CHAPTER XXXVI. CAPPY FORBIDS THE BANS—YET
Cappy Ricks sat at breakfast, tapping meditatively on the apex of a boiled egg, when his daughter swished into the room, saluted her interesting parent by depositing a light kiss on his bald and ingenuous head, and took her place at the table.
Florence Ricks was a radiant vision in a filmy pink breakfast gown and cap, and as she smiled perkily at Cappy he returned her bright look with one a trifle sad and yearning.
“Florence, my love,” said Cappy gently, “have you, by any chance, talked with that big, two-fisted sailor of yours within the past twelve hours?”
She shook her head negatively, tilting her nose and pursing her lips in an adorable grimace of disapproval.
“Since Matt Peasley has been master of that tug I see him only when his owners cannot find something more important for him to do. Why do you pop that question at me so suddenly? Did you want to see him about something?”
“No. I saw him yesterday forenoon, and we went into a clinch and fought each other all over my private office. Matt got the decision. I thought he might have called you up to discuss with you his plans for the future. When he left me yesterday he was on his way back to the office of the Red Stack Tugboat Company to tell the port captain he could stick some other skipper on the tug Sea Fox.”
Florence clapped her hands ecstatically. “Oh, goody, goody!” she cried.
“Well, it might be worse.”
“Why is he resigning? To go to work for you, as I wanted him to do six months ago?”
“Well, I'll tell you, Florry,” Cappy began. “I know you're going to be disappointed, but the fact of the matter is we've just got to let that boy paddle his own canoe—though, to hear him talk, he's going to operate his own line of steamers! Matt doesn't think in canoes when the subject of the merchant marine is up for discussion any more than I think in cent pieces when I'm wrestling with a banker for a loan. He has resigned from the tug Sea Fox to go into business for himself!”
“But how can he? He hasn't any money, you silly man!”
“Oh, yes, he has. I gave him twenty thousand dollars yesterday. He had that much credit on the Blue Star books from his share of the recharter of the steamer Unicorn nearly two years ago.”
“But I thought you weren't going to give him any of that money,” Florence protested.
“I thought so, too,” Cappy answered dryly; “but the scoundrel put up a low-down job on me and pried the twenty thousand loose,” and Cappy proceeded to relate to Florry the sad tale of the salvage of the Retriever.
Florence was gifted with the same lovable sense of humor that distinguished her father; and, somewhat to his annoyance, she laughed long and heartily at this tale of how her fiance had vanquished him.
“And then what?” she queried with childish insouciance.
“Why, then he made friends with Skinner and, to my complete amazement, surrendered without firing a shot. He said he'd be my port captain now; whereas six months ago he said it was against his religion to work for a relative, and that he wanted to go into business for himself. And only the day before he'd reiterated those sentiments.”
“Oh, I'm so glad!” said Florry, much relieved.
“Wait!” said Cappy dramatically. “Don't cheer yet. I've upset your apple cart, my dear. I rejected the young man's proposition and condemned him to a business of his own.”
“But you wanted him for your port captain, Daddy dear. You wanted him the very worst way.”
“And that's just how I got him, Florry. I don't want any man whose heart is not in his job, and a business man should never surrender for sentimental reasons. You cannot mix sentiment and business, daughter; if you do you'll get chaos. Matt Peasley surrendered to me—not because he wanted to, but to please you. You've been picking on him rather hard lately, haven't you?”
Florry admitted it.
“I knew it,” Cappy declared. “I knew it—and that's why I exercised the veto on you, Florry.”
Florry's eyes dropped, and in the corners of them her father thought he detected a glint of tears; whereupon he attacked his egg vigorously. After a brief silence he said:
“Of course that means a slight delay in your plans for a June wedding—”
A tear crept through Florry's long lashes and dropped unheeded into her grapefruit. Cappy saw it drop, but resolved to be cruel and ignore it.
“The infernal schemer couldn't resist the temptation to take a fall out of your old man, Florry; so naturally I had to take a fall out of him; though, at that, I have doubts whether I succeeded. I think I played into his hand; and now I'm telling you about it to save him the trouble and grief of an explanation he couldn't make and which you wouldn't understand—from him. Some day my affairs will all be yours, Florry—yours and Matt's; and he'll have to manage them for you. To manage them well, he must have experience; hence, I decided, in about two flips of a humming-bird's tail, that it would be a mighty good thing for you and Matt if I forced him into business for himself and, as I informed him, let him pay for that experience with his own money; for that is the only kind of money that will buy him any experience worth while. No young man ever learned a great deal when some sentimental old fool footed the bill for his tuition fees in the college of hard knocks.”
