Four more months passed, and peace reigned in the offices of the Blue
Star Navigation Company. Matt Peasley's name had never been mentioned in
Mr. Skinner's presence since that dark day when he had ventured, for
the first time in his career, to lay down the law to Cappy Ricks. The
pick-handle still reposed behind Skinner's desk, but that was merely
because he had forgotten all about it, and nobody ever touched any
of his property without his permission. Not once had Matt Peasley's
cheerful countenance darkened the Skinner horizon.
This, then, was the condition of affairs when the office boy carried
to Mr. Skinner a piece of disquieting information--to wit, that Captain
Matt Peasley was without and desired to hold speech with Mr. Ricks.
“Tell him Mr. Ricks is too busy to see him,” Skinner ordered. Not having
heard anything of Matt for six months he concluded that the latter's
affair with the boss' daughter had languished and died a natural death;
hence he felt that he could defy Matt with impunity. Judge of his
surprise, therefore, when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder later
and Matt Peasley stood glaring down at him.
“Well, sir!” said Skinner coolly.
“I heard you had a pick-handle waiting here for me,” Matt replied
evenly, “so I just dropped in to tell you that if you ever pull a
pick-handle on me I'll take it away from you and ram it down your
throat. That's all I have to say to you, Mr. Skinner. If, the next time
I call, at Mr. Ricks' invitation, to see him, you intercept my message
and try to block my game--”
The great Peasley hand closed over Mr. Skinner's neck and felt of it
tentatively.
“Ouch!” gasped Mr. Skinner.
“Admit the brother,” Matt called to an imaginary sentry behind Cappy's
door. “He has given the password. The lodge has been duly opened and we
are now ready for business.”
He smiled at Mr. Skinner and passed on into Cappy Ricks' office.
“Well, Matt,” the latter hailed him pleasantly, “it's been a long time
since I've seen you in this office.”
“And it'll be a long time till you see me here again, sir,” Matt
retorted pleasantly. “I was about to call on you when your message
reached me. So suppose you tell me your business first. Then I'll tell
you mine.”
“No, you won't, Matt,” Cappy challenged him, “because hereafter you're
not going to have any business unless I have a finger in it too. Matt,
my son, do you recall the day you quit the Quickstep?”
“With pleasure,” Matt assured him whimsically.
“You're vindictive; but no matter. Skinner declared you should never
again command a Blue Star ship while he was in my employ, and I said,
by George, that was right--you shouldn't. I said I was going to make
you our port captain, and eventually place you in charge of the shipping
after I had broken you in.”
“I have a curiosity, sir, to know why you didn't go through with that
program.”
“Skinner wouldn't let me--said he'd quit if I did, and I just couldn't
afford to lose him, Matt. However, I have all that fixed up now, so you
quit that tugboat job of yours and come to work here as soon as you
can. I could have put you to work three months ago, right after I sewed
Skinner up, but I thought I'd wait a little while just to save poor
Skinner's face.” Cappy commenced to chuckle softly. “In-fer-nal rascal!”
he declared. “He had me where the hair is short, Matt; he had me where
I dassen't defy my own general manager! Yes, sir, that was the long and
short of it. I dassen't call his bluff, because he doesn't bluff worth a
cent, and I happen to know some of my competitors would like to get him
away from me. A good man is always in demand, Matt; never forget that.
You see, Skinner has been carrying the burden of this business for the
past ten years practically, and he threatened to toss that burden back
on me. Well, if he had, Matt, I just couldn't have carried it without
competent help--and by the time I had competent help broken in they'd be
measuring me for a tombstone.”
“How did you whip him into line?” Matt demanded.
“Just like spearing fish in a dry lake, boy,” Cappy chuckled. “I just
sold Mr. Skinner part of that burden, and now he has to carry it all
until he dies, because if he drops it he loses what I sold him. Only
one way to whip that boy into line, Matt, and that is to pelt him with
dollars.”
“But I do not see how that affects me,” Matt answered.
“You don't, eh? Why, you're the port captain of the Blue Star Navigation
Company, you-you-you bonehead, and Skinner has to stand for you now
whether he likes it or not. He'll not sacrifice his future to vent his
grudge against you, because he is a business man, Matt, and he knows
it's mighty poor business to bite off his nose to spite his face. So you
just come to work.”
Matt Peasley beamed across at his future father-in-law.
“That was well done, sir,” he said, “and I wish I had known you were
going to do it. I would have saved you the trouble, because, you see, I
never intended to go to work for you in this office anyhow.”
“The devil you say!” Cappy interrupted. “Well, you just put some reverse
English on those intentions of yours, my boy. I know what's good for
you.”
But Matt Peasley only shook his head.
“I can't do it, sir,” he said. “While deeply appreciative of all you
want to do for me, the fact is, if I'm going to marry your daughter--and
I am--I'm not going to do it on your money and be dependent upon you for
a job. I'll be my own man, Mr. Ricks. I never ask odds of any man, and I
don't like to work for a relative.”
“Damn your Yankee independence,” snapped Cappy angrily. “Why do you
oppose me?”
“Because I'll not have anybody saying: 'There goes Matt Peasley. He fell
into a good thing. Yes, indeed! Used to be a common A. B. until Alden P.
Ricks' daughter fell in love with him--and of course after that he went
right up the line in the Blue Star Navigation Company. He's a lucky
stiff.'”
“What do you care what people say? I know what I want.”
“I do care what they say, and I care what I feel. I want to fight my own
way. I want to make a wad of money and build up a business of my own--”
“You're crazy! Why, here's one ready-made, and it will stand all kinds
of building up--”
“Then let Skinner build it. I'll build my own. I do not want anybody to
think I married your daughter for your money.”
“Matt, you poor, chuckleheaded boy, listen to me. I intend doing for
you--”
“And that,” roared Matt Peasley, smiting the desk, “is the very reason
why I shall not permit you to do anything for me. That's final, Mr.
Ricks. I hope you will realize it's useless to argue with me.”
“I ought to by this time,” Cappy replied bitterly. “Very well, I've told
you my business with you. Suppose you state your business with me.”
“I'd like to draw twenty thousand dollars from my credit on the Blue
Star books.”
“Huh! So you want to dig into that money the recharter of the Unicorn is
bringing you, eh, Matt?”
“If you can spare it, Mr. Ricks.”
“Of course I can spare it--only I'll not. If you want that money, Matt,
sue for it; and since you haven't any documents to prove you have it
coming to you, I suppose you will agree with me that a suit would be
useless expenditure of time, money and energy.”
“Then you will not give me the money, sir?” Matt Peasley demanded.
“Not a red,” said Cappy calmly. “We've fought this whole matter out
before, so why argue?”
“Why, indeed,” Matt answered, and reached for his hat. He was fighting
mad and desired to go away before he quarreled with Cappy.
“I'll go downstairs to the cigar stand and shake you the dice, one flop,
to see whether you go into business for yourself or come to work for
me,” Cappy pleaded.
Matt came to him and placed his great hands on the old man's shoulders.
“You're the finest man I ever knew, Mr. Ricks,” he said, “and you're
the meanest man I ever knew, so I'll not shake dice with you. You're too
fond of having your own way--”
“Yes, and you're the same, blast you!” Cappy shrilled, losing his temper
entirely. “Wait till you're my age. There won't be any standing you at
all. Get out!”