Three minutes later he was closeted with Hudner, of the Black Butte Lumber Company.
“My name is Peasley, Mr. Hudner,” he began truthfully. “I arrived from Seattle this morning. I am looking for a steam freighter for some very responsible people and your Unicorn appears to be about the vessel they're looking for. They would want her to run coastwise, and prefer to charter at a flat rate a day, owners to pay all expenses of operating the ship. Would you be willing to charter for sixty days, with an option on the vessel for an extension of the charter on the same terms for four years, provided she proves satisfactory for my clients' purposes?”
Mr. Hudner started slightly. Four years! It seemed almost too good to be true. He was certain of this the next instant when he thought of Cappy Ricks' Lion, also laid up and as hungry for business as the Unicorn. He wondered whether this young broker from Seattle had called on Cappy Ricks as yet; and, wondering, he decided to name a price low enough to prove interesting and, by closing promptly, eliminate his hated competitor from all consideration.
“I should be very glad to consider your proposition, Mr. Peasley,” he said. “You say your clients are entirely responsible?”
“They will post a bond if you're not satisfied on that point, Mr. Hudner. What will you charter the Unicorn for, a day?”
Mr. Hudner pretended to do a deal of figuring. At the end of five minutes he said: “Three hundred and fifty dollars a day, net to the vessel.”
Matt nodded, rose and reached for his hat.
“I guess you don't want to charter your vessel, sir,” he said. “I'm not working for my health, either; so I guess I'll look for some other vessel. I hear the Lion is on the market.” And without further ado he walked out.
Mr. Hudner let him go; then ran after him and cornered him in the hall.
“I'll let you have her at three hundred and thirty,” he said desperately; “and that's bedrock. And if your clients elect to take her for four years, I'll pay you a thousand dollars commission on the deal. The vessel simply cannot afford to pay more.”
After his conversation with Cappy Ricks, Matt realized that Hudner had, indeed, named a very low price on the Unicorn. But Matt was a Yankee. He knew he had Hudner where the hair was short; so he said:
“I'll give you three twenty-five and accept a thousand dollars commission in case my clients take her for four years. That's my final offer, Mr. Hudner. Take it or leave it.”
“I'll take it,” said poor Hudner. “It's better than letting the vessel fall to pieces in Rotten Row. How soon will you hear definitely from your principals?”
“I'll hear to-day; but meantime you might give me a three-day option on the vessel, in case of unavoidable delays—though I'll do my best to close the matter up at once.”
Hudner considered. The Unicorn had paid his company but two dividends since her purchase from Cappy Ricks, while it was common talk on 'Change that the Lion had paid for herself prior to the 1907 panic. In consideration of the fact, therefore, that the Lion did not owe Cappy Ricks a cent, Hudner shrewdly judged that Cappy would be less eager than he for business, and that hence it would be safe to give a three-day option. He led Matt back to his office, where he dictated and signed the option. Matt gave him a dollar and the trap was set.
From Hudner's office Matt returned to that of Cappy Ricks. The heir to the Ricks millions was still there, as Matt noted with a sudden, strange thrill of satisfaction.
“I've waited until your return, Captain Peasley,” she said, “to see whether you could dispose of dad's competitor as handily as you disposed of your own that time in Cape Town.”
Matt blushed and Cappy chuckled.
“I've bet Florry five thousand dollars you'll dispose of Hudner and the Unicorn, Matt,” he said.
“I'm glad of that, sir, because if you hope to win the bet you'll have to help me. I've gone as far as I can, sir. I've got an option on the Unicorn for three days on a sixty-day charter, running coastwise with general cargo, with the privilege of renewing for four years at the same rate. The rate, by the way, is three hundred and twenty-five dollars. I want you to charter her from Hudner; and then—”
“Bless your soul, boy, I don't want her! Haven't I got a boat of my own I'd almost be willing to charter at the same figure to Hudner?”
“You don't understand, sir. The Mannheim people, with copper mines in Alaska, want two boats to freight ore—and their agent came down on the train with me. Don't you see, sir, that you have to control both boats to get a price? If you don't that agent will play you against Hudner and Hudner against you, until he succeeds in tying up both boats at a low price. He wouldn't tell you he wants two boats, but he was fool enough to tell me—”
“God bless my mildewed soul!” said Cappy excitedly, and smashed his old fist down on his desk. “For the man to do things, give me the lad who keeps his ears open and his mouth shut! Of course we'll charter her; and, what's more, we'll give her business ourselves for sixty days just to keep her off the market!”
