Mr. Skinner thrust his head into Cappy Ricks' office and said:
“I've just had a telephone message from the Merchants' Exchange. The
Tillicum is passing in.”
“Then,” said Cappy Ricks, “in about two hours at the latest we may
expect a mournful visit from Captain Matt Peasley.”
“If you don't mind, Mr. Ricks,” said Skinner with a smirk, “I should
dearly love to be present at the interview.”
Cappy smiled brightly.
“By all means, Skinner, my dear boy; by all means, since you wish it. It
just about breaks my heart to think of the cargo of grief I'm going
to slip that boy; but I have resolved to be firm, Skinner. He owes us
eighteen thousand dollars and he must go through with his contract to
the very letter, and pay the Blue Star Navigation Company every last
cent due it. He will, doubtless, suggest some sort of settlement--ten
cents on the dollar--”
“Don't agree to it,” Mr. Skinner pleaded. “He has more than a thousand
dollars a month going to his credit on our books from the Unicorn
charter, and if that vessel stays afloat a year longer we'll be in the
clear. Be very firm with him, Mr. Ricks. As you say, it is all for his
own benefit and the experience will do him a whole lot of good.”
“I love the boy,” said Cappy; “but in the present case, Skinner, I
haven't any heart. A chunk of anthracite coal is softer than that
particular organ this morning. Be sure to show Matt in the minute he
comes up from the dock.”
Mr. Skinner needed no urging when, less than two hours later, Captain
Matt Peasley arrived. Mr. Skinner greeted him courteously and followed
him into Cappy's office.
“Well, well, well!” Cappy began unctuously. “How do you do, Matt, my
dear boy? Glad to see you; in fact, we're extra glad to see you,” he
added significantly and winked at Mr. Skinner, who caught the hint and
murmured loud enough for Matt Peasley to hear:
“Eighteen thousand dollars to-morrow!”
Cappy extended a hand, which Matt grasped heartily.
“You're looking fit as a fiddle,” Cappy continued. “Doesn't look a bit
worried--does he, Skinner?”
“I must admit he appears to carry it off very well, Mr. Ricks. We had
thought, captain,” Skinner continued, turning to Matt Peasley, “that,
when Mr. Ricks agreed to permit you to assume command of the Tillicum
when she reached Panama, we might have been treated to an exhibition of
speed; but the fact of the matter is that instead of economizing on time
you are about ten days in excess of the period it would have taken
for Captain Grant to have discharged his cargo and gotten back to San
Francisco.” He winked at Cappy Ricks, who returned the wink.
“You mean in ballast,” Matt suggested. Skinner nodded. “Oh, well, that
accounts for it,” Matt continued serenely. “I came home with a cargo of
steel rails.”
Cappy Ricks slid out to the extreme edge of his swivel chair; and,
with a hand on each knee, he gazed at Matt Peasley over the rims of his
spectacles. Mr. Skinner started violently.
“You came home with a cargo of steel rails?” Cappy demanded
incredulously.
“Certainly! Do you suppose I would go to the expense of hiring somebody
else to skipper the Tillicum while I was there with my license? Not by a
jugful! I was saving every dollar I could. I had to.”
“Er--er--Where is Captain Grant?” Skinner demanded.
“Captain Grant is free, white and twenty-one. He goes where he pleases
without consulting me, Mr. Skinner. He means nothing in my life--so why
should I know where he is?”
“You infernal scoundrel!” shrilled Cappy Ricks. “You whaled hell out of
him and threw him out on the dock at Panama--that's what you did to him!
You took the Tillicum away from him by force.”
“Captain Grant is a fine, elderly gentleman, sir,” Matt interrupted. “I
would not use force on him. He left the ship of his own free will at San
Diego, California.”
“At San Diego?” Cappy and Skinner cried in unison.
“At San Diego.”
“But you said you were going to Panama on the City of Para, the regular
passenger liner,” Cappy challenged.
