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CAPPY RICKS RETIRES
_But that doesn't keep him from coming back stronger than ever_
By Peter B. Kyne
[Illustration: But, in time, Cappy would find her a rich husband]
THE ILLUSTRATIONS
But, in time, Cappy would find her a rich husband
_(Excerpt from the log of Capt. Matt Peasley:)_ “I am alone on the
ship--all the rest are now dead--”
He always shouted when telephoning
“Two million dollars!” cried J. Augustus Redell
CAPPY RICKS RETIRES
CHAPTER I
If you have read previous tales of the Blue Star Navigation Company and
the various brisk individuals connected therewith, you will recall one
Michael J. Murphy, who first came to the attention of Cappy Ricks at the
time he, the said Murphy, was chief kicker of the barkentine _Retriever_
under Captain Matt Peasley. Subsequently, when Matt Peasley presented
in his person indubitable evidence of the wisdom of the old saw that
you cannot keep a good man down, Michael J. became skipper of the
_Retriever_. This berth he continued to occupy with pleasure and profit
to all concerned, until a small financial tidal wave, which began with
Matt Peasley's purchase, at a ridiculously low figure, of the Oriental
Steamship Company's huge freighter, _Narcissus_, swept the cunning
Matthew into the presidency of the Blue Star Navigation Company;
whereupon Matt designed to take Murphy out of the _Retriever_ and have
him try his hand in steam as master of the _Narcissus_.
The same financial tidal wave had swept Cappy Ricks out of the
presidency of the Blue Star Navigation Company--presumably far up the
beach to a place in the sun, where he was to bask for the remainder
of his old age as president emeritus of all his companies. However, if
there was one thing about Cappy you could depend upon absolutely it
was the consistency of his inconsistency. For, having announced his
retirement, his very next move was to bewail his inability to retire.
He insisted upon clinging to the business like a barnacle to a ship,
and was always very much in evidence whenever any deal of the slightest
importance was about to be consummated. Indeed, he was never so
thoroughly in command as when, his first burst of enthusiasm anent the
acquisition of the _Narcissus_ at fifty per cent. of her value having
passed, he discovered that his son-in-law planned to order Mike
Murphy off the quarter-deck of the _Retriever_ onto the bridge of the
_Narcissus_, while an unknown answering to the name of Terence Reardon
had been selected for her chief engineer.
Cappy listened to Matt Peasley's announcement; then with a propitiatory
“Ahem! Hum! Harump-h-h-h!” he hitched himself forward in his chair and
gazed at Matt over the rims of his spectacles.
“Tell me, Matt,” he demanded presently, “who is this man Reardon? I do
not recall such an engineer in our employ--and I thought I knew them
all.”
“He is not in our employ, sir. He has been chief engineer of the
_Arab_ for the past eight years, and prior to that he was chief of the
_Narcissus_. It was Reardon who told me what ailed her. She's a hog on
coal, and the Oriental steamship people used to nag him about the fuel
bills. Their port engineer didn't agree with Reardon as to what was
wrong with her, so he left. He assures me that if her condensers are
retubed she'll burn from seven to ten tons of coal less per day.”
“Hum! So you're going to give him the job for telling you something our
own port engineer would have told us after an examination.”
“No, sir, I'm going to give him the job because he has earned it. He
gave me some very valuable information about the wretched condition of
her electric-light plant and a crack, cunningly concealed, in the after
web of her crank shaft--”
“Oh, by thunder,” piped Cappy, “that's worth knowing! Ship a new crank
shaft, Matt, and save the Blue Star a salvage bill sooner or later.”
“All that inside information will not only save us money in the future,”
Matt continued, “but it enabled me to drive a closer bargain
when dealing with MacCandless, of the Oriental Steamship Company.
Consequently Terence Reardon gets the job. He's only making a hundred
and fifty dollars a month in the _Arab_, and as he is a rattling
good man--I've looked him up, sir--I've promised him a hundred and
seventy-five a month in the _Narcissus_.”