“Poor Matt!” Florry sobbed. “He hasn't—had anything—except hard knocks since he was—fourteen years—old.”
“Yes,” shrilled Cappy; “and just look at the difference between him and these la-di-da boys that never had any hard knocks! Hard knocks! Why, hard knocks keep that devilish fellow in condition!”
“But I'd planned—we didn't want to have too long an—engagement—”
“I'll guarantee you, little daughter, you will not have to wait longer than six months. Please wait—for my sake.” And Cappy rose, made his way round the breakfast table and placed his old arms about the light and joy of his existence. “So, so, now!” he soothed. “Don't you cry, honey, until you hear what the old man has to say. Why, haven't I always given my little daughter everything she wanted? You wanted that big sailor, Florry; I saw he wanted you; and he looked awful good to me. I knew he was man, every inch of him; he was our kind of people and he knew ships and loved them, and so I wanted him for you. What if he was a big hunk of a sailor with hardly enough money saved up to buy you half a dozen party dresses? None of the Ricks tribe was ever born or bred in the purple—and I have money enough for all practical purposes. So I went after him for you, Florry, and you're going to get him; so don't cry about it.”
“Life is so filled with disappointments,” Florry sobbed, notwithstanding this was the first she had ever known.
Cappy smiled a still small smile as he bent over her.
“Fiddlesticks!” he replied. “Only the day before yesterday Matt told me he didn't want to work for me; that he didn't want a relative handing him any favors; and that he wasn't marrying you to ease himself into a soft job for life. He said he wanted to make the fight himself. And do you know, Florry, if he had been my own boy I couldn't have been prouder of him than when he told me that! When old What-you-may-call-him in Shakespeare's play said: 'Let me have men about me that are fat,' it showed how blamed little Shakespeare knew about men. He should have said: 'Let me have men about me who are long and tough, and fairly thick in the middle; let me have scrappy boys about me with backbone!'
“Well, in a way, Florry, I was disappointed, and perhaps, in the heat of the moment, I showed it, as I have a habit of doing; but after Matt had left the office, and I got to thinking it over, away down low I was proud of him. Consequently when he reversed his decision yesterday I knew why, for I lived twenty-five years with your mother. But a woman's love is selfish sometimes, and I knew that Matt had surrendered, not to me, but to you; though he came across like a sport, he didn't want to, for you'd roweled him and roped him with your love, my dear—and, though you do not know it, that's a terrible thing to do to a free-running colt like Matt Peasley. He has his code, and it's a bully code; and I don't want you to tie knots in it, Florry. Won't you be as spunky and independent as he is, and give him his head for six months more? He'll probably call sometime to-day, or ring up, to tell you how I picked holes in the program; and when he does I want you to smile and tell him you're glad of it, and suggest a postponement of the wedding until he has demonstrated to me that he is a business man.”
Florence looked up and bravely smiled a forgiving smile through her tears.
“You're a dreadful Buttinsky, Daddy Ricks!” she protested.
He kissed her hungrily.
“Oh, I'm a devil in my own home town!” he replied, and trotted back to his neglected breakfast. “If Matt hasn't made good as a business man within six months, or has lost his bank roll—and I intend to see to it that he does lose it, if I ever get a hack at him—we'll pull off this wedding anyhow. I guess there's room enough in this house for three.”
At nine o'clock Cappy Ricks, with a lilt in his heart, drove down to his office behind his team of high-stepping bays. At the corner of California and Drumm Streets he saw Matt Peasley and hailed him. The latter came to the carriage door and looked in.
“It's all right, Matt,” Cappy said with a cunning wink. “I've fixed Florry's clock for her. There won't be the slightest trouble.”
Matt Peasley wrung his hand gratefully.
“I quit the Sea Fox last night,” he announced gladly.
“Going into business this morning, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What line?”
“Ship, freight and marine insurance broker.”
“Well, that's a line that will keep you hustling for your wheatcakes until you get well acquainted. However, just to give you a shove in the right direction, you might scout round the market and see whether you can dig up a cargo for our steamer Tillicum. Usual commission of two and a half per cent.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ricks. I ought to be able to scare up something in the way of a foreign lumber cargo for her.”
“We've tried and failed. Moreover, her fuel-oil tankage isn't sufficient to take her too far foreign and back; added to which she is under American registry, employing American seamen, and I'd rather lay her up than put a coolie crew aboard and compete with the British tramps, with their Lascar and Chinamen, at six and seven dollars a month. We've been running her in our own trade; but the lumber market is very dull and she has but one more cargo in sight; after that is freighted, unless we can find outside business for her, she'll have to lay up in Oakland Inner Harbor until the Panama Canal opens—when, of course, we can load her for the Atlantic seaboard. She carries nearly two million feet, and that's what makes it so hard for us to keep her busy coastwise.”