“Well, I wasn't committed to that course, sir. After leaving your office
I changed my mind. I figured the Tillicum was somewhere off the coast of
Lower California; so I wirelessed Captain Grant, explained to him that
the ship was back on my hands by reason of the failure of Morrow &
Company, and ordered him to put into San Diego for further orders. He
proceeded there; I proceeded there; we met; I presented your letter
relieving him of his command. Simple enough, isn't it?”
“But what became of him?”
“How should I know, sir? I've been as busy as a bird dog down in Panama.
Please let me get on with my story. I had just cleared Point Loma and
was about to surrender the bridge to my first mate when an interesting
little message came trickling out of the ether--and my wireless boy
picked it up, because it was addressed to 'Captain Grant, Master S. S.
Tillicum.'”
Cappy Ricks quivered and licked his lower lip, but said nothing.
“That message,” Matt continued, “was brought to me by the operator, who
really didn't know what to do with it. Captain Grant had left the ship
and Sparks didn't know what hotel in San Diego the late master of
the Tillicum would put up for the night; so I read the message to see
whether it was important, for I felt that it had to do with the ship's
business and that I was justified in reading it.”
Again Cappy Ricks squirmed. Mr. Skinner commenced to gnaw his thumb
nail.
“That message broke me all up,” Matt continued sadly. “It destroyed
completely my faith in human nature and demonstrated beyond a doubt that
there is no such thing in this world as fair play in business. It's
like a waterfront fight. You just get your man down and everything
goes--kicking, biting, gouging, knee-work!” Matt sighed dolorously and
drew from his vest pocket a scrap of paper. “Just listen to this for a
message!” He continued. “Just imagine how nice you'd feel, Mr. Ricks, if
you were skippering a boat and picked up a message like this at sea:
“'Grant, Master Steamer Tillicum: Gave Captain Matt Peasley a
letter to you yesterday ordering you to turn over command of
Tillicum to him on presentation or demand. This on his request
and on his insistence, as per clause in charter party, copy of
which you have. Peasley leaves to-day for Panama on City of
Para. This will be your authority for declining to surrender
the ship to him when he comes aboard there. Stand pat! Letter
with complete instructions for your guidance follows on City of
Para.
“Ricks.'”
Cappy Ricks commenced tapping one foot nervously against the other, Mr.
Skinner coughed perfunctorily, while Matt withered each with a rather
sorrowful glance.
“Of course you can imagine the shock this gave me. I give you my word
that for as much as five seconds I didn't know what to do; but after
that I got real busy. I swung the ship and came ramping back to San
Diego harbor, slipped ashore in the small boat and found Captain Grant
at the railroad station buying a ticket for San Francisco. I had to wait
and watch the ticket office for an hour before he showed up, and when he
did I made him a proposition. I told him that if he would agree to keep
away from the office of the Blue Star Navigation Company you might think
he was peeved at being relieved of his command so peremptorily, and
hence would not attach any importance to his failure to report at the
office.
“In consideration of this I gave him my word of honor that he would be
restored to his command as soon as I could bring the Tillicum back from
Panama, and meantime his salary would continue just the same--in proof
of which I gave him a check for two months' pay in advance. He said he
thought it all a very queer proceeding; but, since he was no longer in
command of the Tillicum, it wasn't up to him to ask questions, and he
agreed to my proposition. However, he said he thought he ought to wire
the company acknowledging receipt of their instructions with reference
to surrendering his command--and I agreed with him that he should.
'But,' I said, 'why bother sending such a message, collect, ashore, when
we pay a flat monthly rate to the wireless company for the plant and
operator aboard the ship, no matter how many messages we send? Give me
your message to Mr. Ricks and when I get back aboard the Tillicum I'll
wireless it to him for you, and it won't cost the ship a cent extra.'
“Well, you know your own captains, Mr. Ricks. They'll save their ships a
dollar wherever they can; and simple, honest Old Man Grant agreed to my
suggestion. Before he had an opportunity to consider I stepped to the
telegraph office and wrote this message for him.” Matt produced another
telegram and read:
“'Blue Star Navigation Company,
“'258 California Street, San Francisco.
“'Instructions with reference to change of masters received.
