honest and a hard worker. He goes up for his
master's license this week!”
“Ah-h-h!” Cappy Ricks looked up, smiling. “Skinner,” he declared, “it
is as hard to keep a good man down as it is for a camel to enter the
Kingdom of Heaven--I mean for a rich man to enter a camel--bother! I
mean you can't keep a good man down, Skinner. And this is the reason:
The first mate, Murphy, wanted to leave, but his loyalty would not
permit it. Hence the man Peasley must be a good, fair, decent man, to
inspire such loyalty. He is, and this report proves it. His action in
bringing Murphy to our attention indicates appreciation and a sense of
justice. Good! Skinner, make a note of the qualifications of Michael J.
Murphy for a master's berth and give him the first opening.”
He returned to a perusal of the report.
“Huh! Harump-h-h-h! 'Credit by skipper's rake-off on stores, and so on,
$57.03.' Skinner, that proves the man Peasley is too decent and honest
to accept a commission from the thieves who supply his vessel, because
he knows that if they give him a commission they'll only tack it on to
the bill, where he can't see it. Well! All the Thomaston Peasleys were
honest, Skinner. No thanks to him. Still, it's a shame to give him
another rough deal, for apparently he has--er--many--er--commendable
qualities. Still--er--Skinner, I've just got to have a letter from the
man Peasley, if it is only a letter of resignation. Get him another
dirty cargo, Skinner, the dirtier the better.”
The dirtiest cargo Mr. Skinner could think of, with the exception of a
load of creosoted piling, was another cargo of the same. So he scoured
the market and finally he found one on Puget Sound, whereupon he sent
Matt Peasley a telegram ordering him to tow to the Ranier Mill and
Lumber Company's dock at Tacoma, and load for Callao. At the same time
he wired the Ranier people requesting them to be ready to furnish cargo
to the Retriever the following day--this on the strength of a telegram
from Matt Peasley received the previous day informing his owners that he
was discharged and awaiting orders.