“How about some Mexican or Central American business—general cargo?” Matt suggested.
“Pretty hard stuff to get. The Pacific Mail has most of the Central American business; and, owing to the political situation in Mexico, that trade is practically killed. Every vessel that gets in there has trouble with one faction or the other; they're liable to confiscate, and then we'd have to call on the navy to get our ship back for us.”
“I'll look round for a grain charter to Honolulu and return with sugar or general cargo.”
“We might do that,” Cappy suggested, brightening. “Good luck to you, Matt—and don't be a stranger.”
CHAPTER XXXVII. MATT PEASLEY BECOMES A SHIPOWNER
A youth thrust a wary nose into Cappy Ricks' private office and announced Captain Matt Peasley was desirous of admittance.
“Show him in,” Cappy ordered, and Matt entered.
“Well, young man,” said Cappy briskly, “sit down and tell me of your adventures during your first week as a business man. Of course, I hear from Florry that you have opened a dink of an office somewhere—got desk space with the Alaskan Codfish Corporation, haven't you, with the use of their telephone, stenographer and general office boy?”
“Yes, sir. The manager, Slade, is a native of Thomaston—never knew anything but fish all his life; and, inasmuch as I was raised on the Grand Banks, I got in the habit of drifting round there occasionally, and Slade offered me the privilege of making it my headquarters. Ten dollars a month—cheap enough.”
“Yes, considering the aroma of codfish that goes with it, free-gratis,” Cappy admitted dryly; “but then I suppose that's what attracted you in the first place. But have you done any real business, Matt?”
“Well, I've arranged with several good old-line insurance companies to accept any marine-insurance business I may bring in, though I haven't sold any yet; neither have I been able to find a load for your Tillicum. By the way, you have a little old three-legged schooner laid up in Oakland Inner Harbor.”
“I have three of them—more's the pity!” Cappy replied—“the Ethel Ricks, the Nukahiva and the Harpoon. Which one do you mean?”
“The Ethel Ricks. She's the only one I examined closely. Would you consider selling her?”
“Ah,” said Cappy, “I perceive. Your friend Slade wants her for a codfisher, eh?”
“That's all she's good for now, Mr. Ricks. She has had her day in the lumber trade; the steam schooners have relegated her to a final resting place in the ooze of Oakland Inner Harbor; her class of windjammers is a thing of the past for general cargo. She's been laid up now for three years. True, her bottom is coppered and you dry-dock her every year; but that's an expense. And then you must consider taxes and depreciation, and sooner or later, if she lies in the mud long enough, the Teredo will eat her up; so it occurred to me that you might be glad to sell. She was built in 1883, but she was built to last—”
“Never built a cheap ship in my life and never ran 'em cheap,” Cappy challenged proudly. “The Ethel Ricks is in the discard, but she's as sound a little packet as you'll find anywhere. She's had the best of care. The same is true of the Harpoon and the Nukahiva.”
“What do you want for her?”
“Four thousand dollars,” Cappy answered promptly.
“I was offered the Dandelion for three thousand; she's ten years younger than the Ethel Ricks and in very good condition. Sorry, but I guess you'll have to keep the Ethel—and let me tell you, the longer you keep her the less she's worth. However, I guess she doesn't owe you anything.”
“No; she paid for herself more'n twice,” Cappy replied.
“Then if you get three thousand for her it's like finding the money and losing a worry.”
“Sold!” said Cappy.
“I didn't say I'd buy,” Matt warned him. “What do you want for the Harpoon and the Nukahiva?”
“They're all sister ships. Three thousand each.”
“I am empowered to make you an offer of twenty-seven hundred and fifty dollars each for the three!” Matt shot at him.
“Net? The three of them?” Cappy was all attention now; for selling schooners in lots of three was decidedly new and interesting.
“Hardly! Five per cent to me. Remember I'm a ship, freight and marine insurance broker, and I'm not working for my health. Why, I haven't even suggested any other vessels to my clients—and, by the way, they are not codfish people either. I knew you'd want to get rid of these little hookers, so I'm giving you first crack at the bargain.”
“Who wants them?” Cappy demanded craftily.
“If I told you that you'd do me the way you did that Seattle broker who tried to put through the charter of the Lion and the Unicorn. When you knew who his clients were you were in position to defy him—and you did!”
“No offense,” Cappy retorted innocently. “Don't be so touchy! Is this a cash proposition, Matt?”
“In the hand.”
“I accept.”
“Then give me a written option,” Matt warned him. “No more word-of-mouth business for me with you.”