“Would feel badly if I thought any act of mine necessitated
change; but since my conscience is clear I shall not worry. I
always have done and always shall do my duty to my owners
without thought of my personal interests, and you may rely
fully on that in the present emergency.'”
“Well, sir, that sounded so infernally grandiloquent to Old Man Grant
that his hand actually trembled with emotion as he signed it--at my
suggestion. You know I'd hate to be tried for forgery. Then I shook
hands with him and started for Panama once more--only this time I kept
right on going; and I didn't spare the fuel oil either. Why should I? It
wasn't costing me anything.”
Both Cappy and Mr. Skinner winced, as from a blow. Matt waited for them
to say something, but they didn't; so after a respectful interval he
resumed:
“Off the Coronado Islands I sent you Captain Grant's diplomatic message.
I was very glad to send it to you, Mr. Ricks, because I knew its receipt
would make you very happy, and I like to scatter happiness wherever I
can. The Scriptures say we should return good for evil.”
Cappy Ricks bounded to his feet and shook a skinny fist under Matt
Peasley's nose.
“You're a damned scoundrel!” he piped, beside himself with rage. “Be
careful how you talk to me, young man, or I'll lose my temper; and if I
ever do--”
“That would be terrible, wouldn't it?” Matt laughed. “I suppose you'd
just haul off and biff me one, and I'd think it was autumn with the
leaves falling!”
Cappy choked, turned purple, sat down again, and glanced covertly at Mr.
Skinner, who returned the glance with one that seemed to shout aloud:
“Mr. Ricks, I smell a rat as big as a Shetland pony. Something has
slipped and we're covered with blood. Incredible as it may seem, this
rowdy Peasley has outthought us!”
“Did you get the letter we sent Captain Grant at Panama?” Skinner
managed to articulate presently.
Matt nodded affirmatively.
“Opened it, I suppose!” Cappy accused him.
Matt nodded negatively, produced the letter from his pocket and handed
it to Cappy.
“Where I was raised,” he said gently, “they taught boys that it was
wrong to read other people's private correspondence. You will note that
the seal is unbroken.”
“Thank God for that!” Cappy Ricks murmured, sotto voice, and tore the
letter into tiny bits. “Now, then,” he said, “we'll hear the rest of
your story.”
“When did a doctor look you over last?” Matt queried. “I'm afraid you'll
die of heart disease before I finish.”
“I'm sound in wind and limb,” Cappy declared. “I'm not so young as I
used to be; but, by Jupiter, there isn't any young pup on the street who
can tell me where to head in! What next?”
“Of course, Mr. Ricks, very shortly after I had rechartered the Tillicum
to Morrow & Company I began to suspect they were shy of sufficient
capital to run their big business comfortably. I found it very hard to
collect; so, fully a month before they went up the spout, I commenced
to figure on what would happen to me if they did. Consequently, I wasn't
caught napping. On the day Morrow committed suicide the company gave me
a check that was repudiated at the bank. I protested it and immediately
served formal notice on Morrow & Company that their failure to meet
the terms of our charter party necessitated immediate cancellation; and
accordingly I was cancelling it.”
“Did you send that notice by registered mail?” Skinner demanded.
“You bet!--with a return registry receipt requested.”
Cappy nodded at Skinner approvingly, as though to say: “Smart of him,
eh?” Matt continued:
“After sending my wireless to Captain Grant aboard the Tillicum I sent
a cablegram to the Panama Railroad people informing them that, owing to
certain circumstances over which I had no control, the steamer Tillicum,
fully loaded and en route to Panama to discharge cargo, had been turned
back on my hands by the charterers. I informed them I had diverted the
steamer to San Diego for orders, and in the interim, unless the Panama
Railroad guaranteed me by cable immediately sixty per cent. of the
through-freight rate for the Tillicum, and a return cargo to San
Francisco, I would decline to send the Tillicum to Panama, but would, on
the contrary, divert her to Tehuantepec and transship her cargo over the
American-Hawaiian road there. I figured--”
“You infernal scoundrel!” Cappy Ricks murmured. “You--slippery--devil!”
