Chapter XLIX

MONSIEUR LE CAPITAINE RICKS

Cappy Ricks entered his office at the unheard-of hour of eight- thirty. On his way to his sanctum at the end of the long suite of offices Cappy paused in the lair of Mr. Skinner, who looked up, amazed.

"Hello!" he saluted the president emeritus. "What brings you down on the job so early this morning, Mr. Ricks?"

"I've got a hen on," Cappy replied briskly. He glanced at Skinner and rubbed his hands together. "Skinner, my dear boy," he continued, "this is a one-horse concern."

"Three sawmills with a combined output of a million feet a day on a ten-hour shift--not to mention a billion feet of stumpage--isn't my idea of a one-horse concern," Mr. Skinner retorted with some asperity.

"Tut, tut, Skinner! I'm not referring to the lumber end at all; so don't get touchy. I'm referring to the Blue Star Navigation Company. It's a dinky proposition.

"Forty-two vessels--windjammers, steam schooners and foreign-going freighters--" began Mr. Skinner; but Cappy cut him short:

"Foreign-going grandmothers! We've got the Narcissus and the Tillicum."

"How about my boat--the John P. Skinner?"

"Oh, yes! That one we scraped up off the bottom of Papeete Harbor," Cappy answered maliciously. "Well, that makes three; and really the Skinner and the Narcissus are the only vessels built to go foreign. Remember, Skinner, we built the Tillicum, for the coast-wise lumber trade, even though she's so big our competitors thought when we launched her we were crazy to build such a whale for that trade."

"Well, Mr. Ricks?"

"We ought to have more big bottoms, Skinner. We'll have hell- cracking freight rates during the war and for a long time thereafter--and here we sit round like a lot of dubs, too conservative to help ourselves to the gravy. Why, you and Matt Peasley ought to be knitting socks in an old ladies' home, for all the progressiveness you're displaying."

"I am not in charge of the shipping end, Mr. Ricks."

"No; but you've got a tongue in your head, haven't you? You were practically in charge of the Blue Star for more than six months-- during the entire period Matt was at sea in the Retriever and we thought he was a goner. Why, dog-gone you, Skinner, even when you thought Matt was dead you didn't suggest increasing the fleet. I'm surprised, Skinner, my boy, that in my old age, after gathering a lot of young fellows round me to carry on the business, I've still got to be the bell mare!"

Mr. Skinner had nothing to say to this; if he had it is doubtful whether he would have said it, for he had been too long with Cappy Ricks not to know the signs when the old gentleman took the bit in his teeth and declared for a new deal.

"I'm going