Cappy laughed; and, calling in a stenographer, he dictated the option.
“Now, then, Matt,” he said as he signed the option five minutes later and handed it to Matt, “who shall we make out the bills of sale to?”
“To the Pacific Shipping Company. When you're ready telephone me and I'll bring the check round.”
“Go get your check now,” Cappy ordered. “Skinner will have the bills of sale ready by the time you return. And I do wish to heaven,” he added, “that you had called round with this proposition four days ago. I've just had those three schooners dry-docked, cleaned and painted.”
“Which is the very reason why I didn't call round until to-day, Mr. Ricks. You can afford that dry-dock bill so much better than—er—the Pacific Shipping Company.”
He left, laughing, and proceeded to the office of the Pacific Shipping Company, where he procured a check for eighty-two hundred and fifty dollars and returned to the Blue Star Navigation Company's office. Mr. Skinner had in the meantime prepared proper bills of sale; a notary, with offices in the building, had been called in to attest the signatures of Cappy Ricks and Mr. Hankins, president and secretary respectively of the Blue Star Navigation Company; and when Cappy Ricks handed over the bills of sale to Matt Peasley, together with the Blue Star check for four hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents—Matt's commission—the latter handed him the certified check of the Pacific Shipping Company.
“Who is the Pacific Shipping Company, Matt?” Cappy queried. “I never heard of them before.”
“It's a new company, sir,” Matt replied; and, gathering up his bills of sale and the check for his commission, he fled precipitately, leaving Cappy Ricks to adjust his spectacles and examine the check. It was signed: “Pacific Shipping Company, by Matthew Peasley, President.”
For a long time Cappy Ricks sat staring at that check. Finally he looked up and saw Mr. Skinner gazing at him. He held out the check and tapped Matt Peasley's signature.
“Get on to that, Skinner, my boy,” he said; “get on to that! Matt's gone into the shipping business, and he's making an humble start with three little old antiquated schooners, for which he has paid me more than eight thousand dollars. Now he will go broke!”
“I do not agree with you, Mr. Ricks,” Mr. Skinner replied dryly, “for I notice he didn't forget to stick us four hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents for the privilege of selling him those three schooners! This is the first time I ever heard of anybody's paying the purchaser a commission!”
“The infernal scoundrel!” Cappy shrilled angrily, for Mr. Skinner's assertion carried the hint that Cappy had been outgeneraled. “The Yankee thief!—acting as broker for a company in which he owns all the capital stock! In business a week and he's made over four hundred dollars already, neat and nice, and as clean as a hound's tooth! Can you beat it?”
“It's better than being a port captain for the Blue Star Navigation Company at three hundred a month,” Mr. Skinner suggested wistfully.
He had worked for a salary all his days, and after passing the thirty mark he had lost the courage to leap into the commercial fray and be his own man. He wished he might have been endowed at birth with a modicum of Matt Peasley's courage and reckless disregard of consequences.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. WORKING CAPITAL
It was nearly ten weeks before Cappy Ricks laid eyes on Matt Peasley again. Inquiry from Florry elicited the information that Matt had gone to Mexico as skipper of his own schooner, the Harpoon, bound on some mysterious business.
“He's taken the old Harpoon down there to stick a Mexican—I'll bet a hat on that!” Cappy reflected. “I'll bet he'll have a tale to tell when he gets back.”
There came a day when Matt, looking healthy and happy, dropped in for a social call.
“Well, young man,” Cappy greeted him, “give an account of yourself. How do you find business?”
“The finest game in the world,” Matt replied heartily. “I had the Ethel Ricks snaked out of the mud and hauled out on the marine railway, where I bossed a gang of riggers and sailmakers for a week, getting her gear in shape while she was having a gas engine and tanks for the distillate installed. Then I gave her a dab of paint here and there, sweetened her up, and sold her to Slade, of the Alaska Codfishing Corporation, at a net profit of fifteen hundred dollars over her total cost to me. Nearly two thousand for my first month in business. Not so bad, eh?”
“You'll do better after a while,” Cappy remarked dryly. “I hear you've been to Mexico. How about it, boy?”
“I took the Harpoon down myself, and hired a skipper to take the Nukahiva. Before doing so, however, I overhauled their gear and installed gas engines in them also—only I'd learned something by this time. I bought second-hand engines, rebuilt, but with a guaranty, and they cost me a thousand dollars less than new engines. In conversation with Captain Kirk, of the steamer San Blas, I had heard that a company in Guaymas was thinking of buying a couple of little coasting schooners, putting gas engines in them, and adding these crafts to their fleet running out of Guaymas to Mazatlan, Topolobampo, and way ports. So I went down, put my schooners under the Mexican flag, and started opposition. The old-established company went to the local military commander and tried to get him to commandeer my vessels for the use of the government, which pays in depreciated shinplasters that may be worth something some day a hundred years from now.”