“Then you'd better hurry and close the deal, sir,” Matt warned him. “I only arrived in town this morning; and I checked my baggage at the depot and came up here immediately. The Seattle broker went up to his hotel. He said he had to have a bath and a shave and some clean linen first thing,” he added scornfully: “Me, I'd swim Channel Creek at low tide in a dress suit if I had important business on the other side.”
“Matt,” said Cappy gratefully, “you're a boy after my own heart. Really, I think you ought to get something out of this if we put it through.”
“Well, as I stated, I wouldn't take anything out of the Lion charter, because it's my duty to save you when somebody has a gun at your head; but on the Unicorn charter I thought—well, if you can recharter at a profit I thought you might agree to split the profit with me. I'm a skipper, you know, and this sort of thing is out of my regular line; and besides, I'm not on your pay roll at present. I've promoted the deal, so to speak. I supply the ship and the brains and the valuable information, and you supply business for the ship.”
“Yes; and, in spite of the hard times, I'll supply it at a profit if I have to,” Cappy declared happily. “Of course I'll split the profit with you, Matt. As you say, this Unicorn deal is outside your regular line. It's a private deal; and as the promoter of it you're entitled to your legitimate profit.” He rang for Mr. Skinner.
“Skinner, my boy,” he said when that functionary entered, “Matt and I are going to unload that white elephant of a Lion and get her off our hands for four years at a fancy figure; but to do it we've got to charter another white elephant—the Black Butte Lumber Company's Unicorn. Here's an option Captain Peasley has just secured on her. Have the charter parties made out immediately in conformity with this option and bring them here for my signature.”
Mr. Skinner read the option and began to protest.
“Mr. Ricks, I tell you we cannot possibly use the Unicorn for sixty days, if you are forced to keep her off the market that long. If this thing develops into a waiting game—”
“I'll wear the other side out,” Cappy finished for him. “Listen to me, Skinner! How's the shingle market in the Southwest?”
“The market is steady at three dollars and fifty cents, f.o.b. Missouri River common points.”
Cappy scratched his ear and cogitated.
“The Unicorn will carry eighteen million shingles,” he murmured. “The going water freight from Grays Harbor to San Francisco is how much?”
“Thirty-five cents a thousand,” Mr. Skinner replied promptly.
“Therefore, if we used one of our own vessels to freight eighteen million shingles it would cost us—”
“Six thousand three hundred dollars,” prompted Mr. Skinner.
“Fortunately for us, however, we do not use one of our own vessels. We use that fellow Hudner's and we get her for three hundred and twenty-five dollars a day. She can sail from here to Grays Harbor, take on her cargo, get back to San Francisco and discharge it in twelve days. What's twelve times three hundred and twenty-five?”
“Thirty-nine hundred dollars,” flashed Skinner, to the tremendous admiration of Matt Peasley, who now considered the manager an intellectual marvel.
“Being a saving of how much?” Cappy droned on.
“Twenty-four hundred dollars,” answered the efficient human machine without seeming to think for an instant.
“Being a saving of how many cents on a thousand shingles?”
Mr. Skinner closed one eye, cocked the other at the ceiling an instant and said:
“Thirteen and one-third cents a thousand.”
“Very well, then, Skinner. Now listen to my instructions: Wire all the best shingle mills on Grays Harbor for quotations on Extra Star A Stars in one to five million lots, delivery fifteen, thirty and forty-five days from date; and if the price is right buy 'em all. We have about ten millions on hand at our own mill. To-night send out a flock of night letters to all the wholesale jobbers and brokers in Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, and all points taking a sixty-cent tariff, and quote 'em ten cents under the market subject to prior acceptance.”
He turned to Matt Peasley.
“That clause—'subject to prior acceptance'—saves our faces in case we find ourselves unable to deliver the goods,” he explained, and turned again to Skinner.
“We can freight the shingles from Grays Harbor to San Francisco in the Unicorn; re-ship on cars from Long Wharf and beat the direct car shipments from the mills ten cents, and still make our regular profit. Besides, the cut in price will bring us in a raft of orders we could not get otherwise. We can thus keep the Unicorn busy for sixty days without losing a cent on her, and if we haven't come to terms with the Mannheim people at the end of that time we'll find something else for her. And, of course, if we succeed meantime in chartering the Lion at a satisfactory price, we can throw the Unicorn back on Hudner at the end of the sixty days.” And Cappy snickered malevolently as he pictured his enemy's discomfiture under these circumstances.
Mr. Skinner nodded his comprehension and hastened away to prepare the charter parties.
Hudner, manager of the Black Butte Lumber Company, arched his eyebrows as Matt Peasley entered his office half an hour after he had left it and presented for Hudner's signature a formal charter party, in duplicate, wherein the Blue Star Navigation Company chartered from J. B. Hudner, managing owner of record, the American Steamer Unicorn for sixty days from date, at the rate of three hundred and twenty-five dollars a day, said managing owner to pay all expenses of operating said Unicorn.