“Of course,” Matt went on calmly, “I had no means of knowing what
freight rate Morrow & Company received; but I figured that they ought to
get about forty per cent., the Panama Railroad about twenty per cent.,
and the steamer on the Atlantic side the remaining forty. So I decided
to play safe and ask sixty per cent. of the through rate, figuring that
the Panama Railroad would give it to me rather than have the Tillicum's
cargo diverted over their competitor's road at Tehuantepec. In the first
place they were depending on business from Morrow & Company's ships;
and, with Morrow & Company gone broke and a new company liable to take
over their line, it would be a bad precedent to establish, to permit one
cargo to go to the competitor. Future cargoes might follow it!
“Then, too, the schedule of the ships on the Atlantic side of the Canal
doubtless had been made up already, with a view to handling this cargo
ex-Tillicum, and to lose the cargo would throw that schedule out of
joint; in fact, from whatever angle I viewed the situation, I could see
that the railroad company would prefer to give up its twenty per cent.
rather than decline my terms. They might think their competitor had
already made me an offer! Of course, it was all a mighty bluff on my
part, but bluffs are not always called, particularly when they're made
good and strong; and, believe me, my bluff was anything but weak in the
knees. I told the Panama people to wire their reply to me at San Diego,
and when I got to that city, twenty-four hours later, their answer was
awaiting me.”
“They called your bluff?” Mr. Skinner challenged.
“Pooh-pooh for you!” Matt laughed. “God is good and the devil not half
bad. I got the guaranties I asked for, old dear! Don't you ever think
I'd have been crazy enough to go to Panama without them.”
Cappy jerked forward in his chair again.
“Matt,” he said sternly, “you have defaulted in your payments to the
Blue Star Navigation Company to the tune of eighteen thousand dollars,
and I'd like to hear what you have to say about that.”
“Well, I couldn't help it,” Matt replied, “I was shy ten thousand
dollars when Morrow & Company defaulted on me, and I was at sea when the
other payment fell due. However, you had your recourse. You could have
canceled the charter on me. That was a chance I had to take.
“Why didn't you grab the ship away from me? If you had done that you
would be in the clear to-day instead of up to your neck in grief.”
“We'll grab her away from you to-day--never fear!” Cappy promised him.
“I guess we'll get ours from the freight due on that cargo of steel
rails you came home with.”
“You have another guess coming, Mr. Ricks. You'll not do any grabbing
to-day, for the reason that somebody else has already grabbed her.”
“Who?” chorused Cappy and Skinner.
“The United States Marshal. Half an hour ago the Pacific Shipping
Company libeled her.”
“What for, you bonehead? You haven't any cause for libel, so how can you
make it stick?”
“The Pacific Shipping Company has cause, and it can make the libel
stick. The first mate of the Tillicum assigned to the Pacific Shipping
Company his claim for wages as mate--”
“Matt, you poor goose! The Pacific Shipping Company OWE him his wages.
Your dink of a company chartered the boat, and we will not pay such a
ridiculous claim.”
“I do not care whether you do or not. That libel will keep you from
canceling my charter, although when you failed to cancel when I failed
to make the payments as stipulated, your laxity must be regarded in the
eyes of the law as evidence that you voluntarily waived that clause in
the charter; and after you have voluntarily waived a thing twice you'll
have a job making it stick the third time.”
“If I had only known!” groaned Skinner miserably.
“Besides,” Matt continued brightly, “I have a cargo in that vessel,
and she's under charter to my company at six hundred dollars a day.
Of course you know very well, Mr. Ricks, that while the United States
Marshal remains in charge of her I cannot discharge an ounce of that
cargo or move the ship, or--er--anything. Well, naturally that will be
no fault of the Pacific Shipping Company, Mr. Ricks. It will be up to
the Blue Star Navigation Company to file a bond and lift that libel in
order that I may have some use of the ship I have chartered from you.
If you do not pull the plaster off of her of course I'll have to sue you
for heavy damages; and I can refuse to pay you any moneys due you.”
