Chapter XXI

Capt. Matt Peasley, with his heart in his throat, called up the British consul at San Francisco. Cappy Ricks, looking very pale and unhappy, sagged in his chair, while Mr. Skinner stood by, gnawing his nails and looking as if he would relish being kicked from one end of California Street to the other.

"Hullo!" Matt Peasley began. Cappy Ricks shuddered and closed his eyes. "Is this the British consul's office?... This is Captain Peasley, of the Blue Star Navigation Company... Yes... About our steamer Narcissus... You say the consul is on his way down to our office... Thank you... Goodbye."

Cappy Ricks sighed like an old air-compressor. "I hope I live till he gets here," he declared feebly. "Deliberate race, the British. No pep. Never get anywhere in a hurry."

As if to give the lie to Cappy's criticisms, the British consul was admitted at that moment.

"Gentlemen," he announced as the heart-broken trio gathered round him, "I have some very grave news for you." His voice was vaguely reminiscent of that of the foreman in a quarry who calls upon a lady to inform her that her husband has just been caught in a premature blast and that the boys will be up with the pieces directly. "Your steamer Narcissus, loaded with ten thousand tons of coal, has been captured a hundred miles north-east of the Falkland Islands by His Majesty's cruiser Panther. In view of your vessel's clearance--"

A low moan broke from Cappy Ricks.

"Tightwad!" he reviled. "Old Alden P. Tightwad, the prince of misers! He thought he'd add a couple of ten-dollar bills to his roll, so he encouraged his skipper to hire a lot of interned Germans to work his ships in neutral trade! He was penny-wise and pound-foolish, so he cut out the wireless to save a miserable hundred and forty dollars a month. Bids are invited for the privilege of killing the damned old fool--Skinner! What are you looking at?"

"N-n-nothing!" stammered Mr. Skinner.

"I won't be looked at that way, Skinner. I have my faults, I know--"

"Ssshh!" Matt Peasley interrupted.

"And I won't be 'sshh-ed' at either. I lost the ship. I admit it. I O.K.'d the charter, and Murphy did his best to save her for us and couldn't. I'm the goat, but if it busts me I'll reimburse you two boys for every cent you have lost through my carelessness--"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Ricks," the consul interrupted. "Pray permit me to proceed. The circumstances attending this case are so very unusual--"

"My dear Mister British Consul, I shall not argue the matter with you. You're too bally deliberate, and, besides, what's the use? The ship is gone. Let her go. We'll build another twice as big. Of course I could give you an excuse, but if I did you'd think I was old Nick Carter