Cappy Ricks Part 35

"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 d.i.n.k of an office somewhere--got desk s.p.a.ce 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 Tillic.u.m.

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 cla.s.s 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 a.s.sertion 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 pa.s.sing 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 modic.u.m of Matt Peasley's courage and reckless disregard of consequences.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII. 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?"