“We'll lift the libel in an hour,” Mr. Skinner declared dramatically;
and he took down the telephone to call up the attorney for the Blue
Star.
“Wait!” said Matt. “I'm not through. Before I entered the harbor I
called all hands up on the boat deck and explained matters to them. They
had been engaged by Morrow & Company, and the firm of Morrow & Company
was in the bankruptcy court; so the prospects of cash from that quarter
did not seem encouraging. The Pacific Shipping Company had made a
bare-boat charter from the Blue Star Navigation Company, and had then
made a similar charter to Morrow & Company; consequently the Pacific
Shipping Company would repudiate payment, and, as president and
principal stockholder of that company, I took it on myself to repudiate
any responsibility then and there.
“Then the crew wanted to know what they should do, and I said: 'Why,
seek the protection of the law, in such cases made and provided. A
seaman is not presumed to have any knowledge of the intricate deals his
owners may put through. All he knows is that he is employed aboard
a ship, and if he doesn't get his money from the charterers at the
completion of the voyage he can libel the ship and collect from the
owners. This is a fine new steamer, men, and I, for one, believe she is
good for what is owing you all; and if you will assign your claims to
the Pacific Shipping Company I will pay them in full and trust to the
Blue Star Navigation Company to reimburse me.' So they did that.
“Now go ahead, Mr. Skinner, and lift the libel I put on the vessel for
my first mate's account, and the instant you get it lifted I'll slap
another libel on her for account of the second mate. Get rid of the
second mate's claim and up bobs the steward, and so on, ad libitum, e
pluribus unum, now and forever, one and inseparable. I care not what
course others may pursue, but as for me, give me liberty or give me
death!”
Mr. Skinner quietly hung up the telephone receiver.
“And, by the way,” Matt continued, “I forgot to mention that I
requested the steward to stay aboard and make the United States Marshal
comfortable as soon as he arrived. In these little matters one might
as well be courteous, and I should hate to have the Tillicum acquire a
reputation for being cheap and inhospitable.”
“You dirty dog!” cried Cappy Ricks hoarsely.
“Really, my dear Peasley, this matter has passed beyond the joke stage,”
Mr. Skinner began suavely.
“Let me get along with my story,” said he. “The worst is yet to come. My
attorney informs me--”
“Matt Peasley,” said Cappy Ricks, “that's the first lie I ever knew you
to tell. You don't have to hire an attorney to tell you where to head
in, you infernal sea lawyer!”
“I thank you for the compliment,” Matt observed quizzically. “Perhaps I
deserve it. However, 'we come to bury Caesar, not to praise him;' so, if
you will kindly hold over your head, Mr. Ricks, I'll be pleased to hit
it another swat.”
“Well, I'll admit that the failure of Morrow & Company and the Pacific
Shipping Company to pay the crew of the Tillicum puts the buck up to me,
and I dare say I'll have to pay,” Cappy admitted, his voice trembling
with rage.
“Well, that isn't the only bill you'll have to pay. Don't cheer until
you're out of the woods, Mr. Ricks. You'll have to pay for a couple
of thousand barrels of fuel oil, and a lot of engine supplies, and sea
stores, and laundry, and water--why, Lord bless you, Mr. Ricks, I can't
begin to think of all the things you're stuck for!”
“Not a bit of it!” Cappy cried triumphantly. “It was an open-boat
charter, my son, and you rechartered on the same basis; and, though
Morrow & Company were originally responsible you'll find that the
creditors, despairing of collecting from them, will come down on the
Pacific Shipping Company like a pack of ravening wolves, by thunder!
Don't YOU cheer until YOU'RE out of the woods!”
“Well, I have a license to cheer,” Matt replied, “because I got out of
the woods a long time ago. Before the vessel sailed from this port,
I sent this letter to all her creditors!” And Matt thrust into Cappy
Ricks' hand a copy of the letter in question.
“That will not help you at all,” Mr. Skinner, who had read the letter
over Cappy's shoulder, declared.
