Cappy Ricks' meditations were interrupted by a knock at the door of his
private office.
“Come in,” he piped, and his son-in-law, Captain Matt Peasley, stuck his
head in.
“The _Tyee_ is sailing in, Cappy,” he announced. “The Merchants'
Exchange has just telephoned.”
“It's an infernal lie,” Cappy shrilled excitedly. “It can't be the
_Tyee_. If it is, she's two months ahead of her schedule, and by the
Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, I fixed up that schedule myself.”
Matt Peasley grinned.
“Perhaps Joey didn't like your schedule and re-arranged it to suit
himself,” he suggested.
“Impossible! That infernal young scoundrel put it over me? Preposterous!
Why, Mike Murphy was on the job. Get out, Matt, and don't come in here
again today throwing scares into the old man.”
Nevertheless, Cappy's confidence in human nature was badly jarred when
Captain Michael J. Murphy was announced two hours later. Indeed Cappy
could scarcely credit his sense of sight when the redoubtable Michael
entered the room. He glared at the worthy fellow over the rims of his
spectacles for fully a minute while Murphy stood fidgeting just inside
the doorway.
“Well,” said the Blue Star despot presently, “all I've got to say to
you, Mike Murphy, is that you're certainly a hell of a seaman to stand
idly by and see that young Joey do me up like this. Give an account of
yourself!”
“They're engaged,” Murphy protested valiantly.
“That's my work, Mike, not yours. Don't take any credit that isn't
coming to you. I want a report on your end of this deal. How does it
happen that this boy harpoons me for twenty-five thousand dollars?
Have the _cargadores_ at Sobre Vista gone on the water wagon? Did Joey
out-bid you for their services? Have they added a lot more lighters to
their lighterage fleet? Has the surf quit rolling in on the beach? Have
the inhabitants of Sobre Vista been converted to the Mohammedan faith
and declined to celebrate saints' days and holy days? Is there smallpox
in the town, that the quietus has been put on fiestas and fandangoes,
and has Peru been annexed by Chile and the celebration of the national
holidays forbidden?”
“No, Mr. Ricks. It's the same old _manana_ burg. The trouble was that
Joey is a better sailorman than he appeared to be. He cracked on all the
way down and made a smashing voyage, and, of course, as soon as we got
there he went ashore. Two other schooners were there ahead of us. One
was loading general cargo and the other was discharging it, and when
Joey heard they had been there a month he investigated conditions and
saw where you had him. Mr. Ricks, he came back as mad as a hatter. Of
course I saw he would have to wait until the other schooners were out of
the way before he could begin discharging, because they had first call
on the lighters; so in view of the situation and the fact that Miss
Murphy and Doris were a bit tired of the ship and wanted to go ashore
and see the back country, I organized a trip for them.”
“You left Joey aboard the Tyee, of course.”
“Yes, sir. And there's where I made my fatal break. The minute my back
was turned the son of a pirate got busy. It appears there was a six-inch
waste pipe leading from the crew's lavatory out under the stern of the
ship, and this pipe had rusted away and broken off at the flange just
inside the skin of the ship sometime during the vessel's previous
voyage. Of course it happened while she was homeward bound in ballast,
and was standing so high out of the water that this vent where the pipe
was broken was above the waterline; consequently not enough of a leak
developed to be noticeable. At the mill dock, however, after we got
her under-deck cargo aboard, the vessel had settled until this vent was
under water, and immediately she developed a mysterious leak. In fact,
due to the enormous pressure, the water came in faster than the pumps
could handle it. Fortunately, however, we discovered where the leak was,
though it was then too late to mend it. To do so we would have had to
take out the under-deck cargo again. So I just whittled out a six-inch
wooden plug, fastened it to the end of the boat hook, ran it down the
narrow space through which the broken pipe led, found the vent, hammered
the plug home, stopped the leak, pumped out the well, finished taking on
cargo and sailed for Sobre Vista.”
“A small leak will sink a great ship,” Cappy Ricks murmured. “I think I
anticipate the blow-off, Mike; but proceed.”