“Huh!” Mr. Hudner snorted. “I'd like to know what the devil Cappy Ricks wants of my Unicorn when he's got her infernal sister squatting in the mud of Oakland Creek? There's something rotten in Denmark, Mr. Peasley. There always is when that old scoundrel Ricks does incomprehensible things.”
“Very likely he's up to some skullduggery, sir,” Matt opined.
“I wish you had informed me of the identity of your client, Mr. Peasley,” Hudner complained. “I don't like to sign this charter.”
“I cannot help that now, sir,” Matt retorted. “You have agreed in writing to charter the vessel to any responsible person I might bring to you, and I guess the Blue Star Navigation Company comes under that head.”
Mr. Hudner sighed and gritted his teeth. Instinct told him there was deviltry afoot, but in an evil moment he had sewed himself up and he had no alternative now save to complete the contract or stand suit. So he signed the charter party and retained the original, while Matt Peasley, with the duplicate in his pocket, hastened back to Cappy Ricks' office.
“Matt,” said Cappy approvingly, “you're a born business man, and it will be strange indeed if you don't pick up a nice little piece of money on this Unicorn deal.” He glanced at his watch and then turned to his daughter.
“Florry, my dear,” he said, “would you like to go up-town with your daddy and Captain Peasley for luncheon?”
Matt Peasley grinned like a Jack-o'-lantern, all lit up for Hallowe'en.
“Fine!” he said enthusiastically.
Florence withered him with one impersonal glance, saw that she had destroyed him utterly, relented, and graciously acquiesced. When they left the office Matt Peasley was stepping high, like a ten-time winner, for he had suddenly made the discovery that life ashore was a wonderful, wonderful thing. There was such a lilt in his young heart that, for the life of him, he could not forbear doing a little double shuffle as he waited at the elevator with Cappy and his daughter. He sang:
“The first mate's boat was the first away;But the whale gave a flip of his tail,And down to the bottom went five brave boys,Never again to sail—Brave boys,Never again to sail!When the captain heard of the loss of his whale,Right loud-lee then he swore.When he heard of the loss of his five brave boys,'Oh,' he said, 'we can ship some more brave boys—'Oh,' he said, 'we can ship some more.'”
Cappy winked slyly at his daughter, but she did not see the wink. She had eyes for nobody but Matt Peasley, for he was a brand-new note in her life. They were half through luncheon before Florry discovered the exact nature of this fascinating new note. Matt Peasley was real. There was not an artificial thought or action in his scheme of things; he bubbled with homely Yankee wit; he was intensely democratic and ramping with youth and health and strength and the joy of living; he could sing funny little songs and tell funny little stories about funny little adventures that had befallen him. She liked him.
After luncheon Cappy declared that Matt should return to the office with him, while Florry instructed the waiter to ring for a taxicab for her. Later, when Matt gallantly handed her into the taxi, he asked innocently:
“Where are you going, Miss Florry?”
“Home,” she said.
He looked at her so wistfully that she could not mistake the hidden meaning in his words when he asked, with a deprecatory grin:
“Where do you live?”
“With my father,” she said, and closed the door.
When Cappy and Matt returned to the Blue Star offices they were informed that Mr. Allan Hayes was patiently awaiting the arrival of the managing owner of the Lion. Matt concluded, therefore, to remain secluded while Cappy went into his own office and met Mr. Hayes.
Two hours later Cappy summoned Skinner and Matt to his sanctum.
“Skinner,” he said briskly, “have you bought any shingles?”
“I have not,” said Mr. Skinner.
“Have you sent out those telegrams to the dealers?”
“Not yet, Mr. Ricks. I was going to have them filed just before we close the office.”
“Well,” said Cappy smilingly, “don't accept any quotations until to-morrow and don't send out those telegrams until further advice from me. I locked horns with that man Hayes, and I think I gored him, Matt. It appeared he called on me first; and when I quoted him four hundred dollars a day on the Lion, he favored me with a sweet smile and said he could get the Unicorn for three-fifty. So, of course, I had to explain to him that he couldn't, because I wouldn't charter her at any such ridiculous figure! That took the ginger out of him and we got down to business, with the result that I've given him a forty-eight-hour option on both boats at four hundred dollars a day each, with a commission of two thousand dollars cash in full to him.”
“Why, he told me he would get two and a half per cent. commission!” Matt declared. “He figured he'd have an income of twenty dollars a day for the next four years.”
