Cappy Ricks Retires | Page 8

No.
1 clear. And there were mighty few clear twenty-foot logs coming into
the boom these days.
"Well, will a cat eat liver?" declared Cappy Ricks. "I should say we do
accept. Why, man, she'll make forty thousand dollars on the voyage,
and whether she goes to Batavia or Manila, we're certain to get a cargo
back."
"All right, I'll wire acceptance," Skinner replied, and paused long
enough to make a notation on the message: "O.K.--Ricks." Mr. Skinner
meant nothing in particular by that. He was a model of efficiency, and
that was his little way of placing the responsibility for the decision in
the event that the wisdom of said decision should, at some future time,
be questioned. Mr. Skinner never took unnecessary chances. He always
played a safe game.
It is necessary to state here also that Matt Peasley was not in the office
when that telegram arrived from Seaborn & Company. If he had been
this story would never have been written. He was down at Hunter's
Point drydock, superintending the repairs to the steam schooner Amelia
Ricks, which recently on a voyage to Seattle had essayed the overland
route via Duxbury Reef. When Matt reached home that night he found
his ingenious father-in-law fairly purring with contentment.
"Well, Matt, old horse," Cappy piped, "I've chartered the Narcissus.
Norfolk to Batavia or Manila with coal. Got a glorious price--ten
dollars a ton. That's what we get for holding off until the last minute."
"That's encouraging," Matt answered pleasantly, and asked no further
questions. He was obsessed with the engines of the Amelia Ricks. It
was going to cost a lot of money to put them in condition again, and he
remarked as much to Cappy. Thus it happened that they entered into a

discussion of other matters, and the good ship Narcissus, having
finished discharging her cargo of nitrate, dropped down to Norfolk,
where Captain Michael J. Murphy proceeded to let a stream of coal into
her at a rate that promised to load her fully in less than four days.
It is worthy of remark, at this juncture, that Mike Murphy and Terence
Reardon had, by this time, cast aside all appearance of even shirt-sleeve
diplomacy. Diplomatic relations had, in fact, been completely severed.
Crossing the Gulf Stream, Murphy had called the engine-room on the
speaking-tube and politely queried if Mr. Reardon didn't think he could
get a few more revolutions out of her. To this Mr. Reardon had replied
passionately that if such a thing were possible he would have done it
long ago without waiting to be told. He desired to inform Captain
Murphy that he knew his business; whereupon Murphy had replied that
he never would have guessed Mr. Reardon was that intelligent, judging
by the face of him. In disgust Mr. Reardon had replied: "Aw, go to--"
and then tried to close the speaking-tube before the captain would have
the opportunity to retort. However, Michael J. knew his own mind, and,
like all the Irish, was a marvel at repartee. Quick as was Terence
Reardon, therefore, Michael J. Murphy was quicker. Perhaps all of his
message had not been delivered before Reardon closed the tube, but the
chief got enough of it for all practical purposes.
He caught one word--"Renegade"; a word so terrible that it left the
chief engineer speechless with fury, and before he could call the
skipper a baboon, the golden opportunity was gone. He closed the tube
with a sigh.

CHAPTER V

While the Narcissus was loading, the Fates were keeping in reserve for
Cappy Ricks, Matt Peasley and Mr. Skinner a blow that was to stun
them when it fell. About the time the Narcissus, fully loaded, was
snoring out to sea past Old Point Comfort, Matt Peasley came across
Seaborn & Company's telegram in the unanswered-correspondence tray
on his desk. Five times he read it; and then, in the language of the poet,
hell began to pop!

Cappy Ricks came out of a gentle doze to find his big son-in-law
waving the telegram under his nose.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Matt Peasley bawled, for all the world as if
Cappy was a very stupid mate and all the canvas had just been blown
out of the bolt-ropes.
"Why didn't you ask me, you big stiff?" shrilled Cappy. He didn't know
what was coming, but instinct told him it was awful, so he resolved
instantly to meet it with a brave front. "Don't you yell at me, young
feller. Now then, what do you want to find out?"
"Why didn't you tell me the Narcissus was to drop in at Pernambuco
for orders?" roared Matt wrathfully.
Cappy pursed his lips and calmly rang for Mr. Skinner. He eyed the
general manager over the rims of his