Young Mr. Valentine explained to the surprised officials:
"The signer is an old college friend of mine, man of a great deal
of influence here in New York, and he gives the line and its
biggest, newest ship this kind of a black eye. And I have heard
other rumors to the same effect. Now I want an explanation from
both you gentlemen. You know all about Captain Jesse Kendrick of
the _Suwannee_, and it's your business to report such idiotic
performances. If you have been shielding a dottering old ass, who
is unfit to go to sea any longer, the sooner the thing is sifted
to the bottom the better."
Port Captain Graham flushed and twisted his white mustache with a fist
like an oaken billet. He swallowed hard as if trying to keep his rising
steam under control, and replied with a catch in his deep voice:
"Mr. Valentine, I've been with the Palmetto Line going on thirty years,
from the time when your father bought the first old side-wheeler that
flew the house flag. Jesse Kendrick was third under me in my first
command and I know him inside out. A finer sailor and a better man
never rounded Hatteras. Are you going to blackguard the ranking skipper
afloat in your service because of a flimsy complaint like that, without
calling the old man up to the office? Doesn't he get a hearing? Why,
you've just now waltzed into this company like a boy with a lot of toy
steamboats to play with, after loafing abroad in a muck of luxury ever
since you left your college. You've never even clapped eyes on Captain
Kendrick."
Mr. Holmes, the General Manager, was speaking before Mr. Valentine
could make heated reply. He was largely office bred, and less outspoken
than the rugged Port Captain:
"As far as his religion goes, we know that Captain Kendrick doesn't
drink a drop, and that he won't ship anything but sober men. And
your father had reason to send the old man a good many letters of
commendation in his time. Shall I 'phone to the dock for Captain
Kendrick? He sails this afternoon."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," snarled Valentine. "I'll do my own
investigating this time, because you are a bunch of three old pals, do
you see?"
"But you're not going to censure him right off the reel? Good God! it
would break the old man's heart," exclaimed the Port Captain, leaning
forward in a bluster of indignation. "I'll bet the morals of your
friend, Jim What's-his-name, need investigatin' a damn sight more than
the righteousness of Jesse Kendrick."
Mr. Valentine snapped back, but with weakening assurance:
"If you can't be civil, Captain Graham, there will be more than one
reprimand in this day's work. I am the owner ashore, and I propose to
be the boss at sea. I'll think it over, and if I want any more of your
advice, I'll send for you. Good-morning."
He went into an inner office and closed the door. The Port Captain
glared at the barrier, and growled as he trudged reluctantly into the
outer hall, arm in arm with the General Manager.
"_That_ spindle-shouldered, under-engined young cub as the make-believe
boss of the Palmetto Line! What do you think of it, Holmes? Dyin' must
have come hard to his dad when he took a last squint at the heir to the
business. This one surely needs some of Jesse Kendrick's spare prayers."
"The young Valentine is cock of the walk," said the General Manager
slowly. "But the bantam was crowing to show his authority this time.
Anyhow, he said he would think it over, and that means he'll cool off.
Don't say anything to Kendrick about it. No use of discounting trouble
that may never come."
But the two men had small acquaintance with the methods of young Mr.
Valentine. Without letting go his purpose, he had appeared to give
way, because he shrunk from pitting his will against this masterful
Port Captain, who made him feel like a house of cards in a big wind.
It was not inconceivable that this over-bearing old monster might lay
him across his knee and spank him in the white heat of a dispute. When
he heard the two veterans depart, the new-fledged owner turned to his
stenographer:
"Please take a letter to Captain Kendrick and mail it to catch him at
New Orleans. I don't want him storming in here to-day."
The gray hair of the stenographer had been a bonny brown when she
entered the employ of the Palmetto Line. As her pencil chased his
words down the pages of her notebook, she glanced up with undisguised
amazement, and dared to comment when her task was done:
"Please pardon me, but are you sure you mean Captain Kendrick of the
_Suwannee_? You see, I have sailed with him on several vacation
trips. When he leads the services on board, I think it is because
the passengers like to hear him talk; such manly, honest talk about
the faith he lives day by day. He reminds you of some Old Testament
patriarch."
"Old Testament patriarchs are out of date," said Mr. Valentine with
evident irritation. "Is there a conspiracy to boom the stock of this
senile old geezer? Religion is all right for you women. I am going
South in my private car next week, and by Jove, I will just come home
on the _Suwannee_ and look the situation over for myself. Mum's the
word. And I don't want any more of my friends to be guying me about
running a marine Sunday-school with a sea-parson in charge. That letter
ought to choke him off coming back."