“I daresay he did, Matt,” Cappy replied dryly; “but then, in the very best business circles you never pay a broker two and a half commission when you know who his principals are! If he insists, you eliminate him entirely and do business direct. Of course, my boy, if he had put the proposition up to me, and I had agreed to pay him the regular commission while ignorant of the identity of his principals, and he had then reposed confidence in my business honor and told me whom he represented, he would have been perfectly safe. Remember, Matt, that the business man without a code of business honor never stays in business very long. From the office to the penitentiary or the cemetery is a quick jump for birds of that feather.”
“Then, why did you offer him two thousand dollars?”'
“Because it never pays to be a hog, my son, and besides I want to close this deal and close it quickly. Naturally Hayes isn't fool enough to toss away two thousand dollars, and something seems to tell me he'll urge his principals to take the boats at our figure, Matthew!” And the graceless old villain chuckled and dug his youngest skipper in the short ribs. “Let this be a lesson to you, my boy,” he warned him. “Remember the old Persian proverb: 'A shut mouth catches no flies.'”
Cappy's prediction proved to be correct, for the following morning Hayes telephoned that the Mannheim people desired the steamers at Cappy's figures, the charter parties, signed by Cappy, were forwarded to Seattle, and in due course were returned signed by the charterers; whereupon Cappy exercised his option, procured by Matt from Hudner, to charter the Unicorn for four years additional.
“What did Hudner have to say for himself?” Cappy queried when Matt returned from the latter's office, after finally completing the deal.
“Not a word! He looked volumes, though, sir.”
“Serves him right. That man, sir, is a thorn in the side of the market. However, since we're making a daily profit on him we can afford to speak kindly of the unfortunate fellow, Matt; so sit down and we'll figure out where we stand on the Unicorn. She costs us three-twenty-five and we've chartered her at four hundred—a daily profit of seventy-five dollars, of which you receive thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. That makes eleven hundred and twenty-five dollars monthly income for you, my boy; and, believe me, it isn't to be sneezed at. Meantime you and I, as partners, owe me a thousand dollars commission to that Seattle broker; so I'll have Skinner make a journal entry and charge your account five hundred dollars. There's no need to pay it now, Matt. Wait until the vessel earns it.”
“The vessel might sink on her first voyage and that would cancel the charter,” Matt replied; “so I guess I'll be a sport and hold up my end. You paid out the hard cash and took a chance, and so will I.” And, with the words, Matt drew from his pocket the Black Butte Lumber Company's check for a thousand dollars, indorsed it and passed it over to Cappy Ricks. “We're equal partners, sir,” he said, “and I pried that thousand out of Hudner on the side as a commission for chartering the Unicorn to you. Half of it is yours and I owe you the other half; so there you are.”
Cappy Ricks threw up his hands in token of complete surrender.
“Scoundrel!” he cried. “Damned young scoundrel! You Yankee thief, haven't you any conscience?” And he laid his old head on his desk and laughed his shrill, senile laugh, while tears of joy rolled down his rosy old cheeks. “Oh-h-h-h, my!” he cackled. “But wait until I get Hudner among my young friends at the Round Table up at the Commercial Club to-morrow! To think of a young pup like you coming in and chasing an old dog like Hudner round the lot and taking his bone away from him!”
He turned to the general manager:
“Oh, Skinner! Skinner, my dear boy, this will be the death of me yet! Remember that old maid stenographer Hudner stole away from us, Skinner? Remember? Oh, but isn't he paying for her through the nose? Isn't he, Skinner? Oh, dear! Oh, dear, what a lot of fun there is in just living and raising hell with your neighbor—particularly, Skinner, when he happens to be a competitor.”
When Cappy could control his mirth he handed the money back to Matt.
“Oh, Matt, my dear young bandit,” he informed that amazed young man, “I'm human. I can't take this money. It's been worth a thousand dollars to have had this laugh and to know I've got a lad like you growing up in my employ. You're worth a bonus, Matt; I'll stand all the commission. Soak Hudner's thousand away in the bank, Matt; or, better still—Here! Here; let's figure, Matt: You had sixteen hundred saved up and you've loaned a thousand on that mortgage. Now you've made a thousand more. Better buy a good thousand-dollar municipal bond, Matt. That's better than savings-bank interest, and you can always realize on the bond. I'll buy the bond for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Matt replied.
Cappy Ricks lay back in his swivel chair, his feet on his desk and his eyes closed. He was thinking deeply, for he had something to think about. Coming in from his club the night before he had observed that Florry was entertaining company in the billiard room, as the crash of pool balls testified. He had scarcely reached his room on the second floor, however, when the pool game came to an end and he heard voices in the drawing room, followed presently by a few random chords struck on the piano, and a resonant baritone was raised in the strangest song ever heard in that drawing room—a deep-sea chantey.