“Whew-w-w!” Cappy whistled. “That was a narrow squeak, Matt. How did you dodge it?”
“I had the local military commander on my payroll, with good American gold, before I ever started anything. I knew he'd come to shake me down; so I anticipated him and made a monthly donation to the cause of liberty. I do not know for certain, but I imagine he went south with it himself, though I do not begrudge the amount. I only paid him for one month anyhow. By that time I had an offer to sell out; and I did, reluctantly, but for real money and at a much better figure than if I had not made it an object for them to buy. I got out with a net profit of seventy-four hundred and fifty dollars on the two schooners. Not so bad, eh, Mr. Ricks? Over nine thousand dollars in less than three months? Of course, I realize I could not have made that much if I hadn't had the funds with which to speculate.”
Cappy nodded. Words were beyond him for the time being. Finally he said:
“Matt, that was pure gambling, though you think it was a speculation. It was mighty poor business, even if you did emerge with a fancy profit. You might have been cleaned out.”
“Yes; and if the hare hadn't stopped to take a nap the tortoise would not have won the race,” Matt replied. “So far as I can see, all business is a gamble and every investment is a bet; hence, a good business man is a good gambler.”
Cappy Ricks sighed.
“There is a special providence,” he said, “that looks after fools, drunken men and sailors.”
CHAPTER XXXIX. EASY MONEY
Captain Matt Peasley's first act after consummating his first successful deal was to purchase for the Pacific Shipping Company a membership in the Merchants' Exchange, on the floor of which he knew he would meet daily all the shipping men of San Francisco, and thus be enabled to keep in touch with trade conditions.
He had been a member less than a week when the wisdom of spending five hundred dollars for his membership was made delightfully apparent. While he stood watching the secretary chalk on the blackboard the record of the latest arrivals and departures, he heard a man behind him speaking:
“Heyfuss, I'm in the market to charter another freighter for the Panama run. You might look round and see whether you can line something up for us. I'd like about a two-thousand-ton boat; and we could charter her for a year.”
“There's only one vessel available,” the man addressed as Heyfuss answered; “and that's the Tillicum. Cappy Ricks had her laid up in Oakland Creek—”
Matt moved away and approached a clerk at the desk.
“That dark-haired man with the thick glasses, talking with Mr. Heyfuss,” he said—“who is he?”
“That is Mr. Henry Kelton, manager of G. H. Morrow Company,” the clerk answered. “They operate a line of sailing vessels foreign and half a dozen steamers to South American ports.”
Matt thanked him, entered a telephone booth and on consulting the telephone directory, discovered that J. O. Heyfuss was a broker.
“I'll have to step lively to beat Heyfuss to it,” he soliloquized, and forthwith hastened down to the office of the Blue Star Navigation Company.
“Well, young man!” Cappy greeted him genially. “How about you?”
“Never mind me. How about the Tillicum?”
“Laid up in Oakland Inner Harbor waiting for better times.”
“I think I can give her some business. Would you charter her to the Pacific Shipping Company?”
“Well,” Cappy replied, “I might be induced to take a chance in these hard times. How much money have you in bank to-day?”
“In a pinch I could lay my hands on thirty thousand, cash.”
“Well,” said Cappy thoughtfully, “that little roll, plus an established credit and a reputation for business experience, might carry you far with some people—but not with me. You're not a safe bet—yet; but we can make it safe.”
“How?”
“You can pay the charter money in advance,” Cappy answered smilingly.
“I have decided not to do any more gambling, Mr. Ricks. Hereafter, as near as such a thing may be humanly possible, I'm going to play a sure thing. Therefore, all things being equal, if I can guarantee you your price for the steamer, on a year's charter, you do not care what I do with the vessel, provided that I do not injure her?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, then, in order to play safe and protect you, suppose I charter her from you, contingent on my ability to recharter her to some responsible shipping firm. Under those conditions would you exact the charter money in advance? You know very well that when I collect my money from the charterers you'll get yours right away.”
“Without question, Matt; but sometimes a fellow cannot collect his money from the charterers, and then the owner has to wait. I'm taking no chances to speak of on you, Matthew, my son; but for the sake of making it a sporting proposition I'll talk business on the basis of fifty per cent. of the charter money, payable monthly in advance.”
“That's cold-blooded, but I can stand it. What is the Tillicum going to cost me a day?”
“What kind of charter do you want—government form or bare boat?”
