The Go-Getter | Page 6

to read," Mr. Skinner protested.
"Go up town this minute and buy a copy and read one ballad entitled 'Tommy,'" Cappy barked. "For the good of your immortal soul," he added.
"Well, Comrade Peck doesn't make a hit with me, Mr. Ricks. He applied to me for a job and I gave him his answer. Then he went to Captain Matt and was refused, so, just to demonstrate his bad taste, he went over our heads and induced you to pitchfork him into a job. He'll curse the day he was inspired to do that."
"Skinner! Skinner! Look me in the eye! Do you know why I asked you to take on Bill Peck?"
"I do. Because you're too tender-hearted for your own good."
"You unimaginative dunderhead! You jibbering jackdaw! How could I reject a boy who simply would not be rejected? Why, I'll bet a ripe peach that Bill Peck was one of the doggondest finest soldiers you ever saw. He carries his objective. He sized you up just like that, Skinner. He declined to permit you to block him. Skinner, that Peck person has been opposed by experts. Yes, sir--experts! What kind of a job are you going to give him, Skinner, my dear boy?"
"Andrews' job, of course."
"Oh, yes, I forgot. Skinner, dear boy, haven't we got about half a million feet of skunk spruce to saw off on somebody?" Mr. Skinner nodded and Cappy continued with all the na?ve eagerness of one who has just made a marvelous discovery, which he is confident will revolutionize science. "Give him that stinking stuff to peddle, Skinner, and if you can dig up a couple of dozen carloads of red fir or bull pine in transit, or some short or odd-length stock, or some larch ceiling or flooring, or some hemlock random stock--in fact, anything the trade doesn't want as a gift--you get me, don't you, Skinner?"
Mr. Skinner smiled his swordfish smile. "And if he fails to make good--au revoir, eh?"
"Yes, I suppose so, although I hate to think about it. On the other hand, if he makes good he's to have Andrews' salary. We must be fair, Skinner. Whatever our faults we must always be fair." He rose and patted the general manager's lean shoulder. "There, there, Skinner, my boy. Forgive me if I've been a trifle--ah--ahem!--precipitate and--er--harumph-h-h! Skinner, if you put a prohibitive price on that skunk fir, by the Holy Pink-toed Prophet, I'll fire you! Be fair, boy, be fair. No dirty work, Skinner. Remember, Comrade Peck has half of his left forearm buried in France."
* * * * *
III
At twelve-thirty, as Cappy was hurrying up California Street to luncheon at the Commercial Club, he met Bill Peck limping down the sidewalk. The ex-soldier stopped him and handed him a card.
"What do you think of that, sir?" he queried. "Isn't it a neat business card?"
Cappy read:
+---------------------------------------------------+ | RICKS LUMBER & LOGGING COMPANY | | Lumber and its products | | 248 California St. | | San Francisco. | | | | Represented by | | William E. Peck | | If you can drive nails in it--we have it! | +---------------------------------------------------+
Cappy Ricks ran a speculative thumb over Comrade Peck's business card. It was engraved. And copper plates or steel dies are not made in half an hour!
"By the Twelve Ragged Apostles!" This was Cappy's most terrible oath and he never employed it unless rocked to his very foundations. "Bill, as one bandit to another--come clean. When did you first make up your mind to go to work for us?"
"A week ago," Comrade Peck replied blandly.
"And what was your grade when Kaiser Bill went A.W.O.L.?"
"I was a buck."
"I don't believe you. Didn't anybody ever offer you something better?"
"Frequently. However, if I had accepted I would have had to resign the nicest job I ever had. There wasn't much money in it, but it was filled with excitement and interesting experiments. I used to disguise myself as a Christmas tree or a box car and pick off German sharp-shooters. I was known as Peck's Bad Boy. I was often tempted to quit, but whenever I'd reflect on the number of American lives I was saving daily, a commission was just a scrap of paper to me."
"If you'd ever started in any other branch of the service you'd have run John J. Pershing down to lance corporal. Bill, listen! Have you ever had any experience selling skunk spruce?"
Comrade Peck was plainly puzzled. He shook his head. "What sort of stock is it?" he asked.
"Humboldt County, California, spruce, and it's coarse and stringy and wet and heavy and smells just like a skunk directly after using. I'm afraid Skinner's going to start you at the bottom--and skunk spruce is it.
"Can you drive nails in it, Mr. Ricks?"
"Oh, yes."
"Does anybody ever buy skunk spruce, sir?"
"Oh, occasionally one