“Oh, you've already promised him the job, eh? Mistake, Matt, serious
mistake. You say you looked him up, but I'll bet you a new hat there is
one thing about him that you failed to investigate, and that is: What
kind of Irish is he?”
“Why, regular Irish, of course--mighty good Irish, I should say. Keen,
observing, not too talkative, a hard worker, temperate in his habits and
a crackajack engineer to boot.”
Cappy settled back wearily in his chair and favored his youthful partner
with a glance of tolerant amusement.
“Matt,” he announced, “those are the qualifications we look for in an
engineer, and it's been my experience that the Irish and the Scotch
make the best marine engineers in the world. But when you've been in the
shipping game as long as I have, young man, you'll know better than
to pick two Irishmen as departmental chiefs in the same ship! I did
it--once. There was a red-headed scoundrel named Dennis O'Leary who went
from A.B. to master in the _Florence Ricks_. That fellow was a bulldog.
He made up his mind he was going to be master of the _Florence_ and
I couldn't stop him. Good man--damned good! And there was a black
Irishman, John Rooney, in the _Amelia Ricks_. Had ambitions just like
O'Leary. He went from oiler to first assistant in the _Amelia_.
Fine man--damned fine! So fine, in fact, that when the chief of the
_Florence_ died I shifted Rooney to her immediately. And what was the
result? Why, riot, of course. Matt, the Irish will fight anybody and
anything, but they'll fight quicker, with less excuse and greater
delight, among themselves, than any other nationality! The _Florence
Ricks_ carried a million feet of lumber, but she wasn't big enough for
Rooney and O'Leary, so I fired them both, not being desirous of playing
favorites. Naturally, each blamed the other for the loss of his job, and
without a word having been spoken they went out on the dock and fought
the bloodiest draw I have ever seen on the San Francisco waterfront.
After they had been patched up at the Harbor Hospital, both came and
cussed me and told me I was an ingrate, so I hired them both back again,
put them in different ships, slipped each of them a good, cheerful
Russian Finn, and saved funeral expenses. That's what I got, Matt, for
not asking those two what kind of Irish they were. Now, then, sonny,
once more. What kind of Irish is Terence Rearden?”
“Why, I don't know, I tell you. He's just Irish.”
Cappy lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if praying for the great gift of
patience.
“Listen to the boy,” he demanded of an imaginary bystander. “He doesn't
know! Well, stick your head down over his engine-room grating some day,
sing The Boyne Wather--and find out! Now, then, do you happen to know
what kind of Irish Mike Murphy is? You ought to. You were shipmates with
him in the _Retriever_ long enough.”
“Oh, Mike's from Galway. He goes to mass on Sunday when he can.”
“Hum! If he's from Galway, where did he leave his brogue? He runs to the
broad _a_ like an Englishman.”
“That's easily explained. Mike left his brogue in Galway. He came to
this country when he was six years old and was raised in Boston. That's
where he picked up his broad _a_.”
“That doesn't help a bit, Matt. He's Irish just the same, and what a
Yankee like you don't know about the Irish would fill a book. You
know, Matt, there are a few rare white men that can handle Chinamen
successfully; now and then you'll run across one that can handle
niggers; but I have never yet met anybody who could figure the mental
angles of the Irish except an Irishman. There's something in an Irishman
that drives him into the bandwagon. He's got to be the boss, and if he
can't be the boss he'll sit round and criticize. But if I want a man to
handle Chinamen, or niggers, or Japs, or Bulgarians I'll advertise for
an Irishman and take the first one that shows up. A young man like you,
Matt, shouldn't monkey with these people. They're a wonderful race and
very much misunderstood, and if you don't start 'em right on the job
you'll always be in trouble. Now, Matt, I've always done the hiring and
firing for the Blue Star Navigation Company, and as a result I've
had blamed little of it to do, considering the size of our fleet;
consequently I'll just give these two Harps the Double-O. Have Murphy
and Reardon at the office at nine o'clock to-morrow morning and I'll
read them the riot act before turning them to.”