“Unfortunately for us that cargo of lumber we had was for the Peruvian
government. They were going to use it in the construction of barracks
or a new customhouse or something--and Joey knew this. And he knew about
that plug. So the minute my back was turned he pulled out the plug
and the water came in and trickled all through the cargo and the ship
commenced to settle. But Joey didn't care. He knew a little salt water
couldn't hurt the lumber. When the top of the _Tyee's_ rail was flush
with the water he plugged the hole again, got his crew busy with the
pumps, and by judiciously plugging and unplugging that leak he kept the
crew pumping all day and all night without raising the vessel an inch,
and the people ashore could see the streams of water cascading overside
and the crew pumping like mad. And presently Joey gave up, went ashore,
sought the captain of the port and put up a hard luck story about a leak
in his ship--a leak he couldn't find anywhere--a leak that was getting
away from him, because his men were too exhausted to do any more
pumping. And he said his ship would get water-logged and settle until
the surf began to break over her. And presently the deck lashings would
part under the battering of the surf and the deck load would go by the
board. Half of it would drift out to sea, and the other half would pound
on the beach and get filled with sand, which would dull the saws and
planes of the carpenters when they came to cut it up. Also, the ship's
cabin would be sure to go, and unless he had help he would have to
abandon the vessel and she would lie there, submerged, at anchor, a
menace to the navigation of the port.”
“The scoundrel! The in-fer-nal young scoundrel!” cried Cappy Ricks.
“Well, he got away with it, sir. Remember our cargo was for the Peruvian
government and they'd had the devil's own time getting it; consequently
they couldn't afford to lose any part of it and have their anchorage
ground menaced by a derelict. So the captain of the port took it up
with the commandant of the local garrison, and the commandant, as Joey
expressed it, heard the Macedonian cry and got busy. He commandeered all
the lighters the other schooners were using; the soldiers rounded up the
_cargadores_ at the point of the bayonet, and they started discharging
the American schooner _Tyee_, with the spiggoty soldiers swelling
Joey's crew at the pumps and Joey doing business with that wooden plug
according to the requirements. Fortunately there weren't any surf days
that week, and the way the cargo poured out of the _Tyee_ was a shame
and a disgrace. And when it was all out Joey plugged the leak again,
pumped out the ship, and wired me at Mollendo to hurry back with the
ladies or he'd sail without me. So you can see for yourself, Mr. Ricks,
it was a hard hand to beat. And his luck held. He cracked on all the way
home and, as you know, sir, the _Tyee_ is fast in a breeze of wind, and
you told me not to interfere unless he asked me to.”
Despite his disappointment Cappy Ricks lay back in his chair and laughed
until he wept.
“Oh, Mike,” he declared, “it's worth twenty-five thousand dollars
to know a boy who can pull one like that. What do you think of him,
anyhow?”
“He'll do. His father has spoiled him, but not altogether. I think a
heap of him, sir. Remember I've been shipmates with him a trifle over
four months, and that's a pretty good test.”
“Very well, Mike. I forgive you, my boy. I hope Miss Murphy enjoyed the
trip. Tell her--”
The door opened and Joey Gurney, accompanied by Miss Doris Kenyon
entered unannounced.
“Hello, godfather,” yelled Joey joyously. He jerked the old man out of
his chair and hugged him. “I'm back with your schooner, sir. She was
easy to navigate, but that was a cold deck you handed me in Sobre
Vista--”
“Glad to see you, Joey, glad to see you,” Cappy interrupted. “Ah, and
here's my little secretary again. Miss Kenyon, this is a pleasure--”
“Mr. Ricks,” Joey interrupted him, “the lady's name is no longer Miss
Kenyon. She is now Mrs. Joseph K. Gurney, Junior. The minute we got
ashore at Meiggs' wharf and could shake the Murphys, who stood out till
the last for a church wedding, we chartered a taxicab, went up to the
City Hall, procured a license, rounded up a preacher--and got married.
What do you know about that?”
“You're as fast as a second-story worker, Joey. I shall kiss the bride.”
And Cappy did. Then he sat down and stared at the fruit of his cunning
labors.
“Well, well, well!” cried Joey. “Kick in, godfather, kick in. You owe
me twenty-five thousand dollars, and if I'm going to support a wife I'll
need it.”
Cappy summoned Mr. Skinner, who felicitated the happy pair and departed
pursuant to Cappy's order, to make out a check for Joey.
“And now,” said Cappy, as he handed the groom his winnings, “you get
out of here with your bride, Joey, and I'll telephone Florry and we'll
organize a wedding supper. And to-morrow morning, Joey, I'd like to see
you at ten o'clock, if you can manage to be here.”
Joey promised, and hastened away with his bride.