Cappy was no great shakes on music, but before he had listened to the first verse of Rolling Home he knew Captain Matt Peasley for the singer and suspected his daughter of faking the accompaniment. He listened at the head of the stairs and presently was treated to a rendition of a lilting little Swedish ballad, followed by one or two selections from the Grand Banks and the doleful song of the Ferocious Whale and the Five Brave Boys. Then he heard Florry laugh happily.
Cappy was thinking of the curious inflection in that laugh now. Once before he had heard it—when he courted Florry's dead mother; and his old heart swelled a little with pain at the remembrance. He was wondering just what to do about that laugh when Matt was announced.
“Show him in,” said Cappy; and Matt Peasley entered.
“Sit down, Matt,” said Cappy kindly. “Yes, I sent for you. The Gualala will be in to-morrow and you've had a fine two-weeks' vacation. What's more, I think you've enjoyed it, Matt, and I'm glad you did; but now it's time to get down to business again. I wanted to tell you that the skipper of the Gualala will expect you to be aboard at seven o'clock to-morrow morning.”
Matt studied the pattern of the office rug a minute and then faced Cappy bravely.
“I'm obliged to you, Mr. Ricks, more than I can say; but the fact of the matter is I've changed my mind about going to sea again. It's a dog's life, sir, and I'm tired of it.”
“Tired at twenty-three?” said Cappy gently.
Matt flushed a little.
“Well, it does appear to me kind of foolish for a man with an income of more than eleven hundred dollars a month to be going to sea as second mate of a dirty little steam schooner at seventy-five dollars a month.”
“Well, I can hardly blame you,” said Cappy gently. “I suppose I'd feel the same way about it myself if I stood in your shoes.”
“I'm sure you would,” Matt replied.
Fell a silence, broken presently by Cappy's:
“Huh! Ahem! Harump!” Then: “When I came in from my club last night, Matt, I believe Florry had a caller.”
“Yes, sir,” said Matt; “I was there.”
“Huh! I got a squint at you. Am I mistaken in assuming that you were wearing a dress suit?”
“No, sir.”
“Whadja mean by wasting your savings on a dress suit?” Cappy exploded. “Whadja mean by courting my Florry, eh? Tell me that! Give you an inch and you'll take an ell! Infernal young scoundrel!”
“Well,” said Matt humbly, “I intended to speak to you about Miss Florry. Of course now that I'm going to live ashore—”
“What can a big lubber like you do ashore?” Cappy shrilled.
“Why, I might get a job with some shipping firm—”
“You needn't count on a job ashore with the Blue Star Navigation Company,” Cappy railed. “You needn't think—”
“Have I your permission to call on Miss Florry again?” Matt asked humbly.
“No!” thundered Cappy. “You're as nervy as they make 'em! No, sir! You'll go to sea in the Gualala to-morrow morning—d'ye hear? That's what you'll do!”
But Matt Peasley shook his head.
“I'm through with the sea,” he said firmly. “I have an income of eleven hundred dollars a month—”
“Oh, is that so?” Cappy sneered. “Well, for the sake of argument, we'll admit you have the income. We don't know how long you'll have it; but we'll credit your account on the books while we're able to collect it from the charterers, and I guess we'll collect it while the Unicorn is afloat. But having an income and being able to spend it, my boy, are two different things; so in order to set your mind at ease, let me tell you something: I'm not going to give you a cent out of that charter deal—”
Matt Peasley sprang up, his big body aquiver with rage.
“You'd double-cross me!” he roared. “Mr. Ricks, if you weren't—” He paused.
“Shut up!” snapped Cappy, undaunted. “I know what you're going to say. If I wasn't an old man I'd let you make a jolly jackanapes of yourself. Now listen to me! I said I wasn't going to let you have a cent out of that charter deal—and I mean it. If you couldn't say Boo! from now until the day you finger a dollar of that income you'd be as dumb as an oyster by the time I hand you the check. What do you know about money?” he piped shrilly. “You big, overgrown baby! Yah! You've had a little taste of business and turned a neat deal, and now you think you're a wonder, don't you? Like everybody else, you'll keep on thinking it until some smart fellow takes it all away from you again; so, in order to cure you, I'm not going to let you have it!”
“I'll sue you—”
“You can sue your head off, young man, and see how much good it will do you. You surrendered to me your option that Hudner gave you on the Unicorn, and you failed to procure from me in writing an understanding of the agreement between us regarding this split. You haven't a leg to stand on!”
Matt Peasley hung his head.
“I didn't think I had to take business precautions with you, sir,” he said.
