Cappy Ricks was having his siesta, with his feet on top of his desk,
when Matt Peasley came bounding in, seized him by the shoulder and shook
him wideawake.
“Well, young man,” Cappy snapped querulously, “what's all the excitement
about?”
“Morrow has committed suicide, and I know the firm is in financial
difficulties. I'll not be able to collect now--I'll have to wait with
the rest of the creditors; and meantime the Tillicum, fully loaded, is
somewhere down off the Mexican coast. Good gracious, Mr. Ricks, there's
the very devil to pay!”
“We will, if you please, not include outsiders in this argument for the
present, Matt,” Cappy retorted dryly. “The unfortunate devil does not
pay! You do, Matt. I should worry!”
“But you can help me save something from the wreck!” Matt pleaded
desperately. “It's going to clean me of my last dollar to make good with
you on my charter, even if Morrow & Company do not make good with me on
theirs; and--”
Cappy Ricks held up his hand.
“My dear boy,” he said with maddening calm, “listen to me! I had a hunch
this would happen. As a matter of fact, I declined to charter to Morrow
& Company direct ten days before you came prancing in with your head
all swelled up with a brand-new idea for making a lot of easy money in
a hurry. Me charter to them--me!” In his superb scorn Cappy waxed
ungrammatical. “I should kiss a pig! Why, if sawmills were selling
for six bits each I wouldn't trust that concern with a hatful of
sawdust--not that they weren't honest and capable, but they haven't got
any money to speak of any more!”
“But--but--Why, dad burn it, sir, you said it was perfectly agreeable to
you to have me charter the Tillicum to them!” Matt roared, angry, hurt
and amazed.
“Why should I worry what you do? I have all I can do to attend to my own
business. Why should I tell you yours?”
“But--”
“No ifs or buts, Matt. I played safe; but you're caught away off third
base and now you're out! You've got to settle with me for every day you
have that vessel under charter until you deliver her back here in
San Francisco Bay and formally surrender her to me. You've got to pay
me--and what's more, I'm going to see to it that you do! Business is
business, my boy.”
“Well, I'll pay you all the cash I can and give you my note for the
remainder.”
“Your note!” Cappy jeered. “Your note! What do I want with your note! Is
it hockable at any bank? Huh! Answer me that.”
“You needn't insult me!” Matt growled wrathfully.
“Bah!” Cappy sneered. “You think you're mighty smart, don't you, Matt?
Do you remember what I told you when you declined to go to work for me
and insisted on going into business for yourself? I told you you'd go
bust--and you're going right now. All you'll have left in thirty days
will be the clothes you stand in and the corporation seal of the Pacific
Shipping Company. Ho-ho! Isn't that funny? The idea of a man's paying
thirty thousand dollars for a dinky old corporation seal worth two and a
half!”
Matt Peasley's face went white with suppressed fury.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I seem to remember some such prophecy; also,
some conversation to the effect that I'd be a better business man if I
purchased my business experience with my own money. You said there were
wolves along California Street that would take my roll away from me so
fast it'd surprise me. I must confess, however, that I had no idea you
would lead the pack! However, I didn't come here to argue, Mr. Ricks--”
“What did you come for? Sympathy?” Cappy queried. “Because, if you did,
you've come to the wrong shop, my boy. Business is business, Matt; I
never mix sentiment with it and I advise you never to do it either. Pay
your way and take your beating like a sport--that's my policy, Matt.”
“Do you want to save the Blue Star Navigation Company some money?” Matt
managed to articulate.
“Certainly! Now you're talking business; so I'll listen.”
“As charterer of your steamer Tillicum, I find that Captain Grant, the
master you installed there, is offensive to me. I object to the way he
parts his hair and knots his necktie, and I want a new skipper on the
ship.”
Cappy Ricks slid out to the edge of his swivel chair, placed a hand on
each knee and eyed Matt suspiciously over the rims of his spectacles.
After a long silence he shook his head negatively.
“Then I'll sue you!” Matt replied. “There's a clause in the charter
party. You've got to do it.”
Cappy's mouth flew open.
“Oh, by Judas Priest, that's right,” he said, and laughed. “So you're
providing a job for yourself after the smoke clears away, eh?” he
quizzed. “Well, you can skipper the Tillicum while you keep up the
payments of the charter money, Matt; but I give you my word that the day
you slip up on a payment, out you go and back Captain Grant goes into
the ship. Meantime, however, I think I see now why you inserted that
clause. In the event of just such a contingency as the present you
wanted the privilege of jumping in and taking command yourself.”
Matt nodded.
“Captain Grant is a good man, but old. He can't drive a crew like I can,
Mr. Ricks--and, with me on the job, that steamer will be discharged and
back in San Francisco Bay from three to five days sooner that she would
ordinarily. It means six hundred dollars a day to me, sir, and every day
saved is worth that much cash in hand to you, since you profess to think
so lightly of my promissory note.”
“Enough!” Cappy commanded. “I'll admit that the thought does you credit.
It was a mighty bright idea, Matt, and showed fine forethought. Now,
then, what are you going to do to save your roll?”
“The City of Para leaves for Panama to-morrow. Give me a letter
to Captain Grant, commanding him to turn his ship over to me on
presentation of this letter. I will furnish him the funds to pay his
transportation back to San Francisco.”
“Fair enough,” said Cappy; and, calling in a stenographer, he dictated
the desired letter.
Ten minutes later Matt Peasley had left the office without the formality
of saying good-by to Cappy Ricks, and was in a taxicab en route to
his lodgings to pack his steamer trunk and hand baggage. Cappy Ricks
chuckled as Matt went angrily out.
“Ah--that first time a man goes broke!” he soliloquized. “What a blow to
one's pride! What a shock to the nervous system!” He sighed. “Poor old
Matt! Nobody knows better than Cappy Ricks how you feel, because
he's been there twice and it blamed near broke his heart each time it
happened.”
He shook his head with an air of satisfaction, for things were going
well with him. He had made a prophecy and it was in a fair way of being
fulfilled--nay, its fulfillment was inevitable; whereat Cappy, after
the habit of the aged in their conflict with Youth, felt very much like
shaking hands with himself. Indeed, so pleased was he that presently he
called in Mr. Skinner and related the story in meticulous detail to the
general manager.
Mr. Skinner was delighted. More--he was overcome. He sat down and
permitted himself the most soul-satisfying laugh he had had in years.