Cappy Ricks Part 2

"Noah," urged McBride. "I wouldn't advise you to take this man Murphy."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Captain Noah replied mournfully. "The tide serves in half an hour and the tug is alongside the Retriever now. If I have to wire to Seattle for a second mate I may not be able to get one--and if I am forced to wire to San Francisco I may be stuck here a week. I've shipped my crew and paid them all in advance, and if I don't get to sea in an hour I'll lose every man Jack of them, and have it all to do over again."

"Well, I'll speak to the fellow for you, Noah," McBride suggested, and darted out of the cabin to interview the said Murphy. Two minutes later he was back.

"Sorry, Noah, but Murphy says he wouldn't sign up for a trip to Cape Town at chief mate's wages."

"I'm sorry, too, Mac," Captain Noah answered resignedly. "I'm sorry you're such a liar. My grief is only compensated by the knowledge that Murphy is not aboard the Nokomis at this minute, and, if you did any talking while you were out on deck a minute ago you must have talked to yourself. Do I get this man, Murphy and thus save the Blue Star Navigation Company five hundred dollars or must I wire Cappy Ricks to wire you to do your duty by the company?"

"You infernal thief," shouted McBride, "you're taking the best second mate I've had in years."

"Never mind that. Do I get Mike Murphy peaceably or--"

"You've got him already" McBride charged.

"You're better at telling the truth than you are at lying, Angus McBride. You'll have plenty of time to get a second mate while the Nokomis is loading, and you can send the bill for his railroad fare to Cappy Ricks and tell him to charge it to the Retriever."

McBride tried to appear aggrieved, but failed. He burst out laughing, and reached for the locker in which he kept the schooner's supply of grog.

"Would it was prussic acid," he growled.

"Don't say I went behind your back and stole your mate," Kendall retorted. "And if your second mate is as poor as your whiskey," he added, piling insult on to injury, "you can have him back when I return from Cape Town."

Matt Peasley felt that he was going to like Michael J. Murphy. The latter was Irish, but he had left Ireland at a very tender age and was, to all intents and purposes, a breezy American citizen, and while he wore a slight cauliflower in one ear, his broad, kindly humorous face and alert, bustling manner was a.s.surance that he would be an easy man to get along with. When the Old Man introduced him to Matt, he extended a h.o.r.n.y right hand that closed on Matt's like the jaws of a dredger, the while he ran an equally h.o.r.n.y left hand up and down the chief mate's arm.

"I'm sure we'll get along famously together, Mr. Murphy," Matt suggested.

Again Mr. Murphy ran his hand over that great arm.

"You know it!" he declared with conviction.

Captain Noah laughed aloud, and as Matt scampered forward over the deckload, herding his savages before him, to receive the tug's breast line and make it fast on the bitts the skipper turned to Mr. Murphy.

"There's a lad for you," he declared.

"He has manners and muscle, and those are two things that seldom go together," Mr. Murphy rejoined. "He's Down-Easter, I see. Did Cappy Ricks send him to you, sir?"

"No--not that he wouldn't, however, if he'd ever met the boy. The crimp brought him aboard with the sweepings and sc.r.a.pings of San Francisco."

"I hope he wasn't drunk--like the rest," Mr. Murphy answered anxiously.

"'Twould be a sin to desecrate that lovely body with whiskey."

"He was bung up and bilge free--and that's why he's chief kicker now.

The hawser's fast for'd, Mr. Murphy. Cast off your stern line."

"All clear for'd, sir," Matt Peasley's shout came ranging down the wind, and the tug s.n.a.t.c.hed the big barkentine out from the mill dock into the stream where she cast her off, put her big towing hawser aboard, paid it out and started for Grays Harbor bar.

CHAPTER IV. BAD NEWS FROM CAPE TOWN

On a certain day in February Mr. Skinner, coming into Cappy Ricks'

office with a cablegram in his hand, found his employer doubled up at his desk and laughing in senile glee.

"I have a cablegram--" Mr. Skinner began.

"I have a good story," Cappy interrupted. "Let me tell it to you, Skinner. Oh, dear! I believe this is about going to kill the boys up on 'Change when I tell them." He wiped his eyes, controlled his mirth and turned to the general manager. "Skinner," he said, "did you know I had gotten back into the harness while you were up at the Astoria mill? Well I did, Skinner. I had to, you know. If it was the last act of my life I had to square accounts with that man Hudner, of the Black b.u.t.te Lumber Company."

Mr. Skinner nodded. He was aware of the feud that existed between Cappy and Hudner, and the reasons therefor. The latter had stolen from Cappy a stenographer, who had grown to spinsterhood in his employ--one of those rare stenographers who do half a man's thinking for him. Cappy always paid a little more than the top of the market for clever service; and whenever, a compet.i.tor stole one of his favorite employees, sooner or later that compet.i.tor paid for his sins, "through the nose."