“You might give me an option with a price based on each form. I haven't the slightest idea what form my prospective victim prefers, though I prefer a bare-boat charter. I will close with you on whatever basis he prefers, if that is satisfactory.”
“I'll make many concessions to get that vessel out of the mud and to sea, and paying a reasonable rate on the money invested in her. I hate to keep a good skipper and a good chief engineer on the beach, and I want them to begin drawing their salaries again.”
Cappy reached into his desk and produced a little loose-leaf memorandum book, and from certain figures therein contained he commenced to figure what he should charge Matt for the ship. On his part, Matt, whose apprenticeship under the Blue Star had made him tolerably familiar with every steamer in the fleet, got out a pad and pencil and commenced to figure the cost of operation himself. Not knowing the cost of the steamer or the ratio of profit Cappy might expect on the investment, however, he was more or less at sea until Cappy had named his figures; whereupon Matt pretended to do some more figuring. Finally he frowned and said:
“Fifty dollars a day too much.”
He did not know a thing about it, but he knew Cappy Ricks well enough to know that Cappy would first decide on his minimum price and then add a hundred dollars a day for good measure; hence, Yankeelike, Matt commenced to chaffer, with the result that before he left the office Cappy had abated his price fifty dollars a day and given Matt a forty-eight-hour option on the vessel, agreeing to charter her to him at the figures specified, contingent on Matt's ability to recharter her to a responsible firm.
Cappy chuckled as Matt Peasley left the office.
“You're taking a pretty big bite, Matt,” he soliloquized; “so I'll handicap you. And if anything goes wrong, and you fail to collect from your people, I'll give you a lesson in high finance that you'll never forget, young man! I'll bet my immortal soul you're going to try to do business with Morrow & Company; and if that outfit isn't scheduled for involuntary bankruptcy, then I'm a Chinaman. A charter for a year, eh? They'll never last a year. They'll bust, owing you a month's charter money, Matthew, and the vessel will be at sea, most likely, or in a South American port, when that happens; and you can't throw her back on me until you deliver her in her home port. And meantime your charter to me keeps rambling right along, and I'll attach your bankroll if you're a day late with your payment in advance. Yes, sir; I'll break you in two for the good of your immortal soul. Matt—Matt, my son—something tells me you're monkeying with fire and liable to get burned.”
From Cappy Ricks' office Matt Peasley called on Kelton of Morrow & Company. Kelton, a shrewd, double-action sort of person and the smartest shipping man on the street, looked with frank curiosity at Matt's modest card.
“Pacific Shipping Company, eh? That's a new one on me, Captain Peasley,” he said.
“It's a new one on me also,” Matt replied humorously; “in fact, it is too recent to be very well known. We've been operating a fleet of windjammers, with auxiliary power, down on the Mexican Coast,” he added truthfully, calm in the knowledge that two schooners constitute a fleet if one be not inclined to split conversational hairs; “but we sold them and decided to go into the steamship business. We hope to buy or build a line of freighters to run to Atlantic Coast ports via the Panama Canal.”
“What steam vessels have you got now?” Kelton queried interestedly.
“Only one at present, Mr. Kelton. We've acquired the Tillicum, late of the Blue Star fleet.”
“Indeed!” replied Kelton.
He was all attention now; for, though Matt Peasley did not know it, less than ten days previous Kelton had tried to charter the Tillicum direct from Cappy Ricks, who, knowing something of the financial condition of Morrow & Company, had declined to consider a charter unless under a guaranty of payment other than that of Morrow & Company. Kelton was in urgent need of a steamer to cope with the congestion of freight, and the Tillicum suited the purpose of his company admirably; hence, the news that he might still be able to acquire her filled him with sudden hope.
“Indeed!” he reiterated. “I had no idea Cappy Ricks contemplated selling her, though it has been common talk on the street that he made a mistake in building such a big boat as the Tillicum for the coastwise lumber trade. She was too hard to find business for, and I dare say he was sick of his bargain.”
“Well, I thought we'd take a chance on her,” Matt replied, not taking the trouble to disabuse Kelton of the impression to which he had apparently jumped—to wit, that the Pacific Shipping Company had purchased the Tillicum.
“What do you intend doing with her?” Kelton continued.
“They tell me business is good on the Panama run, and it will be better when the Canal is opened. However, until the Canal does open, we would prefer to keep out of the Pacific Coast trade. Competition always means a rate war, with consequent loss to both parties to the struggle; so we'd rather charter the Tillicum for a year if we could. I heard you were in the market for a boat.”
“I think we might use the Tillicum,” Kelton replied. “What are you asking for her?”
