Cappy Ricks was in a fine rage. A situation, unique in his forty years
of experience as a lumber and shipping magnate, was confronting him,
with the prospects exceedingly bright for Cappy playing a role
analogous to that of the simpleton who holds the sack on a snipe-hunting
expedition. He summoned Mr. Skinner into his private office, and glared
at the latter over the rims of his spectacles. “Skinner,” he said
solemnly, “there's the very devil to pay.”
Mr. Skinner arched his eyebrows and inclined a respectful ear. Cappy
continued:
“It's about the Hermosa. Skinner, that dog-barking navigator you put in
that schooner while I was on my vacation has balled us up for fair. I'll
be the laughing-stock of the street.”
Parenthetically it may be stated that the Blue Star Navigation Company's
schooner, Hermosa, had cleared from Astoria for Valparaiso with a cargo
of railroad ties, and, for some reason which the captain could not
explain but which Cappy Ricks could, the unfortunate man had become
lost at sea, finally ending his voyage on a reef on one of the Samoan
Islands. The Hermosa had been listed as missing and her owners had been
on the point of receiving a check for the insurance on the vessel and
her cargo when an Australian steamer brought news of her predicament
in Samoa. Her captain sent word that she was resting easily and that
he would get her off. Subsequently, Cappy learned that his dog-barking
skipper had discharged his cargo of railroad ties on barges, in order
to lighten the vessel and float her off with the aid of a launch.
Unfortunately, however, he discovered a huge hole in her garboard, and
before he could patch it an extra high tide lifted the vessel over the
reef and sunk her forty fathoms deep in a place where nobody could ever
get at her again.
“Yes, sir,” Cappy complained. “I'll be the laughing-stock of the street.
Here's a letter from the insurance people, inclosing a check for a total
loss on the vessel, but they repudiate payment of the insurance on the
cargo.”
“Why?” demanded the amazed Skinner. “They insured those ties for
delivery at Callao. They can't get out of it.”
“I'll bet they can,” Cappy shrilled. “I've just called up the Board of
Underwriters and they say the cargo hasn't been lost. They say nothing
is lost if you know where it is, and the ties are on the beach in Samoa
awaiting our pleasure. Skinner, call up our attorneys at once and tell
them to enter suit.”
“I was just about to call them up on another matter,” Mr. Skinner
replied. “As secretary of the Blue Star Navigation Company I have
just been served with a summons in another suit, entered against the
Quickstep.”
“What in the fiend's name is the matter with that infernal Quickstep?
This is the third suit we've had in two years. Skinner, what is wrong
with that steam schooner?”
“She must be hoodooed, Mr. Ricks.”
“Another seaman injured by being hit with a cargo block or having a
piece of eight-by-eight drop on his foot, I suppose.”
“Not this time, Mr. Ricks. One Halvor Jacobsen has sued the Quickstep
and owners for five thousand dollars for injuries alleged to have been
inflicted upon him by the captain.”
“So that Captain Kjellin has been fighting again, eh? Skinner, that
man is too handy with his fists, I tell you. He's another one of your
favorites, by the way. I only put that fellow in the Quickstep to please
you.”
“We haven't a better man in our employ,” Mr. Skinner asserted stoutly.
“He carries larger cargoes and makes faster time than any steam-schooner
captain in our vessels of similar carrying capacity. He's a dividend
producer, Mr. Ricks, and he is very efficient.”
“Don't talk to me of efficiency,” Cappy snarled. “What's the sense
rushing the vessel round Robin Hood's barn to make dividends, if we lose
them in lawsuits?”
“His vessel didn't lay up during the strike of the Waterfront Federation
in 1903,” Skinner challenged. “You bet she didn't! Kjellin rustled up
a scab crew and kept the mob off the vessel at the point of a gun. I
understand he's a bit short-tempered, but while there are ships with
red-blooded men in them, Mr. Ricks, we must expect the men to pull off a
couple of rounds with skin gloves every so often.”
Cappy looked over the rims of his spectacles at Mr. Skinner. “Skinner,”
he said impressively, “listen to me: This is the last suit that's going
to be entered against the Quickstep. Was that man Halvor Jacobsen who is
suing us second mate on the Quickstep?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I knew it,” Cappy shrilled triumphantly. “Skinner, with all your
efficiency ideas, you fail to see anything remarkable in that fact. Now
don't tell me you do, because I know you do not. This is the third suit
since Kjellin took charge, and that's proof enough for me that there's
something wrong with that big Finn. Those other two suits were for
injuries received by men loading cargo in the after hold. The after hold
is presided over by the second mate.” Cappy waved his hands. “Huh!” he
said. “Simple!”
“I believe I comprehend,” Mr. Skinner admitted. “But what are you going
to do about it? We can scarcely discharge Kjellin without a hearing and
without proof that he is to blame.”
“What am I going to do about it?” Cappy echoed. “Why, I'm going to send
a judge and a jury aboard the Quickstep, try this Finn, Kjellin, and if
he's guilty of dereliction of duty I'll bet you a plug hat to one small
five-cent bag of smoking tobacco I'll know all about it inside of a
week.”
“Do you mean to put a secret-service operative aboard disguised as a
deckhand?”
“Huh! Skinner, you distress me. I'm going to put Matt Peasley aboard the
Quickstep as second mate, and let Nature take its course.”
“I wouldn't do that if I were you, sir,” Mr. Skinner advised. “That
rowdy Peasley and a man like Kjellin will not get along together for one
voyage; then Kjellin will fire him, and first thing you know you'll be
groping around in the dark again.”
“Oh, I know this Finn is a pet of yours,” Cappy retorted acidly, “but
Matt Peasley is a pet of mine. If we put them together in the same ship
maybe we'll have one of those skin-glove contests you referred to a
minute ago, but between their mutual recriminations you can bet your
hopes of Heaven I'll catch a glimpse of the truth and act accordingly.
Matt will not tell a lie, Skinner. Remember that.”
“Neither will Kjellin,” Skinner declared with equal warmth.
“Well, I don't know whether he will or not. However, that's beside the
question. Where is the Florence Ricks?”
“Sailed from San Pedro at noon yesterday.”
“Where is the Quickstep?”
“Sailed from Eureka to load shingles last night.”
“Good. Wireless the master of the Florence to provide himself with a
new second mate. That will give him time to wireless ahead and have one
waiting for him when the vessel touches in to discharge passengers
from the south. Tell him to inform Peasley he isn't fired, but just
transferred. Attend to it, Skinner.”
While Mr. Skinner departed to carry out Cappy's order, the old gentleman
called up Harbor 15, Masters' and Pilots' Association, and asked for the
secretary.
“Ricks of the Blue Star speaking,” he announced crisply. “Been
furnishing many second mates to the Quickstep lately?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Ricks. Kjellin wires for a new second mate quite
frequently. They don't seem to stay with him more than a voyage or two.
He's quite a driver, you know, Mr. Ricks.”
“I know,” Cappy replied grimly. “The next time he wires in to have a
second mate join the ship when he touches in here, you might be good
enough to call me up. I have a skookum young second mate in the Florence
Ricks that I'm training for a captain, and I want to switch him in on
the Humboldt Bay run for the sake of the experience. And, of course, you
know how it is with masters--they like to think they're selecting their
own mates, and always resent any interference from their owners. And if
you do ask them to take a certain mate they're apt to suspect he's a spy
from the office, and--well, you understand. I'd prefer to have this lad
I have in mind go aboard as if you had sent him.”
“I understand, Mr. Ricks. I'll let you know the first time Kjellin wires
in.”