"While you were away," Cappy went on, "I met Hudner a luncheon.

'Hudner,' I said, 'It's been my experience that n.o.body gets anything good in this world without paying for it--and you stole the finest stenographer I ever had. So I'm going to make you pay for her. See if I don't.' Well, sir, Skinner, he laughed at me and told me to go as far as I liked; and, a number of my youthful friends being present, they each bet Hudner a five-dollar hat I'd hang his hide on my fence within sixty days.

"Well, Skinner, you know me. Any time it's raining duck soup you'll never catch me out with a fork; and, of course, when the boys showed such faith in my ability to trim Hudner I had to make good. I have a letter from Hudner to prove it; and to-day at luncheon, when we're all gathered at the Round Table, I'm going to read that letter and my reply to the same; and Hudner will have fifty dollars' worth of hat bills to pay!"

"How did you tan his pelt?" Skinner queried.

"Easy! While you were away I chartered his steamer Chehalis for a load of redwood lumber from Humboldt Bay to San Francisco at three dollars and a half a thousand feet. Of course, you know a boat like the Chehalis, with a big pay-roll, will break just even on such a low freight rate; but inasmuch as he was going to lay the Chehalis up in Oakland Creek, owing to lack of business, when I offered him a load of redwood he concluded to take it, just to keep the vessel moving and pay expenses. I stipulated discharge in San Francis...o...b..y.

"Well, sir, when the Chehalis got to our mill, Skinner, I ordered them to load her with sinkers--oh! oh, this will be the death of me yet, Skinner. And we gave her poor dispatch in loading. Then she had to lay behind the bar two days longer before she could cross out; and when she got here I ordered her to discharge into the British bark Glengarry--and discharging from one vessel in to another is the slowest work in the world. And Hudner--he's--written--me, Skinner, declaring he'll never charter a boat to me again; says the Chehalis lost two thousand dollars on the voyage." And Cappy went off into a gale of laughter, and handed Skinner the letter to read.

For the benefit of the reader, who may desire a closer insight into Cappy's Machiavellian nature, be it known that a sinker is a heavy, close-grained clear redwood b.u.t.t-log, which, if cut in the spring, when the tree is alive with sap, is so heavy it will not float in the millpond; hence the term sinker. A vessel laden with lumber sawed from sinkers, therefore, will carry just fifty per cent. of her customary cargo; and unless the freight rate be extremely high, she cannot make money.

"Do you know, Skinner," Cappy announced presently, "I think you'd better hunt up a steady job for me! Dadding it, boy, I never knew there was so much fun in business until I had practically retired! Really, Skinner, I must take more interest in my affairs."

"Here's something to sharpen your teeth on, Mr. Ricks," the general manager replied, and presented the cablegram he had been holding for five minutes.

Cappy took it and read, thereby becoming aware for the first time, that he had in his employ an individual by the name of Matthew Peasley.

Cape Town, February 15, --.

Bluestar, San Francisco:

Captain knifed Kru boy argument boat fare. Instruct consignees honor my drafts as captain.

Matthew Peasley, Mate.

"The murdering black hound!" Cappy murmured in an awed voice. "If he hasn't gone and killed the best skipper I ever had! Poor Kendall! Why, Noah and I were good friends, Skinner. Every time the Retriever touched in at her home port I always had Noah Kendall up to the house for dinner, and we went to the theatre together afterward. Thank G.o.d! It isn't a week since his life insurance premium fell due and I had the cashier pay it."

Cappy sat gazing dejectedly at the carpet.

"Poor old Cap'n Noah!" he soliloquized aloud. "Twenty-five years you sailed under the Blue Star, and in all that time there was never once when I had to jack up and tell you to 'tend to business. And, Noah, you could make a suit of sails last longer than any man I ever knew; but you did have a h.e.l.l of a temper." And having delivered this touching eulogy on the late Captain Kendall, Cappy roused himself and faced Skinner.

"I should say I have a job on my hands," he announced, "with the finest sailing ship in the fleet down in South Africa without a skipper!

Skinner, I'll tell you what you do, my boy: You dictate the nicest letter you know how to dictate to Noah's widow, up in Port Townsend.

Tell her how much we thought of Noah and extend our sympathy, and a check for his next three months' salary. Put her on my private pension list, Skinner, and send her Cap'n Noah's salary every quarter-day as long as she lives. Tell her we'll attend to the collection of the life insurance and will bring Noah's body home to Port Townsend at our own expense. It's the least we can do, Skinner. He was the only skipper I ever had who did not, at one time or another, manage to embroil me in a lawsuit. Who are our consignees at Cape Town?"