Matt named a figure considerably in advance of what he expected to receive and stipulated a bare-boat charter—that is to say, Kelton's company should pay the entire cost of operating the vessel, and select her crew and officers with the exception of the captain and chief engineer, it being customary among many owners, when chartering a vessel, to stipulate that their own captain, in whom they have confidence, shall command her. Cappy Ricks always specified his own skipper and chief engineer.
When Matt named his figure Kelton promptly shouted “Thief!” but made the mistake of shouting too loud—whereat Matt Peasley knew he was not sincere and promptly decided to outgame him. At the end of half an hour of argument and much futile figuring, which deceived nobody, Matt abated his price twenty-five dollars a day and Kelton said he would think it over. Matt knew the charter was as good as closed, and when he left Morrow & Company's office he repaired straight to that of Cappy Ricks.
“I think I'll be able to recharter, Mr. Ricks,” he said confidently. “Have you any objection to Morrow & Company as recharterers?”
Cappy started slightly, hesitated a fraction of a second, and replied that he had no objection whatsoever.
“Very well, sir,” Matt replied. “Will you please have Mr. Skinner prepare the charter parties right away, sign them, and send them over to my office for my signature? I can't wait to sign them now. And about the captain—I suppose you'll want to put in your own skipper, of course. Who is he?”
“Captain Grant.”
“Have you any objection to inserting a clause in the charter party stipulating that, if for any reason Captain Grant proves objectionable to the charterers, I may take command of the vessel myself? As charterer I will have a very vital interest in the vessel and I might feel called on to protect that interest personally.”
“Matt,” said Cappy earnestly, “I'll trust you in preference to most men with any ship of mine. Still, Grant is a very able man.”
“He might be too slow for me, Mr. Ricks. I prefer to have a spare anchor in case of necessity.”
“Well, have it your own way,” Cappy acquiesced, and summoned Mr. Skinner to prepare the charter parties, while Matt went back to his own office and gave instructions that he was not to be called to the telephone.
Something told him that Kelton would be ringing up before the day was over to accept his price on the Tillicum, and he did not want to be placed in the position of having to give a yes or no answer until he had seen Cappy Ricks' charter parties, with Cappy's signature attached. He would then close up his deal with Morrow & Company, after which he would sign Cappy's charter parties and turn two copies over to Cappy. In this way he would be enabled to play safe and save his face in case any hitch occurred at the last minute.
The charter parties, duly signed and in triplicate, arrived from Cappy Ricks in the morning's mail, with a request from Cappy for Matt to append his signature to two copies and return them to the Blue Star Navigation Company. Matt, after first assuring himself that the instrument was in order, called up Kelton, who informed him that he would accept Matt's offer for a year's charter of the Tillicum. Within half an hour Matt had his charter parties ready for Kelton's signature and the deal was closed; whereupon Matt signed the charter party Cappy Ricks had sent him and handed it to Cappy, together with a check for nine thousand dollars—one half the monthly rental of the Tillicum.
Cappy whistled softly through his teeth as he handed the documents to Mr. Skinner and instructed him to put the Tillicum in commission at once.
CHAPTER XL. THE CATACLYSM
For two voyages all went well. The Tillicum was engaged in carrying general cargo to Panama for reshipment over the Panama Railroad to Colon, at which point it was reshipped in steamers to ports along the Atlantic seaboard. Following the universal custom, Matt's charter with Morrow & Company stipulated settlement in full every thirty days, whereas his charter with Cappy Ricks, for reasons best known to Cappy, stipulated payment in full every fifteen days; which arrangement operated to keep nine thousand dollars of Matt's money in Cappy's hands continuously. This fact graveled Matt whenever he reflected that money was worth at least seven per cent.; but, since he was making sixty dollars a day profit as the result of his deal, he concluded not to mention this point to Cappy Ricks.
Morrow & Company met the first monthly payment with cash on the nail. At the second settlement, however, when Matt called for his check, Kelton requested, as a special favor, that Matt allow him four days' time. A clever talker, with a peculiarly winning way about him, he disarmed suspicion very readily, and Matt assured him he would be very glad indeed to extend him such a slight courtesy.
Meantime, however, Cappy Ricks had to be reckoned with; so, in order not to keep him waiting, Matt sent him another check for nine thousand dollars. Cappy now had eighteen thousand dollars of Matt's money; and on the fourth day, when the latter called on Kelton for his check, the latter actually made him feel ashamed of himself for calling and sent him away with one-half of the sum now overdue! This perturbed Matt somewhat, but when he showed some slight indication of it Kelton playfully picked up a glass paper weight and threatened to destroy him if he did not get out of the office at once; so, because it is difficult to be serious with a man who declines to take one seriously, Matt forced a grin and departed, with the light intimation that he would return in three days, and if the check was not forthcoming then he would fresco Kelton's office with the latter's life-blood.