“It wouldn't--if I hadn't sent it by registered mail and got a return
receipt,” Matt admitted; “but, since I have a receipt from every
creditor acknowledging the denial of responsibility of the Pacific
Shipping Company, I'm in the clear. It was up to the creditors to
protect their hands before the vessel went to sea! They had ample
warning--and I can prove it! I tell you, Mr. Ricks, when you begin to
dig into this matter you will find these creditors will claim that every
article furnished to the Tillicum while Morrow & Company had her was
ordered on requisitions signed by Captain Grant, your employee, or
Collins, your chief engineer. They were your servants and you paid their
salaries.”
“All right then,” Cappy challenged. “Suppose we do have to pay. How
about that freight money you collected in Panama--eh? How about that? I
guess we'll have an accounting of the freight money, young man.”
“I submit, with all due respect, that what I did with that freight money
I collected in Panama is none of your confounded business. I chartered
a vessel from you and she was loaded with a cargo. The only interest
you can possibly have in that cargo lies in the fact that the Pacific
Stevedoring Company stowed it in the vessel and hasn't been paid some
forty-five hundred dollars for so stowing it, and eventually, of course,
you'll have to foot the bill as owner of the vessel. That vessel and
cargo were thrown back on my hands, not on yours; so why should you ask
questions about my business? You've got your nerve with you!”
“But you'll have to render an accounting to Morrow & Company,” Cappy
charged.
“I'll not. They gave me a check that was returned branded 'Not
sufficient funds;' they didn't keep their charter with me, and if I
hadn't been a fly young fellow their failure would have ruined me, and
then a lot they'd care about it! If I spoke to them about it they'd say:
'Well, these things will happen in business. We're sorry; but what can
we do about it?' No, Mr. Ricks; I'm in the clear with Morrow & Company,
and their creditors will be lucky if I do not present my claim for
ten thousand dollars because of that worthless check I hold. When I
collected from the Panama Railroad Company for the freight on that
southbound cargo I paid myself all Morrow & Company owed me, and the
rest is velvet if I choose to keep it. If I do not choose to keep it the
only honorable course for me to pursue will be to send a statement and
my check for the balance to the receiver for Morrow & Company.”
“What!” demanded Mr. Skinner. “And leave the Blue Star Navigation
Company to pay the crew?”
“Yes--and the fuel bill, and the butcher and the baker and the
candlestick maker, and the stevedoring firm, and the whole infernal,
sorry mess!”
Cappy Ricks motioned to Mr. Skinner to be silent; then he rose and
placed his hand on Matt's shoulder.
“Matt,” he said kindly, “look me in the eyes and see if you can have the
crust to tell me that, with all that freight money in your possession,
you do not intend to apply the residue to the payments of these claims
against the Tillicum.”
Matt bent low and peered fiercely into Cappy's face, for all the world
like a belligerent rooster.
“Once more, my dear Mr. Ricks,” he said impressively, I desire to inform
you that, so far as the steamer Tillicum is concerned, I venerate you as
a human Christmas tree. I'm the villain in this sketch and proud of it.
You're stabbed to the hilt! Why should I be expected to pay the debts of
your steamer?”
“But you used all the materials placed aboard her for your own use and
benefit.”
“That, Mr. Ricks, constitutes my profit,” Matt retorted pleasantly. “She
had fuel oil aboard when she was turned back on me sufficient to last
her to Panama and return--she had engine supplies, gear, beef in the
refrigerator, provisions in the storeroom, and clean laundry in the
linen lockers; in fact, I never went to sea in command of a ship that
was better found.”
“Matt Peasley,” said Cappy solemnly, “you think this is funny; but it
isn't. You do not realize what you are doing. Why, this action of yours
will be construed as highway robbery and no man on the Street will trust
you. You must think of your future in business. If this leaks out nobody
will ever extend you any credit--”
“I should worry about credit when I have the cash!” Matt retorted. “I'm
absolutely within the law, and this whole affair is my picnic and your
funeral. Moreover, I dare you to give me permission to circulate this
story up and down California Street! Yes, sir, I dare you--and you
aren't game! Why, everybody would be cheering for me and laughing
at you, and you'd get about as much sympathy as a rich relative with
arterial sclerosis. I haven't any sympathy for you, Mr. Ricks. You got
me into this whole mess when a kind word from you would have kept me out
of it. But, no; you wouldn't extend me that kind word. You wanted to see
me get tangled up and go broke; and when you thought I was a dead one
you made fun of me and rejoiced in my wretchedness, and did everything
you could to put me down and out, just so you could say: 'Well, I
warned you, Matt; but you would go to it. You have nobody to blame but
yourself.'
“Of course I realize that you didn't want to make any money out of
me; but you did want to manhandle me, Mr. Ricks, just as a sporting
proposition. Besides, you tried to double-cross me with that wireless
message. I knew what you were up to. You thought you had pulled the same
stunt on me I pulled on you, and that letter to Captain Grant contained
full instructions. However, you wanted to be so slick about it you
wouldn't get caught with your fingers in the jam; so you forbore to
cancel my charter. You figured you'd present me with my troubles all in
one heap the day I got back from Panama. I'm onto you!”
“Well, I guess we've still got a sting in our tail,” Cappy answered
pertly. “Slap on your libels. We'll lift 'em all, and to-morrow we'll
expect eighteen thousand dollars from you, or I'm afraid, Matthew, my
boy, you're going to lose that ship with her cargo of steel rails, and
we'll collect the freight.”
“Again you lose. You'll have to make a formal written demand on me for
the money before you cancel the charter; and when you do I'll hand you a
certified check for eighteen thousand dollars. Don't think for a minute
that I'm a pauper, Mr. Ricks; because I'm not. When a fellow freights
one cargo to Panama and another back, and it doesn't cost him a blamed
cent to stow the first cargo and cheap Jamaica nigger labor to stow
the second, and the cost of operating the ship for the round trip is
absolutely nil--I tell you, sir, there's money in it.”
Cappy Ricks' eyes blazed, but he controlled his temper and made one
final appeal.
“Matt,” he said plaintively, “you infernal young cut-up, quit kidding
the old man! Don't tell me that a Peasley, of Thomaston, Maine, would
take advantage of certain adventitious circumstances and the legal
loopholes provided by our outrageous maritime laws--”
“To swindle the Blue Star Navigation Company!” Mr. Skinner cut in.
“Swindle is an ugly word, Mr. Skinner. Please do not use it again to
describe my legitimate business--and don't ask any sympathy of me. You
two are old enough and experienced enough in the shipping game to spin
your own tops. You didn't give me any the best of it; you crowded my
hand and joggled my elbow, and it would have been the signal for a half
holiday in the office if I had gone broke.”
“But after all Mr. Ricks has done for you--”
“He always had value received, and I asked no favors of him--and
received none.”
“But surely, my dear Matt,” Skinner purred, for the first time calling
his ancient enemy by his Christian name--“surely you're jesting with
us.”
“Skinner, old horse, I was never more serious in my life. Mr. Alden P.
Ricks is my ideal of a perfect business man; and just before I left for
Panama he informed me--rather coldly, I thought--that he never mixed
sentiment with business. Moreover, he advised me not to do it either.
To surrender to him now would mean the fracturing, for the first time
in history, of a slogan that has been in the Peasley tribe for
generations.”
“What's that?” Cappy queried with shaking voice.
“Pay your way and take your beating like a sport, sir,” Matt shot at
him. He drew out his watch. “Well,” he continued, “I guess the United
States Marshal is in charge of the Tillicum by this time; so get busy
with the bond and have him removed from the ship. The minute one of
those birds lights on my deck I just go crazy!”
“Yes, you do!” screamed Cappy Ricks, completely losing his self-control.
“You go crazy--like a fox!”
And then Cappy Ricks did something he had never done before. He swore,
with a depth of feeling and a range of language to be equalled only by
a lumberjack. Matt Peasley waited until he subsided for lack of new
invective and then said reproachfully:
“I can't stand this any longer, Mr. Ricks. I'll have to go now. Back
home I belonged to the Congregational Church--”
“Out!” yelled Cappy. “Out, you vagabond!”