“You should take business precautions with anybody and everybody.”
“I thought I was dealing with a man of honor. Everybody has always told me that Cappy Ricks'—”
“How dare you call me Cappy?”
“—word was as good as his bond.”
“And so it is, my boy. You'll get your money, but you'll wait for it; and meantime I'll invest it for you. As I said before, you've had a taste of business and found it pretty sweet—so sweet, in fact, that you think you're a business man. Well, hereafter you'll remember, when you're making a contract with anybody, to get it down in black and white; and then you'll have something to fight about if you're not satisfied. Now, by the time you're skipper of steam you'll be worth a nice little pile of money; you can buy a piece of the big freighter I'm going to build for you and it'll pay you thirty per cent. Remember, Matt, I always make my skippers own a piece of the vessel they command. That gives 'em an interest in their job and they don't waste their owner's money.”
“I won't be dictated to!” Matt cried desperately. “I'm free, white and—”
“Twenty-three!” jeered Cappy. “You big, awkward pup! How dare you growl at me! I know what's good for you. You go to sea on the Gualala.”
“I must decline—”
“Oh, all right! Have it your own way,” said Cappy. “But, at the rate you've been blowing your money in on Florry for the past two weeks, I'll bet your wad has dwindled since you struck town. I've put that thousand dollars out on mortgage for you, and Skinner has the mortgage in the company safe, where you can't get at it to hock it when your last dollar is gone. And he has the bond there too; so it does appear to me, Matt, that if you want any money to spend you'll have to get a job and earn it. I have the bulge on you, young fellow, and don't you forget it!”
Matt Peasley rose, walked to the window and stood looking down into California Street. He was so mad there were tears in his eyes, and he longed to say things to Cappy Ricks—only, for the sake of Miss Florence Ricks, he could not abuse her sire. Once he half turned, only to meet Cappy's glittering eyes fixed on him with a steadiness of purpose that argued only too well the fact that the old man could not be bluffed, cajoled, bribed or impressed.
Presently Matt Peasley turned from the window.
“Where does the Gualala lie, sir?” he asked gruffly.
“Howard Street Wharf, Number One, Matt,” Cappy replied cheerfully. “I think she had bedbugs in her cabin, but I'm not sure. I wouldn't go within a block of her myself.”
Matt gazed sorrowfully at the rug. Too well he realized that Cappy had the whip hand and was fully capable of cracking the whip; so presently he said:
“Well, I've met bedbugs before, Mr. Ricks. I'll go aboard in the morning.”
“I'm glad to hear it, Matt. And another thing: I like you, Matt, but not well enough for a son-in-law. Remember, my boy, you're only a sailor on a steam schooner now—so it won't be necessary for you to look aloft. You understand, do you not? You want to remember your position, my boy.”
Matt turned and bent upon Cappy a slow, smoldering gaze. Cappy almost quivered. Then slowly the rage died out in Matt Peasley's fine eyes and a lilting, boyish grin spread over his face, for he was one of those rare human beings who can smile, no matter what the prospect, once he has definitely committed himself to a definite course of action. Only the years of discipline and his innate respect for gray hairs kept him from bluntly informing Cappy Ricks that he might forthwith proceed to chase himself! Instead he said quietly:
“Very well, sir. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, sir,” snapped Cappy.
At the door Matt paused an instant, for he was young and he could not retire without firing a shot. He fired it now with his eyes—a glance of cool disdain and defiance that would have been worth a dollar of anybody's money to see. Cappy had to do something to keep from laughing.
“Out, you rebel!” he yelled. The door closed with a crash, and Cappy Ricks took down the telephone receiver and called up his daughter.
“Florry,” he said gently, “I want to tell you something.”
“Fire away, Pop!” she challenged.
“It's about that fellow Peasley,” Cappy replied coldly. “I wish you wouldn't have that big, awkward dub calling at the house, Florry. He'll fall over the furniture the first thing you know, and do some damage. I think a lot of him as a sailor, but that's about as far as my affection extends; and if you insist on having him call at the house, my dear, my authority over him as an employee will suffer and I'll be forced to fire the fellow. Of course I realize what a pleasant boy he is; but then you don't know sailors like I do. They're a low lot at heart, Florry, and this fellow Peasley is no exception to the general rule.”
Cappy paused to test the effect of this broadside. There was a little gasp from the other end of the wire; then a click as his daughter hung up, too outraged to reply.
Cappy's kindly eyes twinkled merrily as he replaced the receiver on the hook.
“What a skookum son-in-law to take up the business when I let go!” he murmured happily. “Oh, Matt, I'm so blamed sorry for you; but it's just got to be done. If you're going to build up the Blue Star Navigation Company after the Panama Canal is opened for business, you've got to know shipping; and to know it from center to circumference. It isn't sufficient that you be master of sail and steam, any ocean, any tonnage. You've got to learn the business from the rules as promulgated by little old Alden P. Ricks, the slave driver. There's hope for you, sonny. You have already learned to obey.”
Mr. Skinner bustled in with the mail.
“Skinner,” said Cappy plaintively, “what's the best way to drive obstinate people south?”
“Head them north,” said Mr. Skinner.
“I'm doing it,” said Cappy dreamily.
From Cappy Ricks' office Matt Peasley went to the rooms of the American Shipmaster's Association, entered the telephone booth and called up Florence Ricks. From the instant he first laid eyes on her, Miss Florry had occupied practically all of Matt's thoughts during every waking hour. He had assayed her and appraised her a hundred times and from every possible angle, and each time he decided that Florry was possessed of more than sufficient charm, good looks, sweetness and intelligence to suit the most exacting. Matt wasn't ultra-exacting and she suited him, and the fact that she was the sole heir to millions was the least of the sailor's considerations as he dropped his nickel down the slot. Neither did the identity of the young lady's paternal ancestor constitute a problem, despite the recent interview with that variable individual. Matt regarded Cappy somewhat in the light of a mixed blessing; while he respected him he was a little bit afraid of him, and just at present he disliked him exceedingly. And lastly, his own social and economic status as second mate of the most wretched little steam schooner in the Blue Star Navigation Company's fleet, failed to enter even remotely into Matt's scheme of things.
The reason for this mental stand on his part was a perfectly simple and natural one. To begin, he was a stranger to caste other than that of decent manhood. The only rank he had ever known was that of a ship's officer, and that was merely a condition of servitude. When ashore he regarded himself as the equal of any monarch under heaven and treated all men accordingly. Since he had never known any of the restrictions of polite conventions behind which society entrenches itself in the world occupied by such pampered pets of fortune as Miss Florence Ricks, Matt Peasley failed to see a single sound reason why he should not indulge a very natural desire for Cappy's ewe lamb—for a singularly direct and forceful individual was Matthew. It was his creed to take what he could get away with, provided that in the taking he broke no moral, legal or ethical code; and if any thought of the apparent incongruity of a sailor's aspiring to the hand of a millionaire shipowner's daughter had occurred to him—which, by the way, it had not—he would doubtless have analyzed it thusly:
“There she is. Isn't she a queen? I want her and there isn't a single reason on earth why I shouldn't have her, unless it be that she doesn't want me. However, I'll learn all about that when I get good and ready, and if I'm acceptable Cappy Ricks and one of his employees are going to have a warm debate—subject, matrimony. What do I care for him? He's only her father, and I'll bet he wasn't half so well fixed as I am when he got married. I'll just play the game like a white man, and if Cappy doesn't like it he'll have to get over it.”
“Miss Florence,” Matt began, “this is Matt.”
“Matt who?” she queried with provoking assumption of innocence.
“Door Mat,” he replied. “Your daddy has just walked all over me at any rate.”
“Oh, good morning, captain. Why, what has happened? Your voice sounds like the growl of a big bear.”
“I suppose so. I'm hopping mad. The very first day I was ashore I turned a nice little trick for your father. I wasn't on the pay roll at the time, so we went into the deal together and chartered the Lion and the Unicorn to freight ore for the Mannheim people from Alaska to Seattle. I furnished the valuable information and the bright idea, and he capitalized both. The result of the deal was that he has his own steamer, the Lion, off his hands for four years, chartered at a fancy figure. Also he chartered the Unicorn from her owner at a cheap rate and rechartered at an advance of seventy-five dollars a day, and we split that profit between us. That gives me an income of thirty-seven and a half a day for the next four years, provided the Unicorn doesn't get wrecked. Naturally I wanted to stay ashore, when there's money to be made as easy as that—and he won't let me.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry, captain.”
“Well, that helps.”
“You do not have to go to sea, do you?” Miss Ricks queried hopefully.
“Yes, Miss Florry, I do; that's what hurts. Your father induced me to invest all of my savings in a mortgage and a bond, and he has both locked up in the Blue Star safe with that ogre Skinner in charge, so I can't get them to realize on. Of course I could go to law and make him give them to me, but he knows I'll not do that, so he just sits there and defies me. And I neglected to take the proper business precautions about my daily income from the charter of the Unicorn, and because I cannot prove I have a divvy coming on that he says he won't give me a cent of it. He says he'll credit my account on the company's books, and when the Unicorn completes her charter he'll give it to me in a lump. In the meantime he's going to invest it for me, and without consulting me.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Ricks sympathetically. “I'm so sorry dad's such a busybody.”
“You're not half so sorry as I am. I'm flat broke, and in order to eat I have to go to work, and in order to go to work I have to get a job, and in order to get the job I have to take what your father offers me—in fact, insists upon my taking. You see, Miss Florry, I'm almost a stranger in Pacific shipping. I don't know any owners except your father and I've never had any coastwise experience. It might be years before I could get another job as master of a sailing ship, and most steamship captains prefer to let some other captains break in their mates for them. So you see I'm helpless.”
A silence. Then: “I'm going to sea in the Gualala to-morrow morning, Florry.”
It was the first time he had dropped the “Miss,” but he dropped it purposely now. Miss Ricks noticed the omission, which probably imbued her with the courage to voice again her excess of sympathy. Said she: “Oh, I'm so sorry, Matt!”
He thrilled at that. “Well,” he answered humorously, “for the first time I'm glad I'm not a captain any more!”
Followed another brief silence, while Florry groped for the hidden meaning behind that subtle retort; then he continued: “Your father thinks I was a little presumptuous in calling at the house. He spoke to me about it, Florry, so I'm not going to call any more until he invites me. It's his house, you know. But he didn't say anything about not telephoning to you or seeing you outside his confounded house, so I suppose there's no necessity for me feeling badly about it, is there?”
This was a pretty direct feeler, but Florry parried it with feminine skill.
“Of course you can telephone me whenever you get to port. You mustn't take dad too seriously, Matt. Really he's very fond of you.”
“Professionally, yes. Socially, no. I think he wants to give me a good chance to do something for myself in a business way later on, but he made it pretty plain that he is the only member of the Ricks family I'm to take seriously. Of course I expect to have something to say about that myself, Florry, but I didn't tell him so. He's your father, you know, and besides, a man can't make a very good showing on seventy-five dollars a month. But if the Unicorn lives to complete her charter I'll be up on Easy Street, even if I'll only be a plain sea captain when I come into that money. Of course now I'm only a second mate on the worst little steam schooner your father owns and I cannot say the things I want to say—I don't mean to your father, Florry, but to you—”
“But you're a captain now,” Florry interrupted, in delicious terror hastening to obstruct any further discussion of what a seventy-five dollar man might have to say were he but in position to say it. “Why should you go to work as a second mate—”
“I've been a captain of sail, Florry. Of course, if I had never been master of a vessel of more than five hundred tons net register, or my sailing license had been limited to vessels of that tonnage, I should have to work up from second mate to master in steam. But any man who has been master of a vessel of more than five hundred tons net register for more than one year is entitled to apply for a license as master of steam vessels, and if he can pass the examination he can get his license.”
“Then why don't you do that, Matt?” Florry inquired.
“I have. The idea of two years' probation as second and first mate didn't appeal to me, so while I was waiting round to join the Gualala I went up for my ticket as master of steam. I passed, but when I told your father I had a license to command the largest steam freighter he owns, he only laughed at me and told me the inspectors weren't running his business for him. Just because I'm not twenty-three years old he says I ought to have two years' experience in steam as mate before he gives me command of a vessel. He says I'd better learn the Pacific Coast like he knows his front lawn, or some foggy night I'll walk my vessel overland and the inspectors will set me down for a couple of years.”
“Well, that sounds reasonable, Matt.”
“Yes, I'll admit there's some justice in his contention, so I'm going to do it to please him, although I hate to have him think I'm a dog-barking navigator.”
“Why, what's that?” Florry demanded.
“A dog-barking navigator is a coastwise blockhead that gets lost if he loses sight of land. He steers a course from headland to headland, and every little while on dark nights he stands in close and listens. Pretty soon he hears a dog barking alongshore. 'All right,' he says to the mate; 'we're off Point Montara. I know that Newfoundland dog's barking. He's the only one on the coast. Haul her off and hold her before the wind for four hours and then stand in again. When you pick up the bark of a foxhound you'll be off Pigeon Point.'”
Florry's laughter drowned a further description of the dog-barking navigator's wonderful knowledge of Pacific Coast canines, and after some small talk Matt said good-bye and hung up. When he left the telephone booth, however, he was a happier young man than when he had entered it, for he had now satisfied himself that while Cappy Ricks might arrogate to himself the right of proposing, his daughter could be depended upon to attend to the disposing. He went to his boarding house, paid his landlady, packed his clothes and sent them down to the Gualala, rubbing her blistered sides against Howard Street Pier No. 1. At seven o'clock next morning he was aboard her and at seven-five he superintended the casting off of the stern lines and his apprenticeship in steam had commenced.