“Get out!” shouted Kelton laughingly. “I know money is tight and I don't blame you for being Fido-at-the-rat-hole; but if you bother me about that check for a week I'll not speak to you.”
So Matt waited a week, and then the check reached him by mail, with a courteous note from Kelton thanking him for his leniency. It seemed to Matt he had scarcely acknowledged the receipt of that check before he had to give Cappy Ricks another nine thousand dollars!
Morrow & Company were late again on the third month, but this time they did not wait to be dunned. On the day before the payment was due Kelton took Matt Peasley to luncheon and in the course of the meal he informed Matt, quite casually, that he would be a little late with his check. With two dollars' worth of his genial host's food under his belt, Matt felt that it would be rude, to say the least, if he insisted on settlement; so he said:
“Oh, don't worry about that, old man! Give it to me as soon as you can, because I'm a little pinched myself.”
Nevertheless, Matt was beginning to worry, for his acquaintance throughout the trade had extended rapidly, due to his propensity for making friends, and he had heard one or two little rumors that Morrow & Company had bitten off more than they could chew in a few big deals of late and had been badly pinched; in fact, to such an extent did Matt ponder on the possibility of the company's going into the hands of the receiver, leaving his thirty thousand dollars to disappear into the ravening maw of the Blue Star Navigation Company, that he forgot to send Cappy his check for nine thousand dollars the day it was due. And the next morning Cappy himself called up and, in a voice that seemed to come straight from a cold-storage plant, asked him what he meant by it, and requested him—though to Matt it sounded like a peremptory demand—to send the check over at once. So angry and humiliated did Matt feel as a result of this dun, he could not trust himself to call with the check but sent it by special delivery.
The Tillicum had returned from her second voyage to Panama and was about to commence loading her third cargo when another payment fell due. To Matt's chagrin Kelton again pleaded for delay; and again Matt settled with Cappy Ricks prior to collecting from Morrow & Company. Kelton had promised a check on the following Wednesday, and on the appointed day Matt called, only to be met with a request for further delay. Kelton explained that Mr. Morrow had been taken very ill and things were at sixes and sevens in the office as a result. Could not Matt wait until Saturday, when Mr. Morrow would be back to sign a check?
“What's wrong with Morrow?” Matt demanded pointedly. “Has he got paralysis of the right hand?”
“Worse than that,” Kelton answered seriously. “He's on the verge of nervous prostration.”
“But can't you sign a check?”
“Y-e-s; but Mr. Morrow generally attends to all financial details.”
“Well, we'll excuse him from attending to this detail,” Matt replied. “I want a check and I want it now, because it is a week overdue; the vessel is nearly loaded and about to go to sea, and if I do not get my money—”
“Well, suppose I give you half of it now and the other half in a day or two?” Kelton suggested.
He looked worried and unhappy, and Matt felt sorry for him; for, indeed, Kelton was a likable chap and perfectly trustworthy, and Matt sensed some of the worry that was falling on the manager in his desperate efforts to run a business on short capital. However, Matt's own financial shoestring was too short for him to afford any sentiment, though, for the reason that he was naturally kind-hearted and considerate, he consented to accept a check for half the amount due and left Kelton to the society of the many devils which seemed to be tormenting him.
On the sidewalk he paused suddenly. So Morrow was on the verge of nervous prostration, eh? That was bad. It had been Matt's experience that, as a usual thing, but two things conduce to bring about nervous prostration—overwork and worry; and in Morrow's case it must be worry, for Kelton did all the work! Kelton, too, looked haggard and drawn.
“I must be very careful,” Matt told himself, “for if that concern should go broke while the Tillicum is en route to Panama my charter to Morrow & Company may be considered to have terminated automatically; and if they go under owing me from ten to twenty thousand dollars, I'm still responsible to Cappy Ricks for my charter of the Tillicum until I can bring her back to her home port and turn her back to him. Thank God for that clause in the charter which gives me the privilege of terminating my charter with Cappy in case Morrow & Company terminate their charter with me! It will be all right if they terminate it while the vessel is in San Francisco; but if she's very far from home I'll most certainly be eaten alive while I'm getting her back to Cappy!”
He returned to his office and went into a long executive session with himself, from which he aroused presently and went down to the dock where the cargo was pouring into the hold of the Tillicum. Here he consulted with the captain and the purser, and obtained a list of all persons, firms or corporations which had furnished supplies of any kind to the deck department of the steamer. From the chief engineer he procured a similar list of those who had furnished supplies to the engine department; and, armed with this information, he returned to his office and dictated the following form letter: