About a week later, Captain Matt Peasley was studying the weather chart
at the Merchants' Exchange when he heard behind him a propitiatory
“Ahem! Hum-m-m! Harump-h-h-h!”--infallible evidence that Cappy Ricks was
in the immediate offing, yearning for Matt to turn round in order that
he might hail the boy and thus re-establish diplomatic relations. Matt,
however, elected to be perverse and pay no attention to Cappy; instead,
he moved closer to the chart and affected greater interest in it.
“Hello, you big, sulky boob!” Cappy snapped presently, unable to stand
the silence any longer. “Come away from that weather chart. It's blowing
a fifty-mile nor'west gale off Point Reyes, and that's all any shipping
man cares to know to-day. You haven't got any ships at sea!”
“No; but you have, sir,” Matt replied, unable longer to simulate
indifference to Cappy's presence. “The Tillicum is bucking into that
gale this minute, wasting fuel oil and making about four miles an hour.
I'm glad you're paying for the oil. Where are you loading her?”
“At Hinch's Mill, in Aberdeen, Grays Harbor; discharge at Honolulu and
back with sugar.” Cappy came close to Matt and drew the latter's great
arm through his. “Say, Matt,” he queried plaintively, “are you still mad
over that walloping I gave you?”
“Well-l, no. I think I've recovered. And I'm not willing to admit I was
walloped. The best you got out of our little mix-up with the Tillicum
was a lucky draw.”
“I'm still out a lot of money,” Cappy admitted. “You owe me eighteen
thousand dollars on that charter I canceled on you, Matt, and you ought
to pay it. Really, you ought.”
“That being tantamount to an admission on your part you cannot go into
court with clean hands and force me to pay it,” Matt flashed back at
him, “I'll make you a proposition: You render me an accounting of the
freight you collected on the cargo you stole from me, and I'll render
you an accounting for the freight on the cargo I stole from you; then
we'll get an insurance adjuster in and let him figure out, by general
average, how much I would owe you if I had a conscience; then I'll give
you my note, due in one year, at six per cent. for whatever the amount
may be.”
“Why not give me the cash?” Cappy pleaded. “You've got the money in
bank.”
“I know; but I want to use it for a year.”
“Your note's no good to me,” Cappy protested. “I told you once before it
wasn't hockable at any bank.”
“Then I'll withdraw my proposition.”
“And present a substitute?”
“No, sir.”
“I guess I'll take your note,” Cappy said eagerly.
“I thank you for the compliment,” Matt laughed; and Cappy, no
longer able to dissemble, laughed with him--and their feud was over.
Consequently, post-mortems being in order, Matt went on: “I feel pretty
sneaky about sticking you with all those bills on the Tillicum that
Morrow & Company defaulted on, just because the law enabled me to do
so--but you did your best to ruin me; you wouldn't have showed me any
pity or consideration.”
“Not a dog-goned bit!” Cappy declared firmly. “I was out to bust you
wide open for the good of your immortal soul. I would have taken your
roll away from you, my son, by fair means--or--er--legal, if I could.”
He looked up at Matt, with such a smile as he might have applied to a
lovable and well-beloved son. “I hope you've got sporting blood enough
in you to realize I didn't really want your little bank roll, Matt,” he
said half pleadingly. “I don't know just why I did it--except that
I'm an old man and I know it; and I hate to be out of the running.
I suppose, just because I'm old, I wanted to take a fall out of
you--you're so young; and--oh, Matt, you do make a scrap so worth while!
“And, because I've lived longer in this world and fought harder for what
I've got than you'll ever have to fight, I wanted to put about six feet
of hot iron into your soul. You're a little bit too cocksure, Matt. I
tell you it's a mistake to hold your business competitor cheap. I want
you to know that the fine gentleman who plays cribbage with you at your
club to-night will lift the hair off your head down here on the Street
to-morrow, because that's the game; and nobody shakes hands with you
before giving you the poke that puts you to sleep. There are a lot of
old men out in the almshouse just because they trusted too much in
human nature; and I wanted to show you how hard and cruel men can be and
excuse their piracy on the plea that it is business! I tell you, Matt
Peasley, when you've lived as long as I have you'll know men for the
swine they are whenever they see some real money in sight.”
“Well, I shouldn't be surprised if you got the lesson over after all,”
Matt replied gravely. “You certainly made me step lively to keep from
getting run over. You scared me out of a year's growth.”
Cappy laughed contentedly.
“And what are you going to do with all this money you admit you owe me
and decline to let me see the color of for a year?”
“Do you really want to know?” Matt queried.
“I'll take you to luncheon up at the Commercial Club if you'll tell me.”
Matt bent low and whispered in Cappy's ear:
“I'm going to marry your daughter. I'll have to furnish a home and--”
“No excuse!” said Cappy fiercely. “Son, all you've got to buy is the
wedding ring and the license, and some clothes. I'm stuck for the
wedding expenses and you don't have to furnish a home. My house is big
enough for three, isn't it?”
“But this thing of living with your wife's relations--” Matt began
mischievously, until he saw the pain and the loneliness in Cappy's kind
old eyes. “Oh, well,” he hastened to add, “pull it off to suit yourself;
but don't waste any time.”
“In-fer-nal young scoundrel!” Cappy cried happily. “We've waited too
long already.”
Florry was a June bride, and the proudest and happiest man present, not
excepting the groom, was old Cappy Ricks. He looked fully two inches
taller as he walked up the church aisle, with Florry on his arm, and
handed her over to Matt Peasley, waiting at the altar. And when the
ceremony was over, and Matt had entered the waiting limousine with his
bride, Cappy Ricks stood on the church steps among a dozen of his young
friends from the wholesale lumber and shipping trade and made a brief
oration.
“Take a good look at him, boys,” he said proudly. “You fresh young
fellows will have to tangle with him one of these bright days; and when
you do he'll make hell look like a summer holiday to you. See if he
doesn't!”
Later, when Matt and Florry, about to leave on their honeymoon, were
saying good-bye, Matt put his huge arm round Cappy and gave him a filial
hug. Cappy's eyes filled with tears.
“I guess we understand each other, sonny,” he said haltingly. “I've
wanted a son like you, Matt. Had a boy once--little chap--just seven
when he died--might have been big like you. I was the runt of the Ricks'
tribe, you know--all the other boys over six feet--and his mother's
people--same stock. I--I--”
Matt patted his shoulder. Truly he understood.