Cappy Ricks Part 41

"Well, I have a license to cheer," Matt replied, "because I got out of the woods a long time ago. Before the vessel sailed from this port, I sent this letter to all her creditors!" And Matt thrust into Cappy Ricks' hand a copy of the letter in question.

"That will not help you at all," Mr. Skinner, who had read the letter over Cappy's shoulder, declared.

"It wouldn't--if I hadn't sent it by registered mail and got a return receipt," Matt admitted; "but, since I have a receipt from every creditor acknowledging the denial of responsibility of the Pacific Shipping Company, I'm in the clear. It was up to the creditors to protect their hands before the vessel went to sea! They had ample warning--and I can prove it! I tell you, Mr. Ricks, when you begin to dig into this matter you will find these creditors will claim that every article furnished to the Tillic.u.m while Morrow & Company had her was ordered on requisitions signed by Captain Grant, your employee, or Collins, your chief engineer. They were your servants and you paid their salaries."

"All right then," Cappy challenged. "Suppose we do have to pay. How about that freight money you collected in Panama--eh? How about that? I guess we'll have an accounting of the freight money, young man."

"I submit, with all due respect, that what I did with that freight money I collected in Panama is none of your confounded business. I chartered a vessel from you and she was loaded with a cargo. The only interest you can possibly have in that cargo lies in the fact that the Pacific Stevedoring Company stowed it in the vessel and hasn't been paid some forty-five hundred dollars for so stowing it, and eventually, of course, you'll have to foot the bill as owner of the vessel. That vessel and cargo were thrown back on my hands, not on yours; so why should you ask questions about my business? You've got your nerve with you!"

"But you'll have to render an accounting to Morrow & Company," Cappy charged.

"I'll not. They gave me a check that was returned branded 'Not sufficient funds;' they didn't keep their charter with me, and if I hadn't been a fly young fellow their failure would have ruined me, and then a lot they'd care about it! If I spoke to them about it they'd say: 'Well, these things will happen in business. We're sorry; but what can we do about it?' No, Mr. Ricks; I'm in the clear with Morrow & Company, and their creditors will be lucky if I do not present my claim for ten thousand dollars because of that worthless check I hold. When I collected from the Panama Railroad Company for the freight on that southbound cargo I paid myself all Morrow & Company owed me, and the rest is velvet if I choose to keep it. If I do not choose to keep it the only honorable course for me to pursue will be to send a statement and my check for the balance to the receiver for Morrow & Company."

"What!" demanded Mr. Skinner. "And leave the Blue Star Navigation Company to pay the crew?"

"Yes--and the fuel bill, and the butcher and the baker and the candlestick maker, and the stevedoring firm, and the whole infernal, sorry mess!"

Cappy Ricks motioned to Mr. Skinner to be silent; then he rose and placed his hand on Matt's shoulder.

"Matt," he said kindly, "look me in the eyes and see if you can have the crust to tell me that, with all that freight money in your possession, you do not intend to apply the residue to the payments of these claims against the Tillic.u.m."

Matt bent low and peered fiercely into Cappy's face, for all the world like a belligerent rooster.

"Once more, my dear Mr. Ricks," he said impressively, I desire to inform you that, so far as the steamer Tillic.u.m is concerned, I venerate you as a human Christmas tree. I'm the villain in this sketch and proud of it.

You're stabbed to the hilt! Why should I be expected to pay the debts of your steamer?"

"But you used all the materials placed aboard her for your own use and benefit."

"That, Mr. Ricks, const.i.tutes my profit," Matt retorted pleasantly. "She had fuel oil aboard when she was turned back on me sufficient to last her to Panama and return--she had engine supplies, gear, beef in the refrigerator, provisions in the storeroom, and clean laundry in the linen lockers; in fact, I never went to sea in command of a ship that was better found."

"Matt Peasley," said Cappy solemnly, "you think this is funny; but it isn't. You do not realize what you are doing. Why, this action of yours will be construed as highway robbery and no man on the Street will trust you. You must think of your future in business. If this leaks out n.o.body will ever extend you any credit--"

"I should worry about credit when I have the cash!" Matt retorted. "I'm absolutely within the law, and this whole affair is my picnic and your funeral. Moreover, I dare you to give me permission to circulate this story up and down California Street! Yes, sir, I dare you--and you aren't game! Why, everybody would be cheering for me and laughing at you, and you'd get about as much sympathy as a rich relative with arterial sclerosis. I haven't any sympathy for you, Mr. Ricks. You got me into this whole mess when a kind word from you would have kept me out of it. But, no; you wouldn't extend me that kind word. You wanted to see me get tangled up and go broke; and when you thought I was a dead one you made fun of me and rejoiced in my wretchedness, and did everything you could to put me down and out, just so you could say: 'Well, I warned you, Matt; but you would go to it. You have n.o.body to blame but yourself.'

"Of course I realize that you didn't want to make any money out of me; but you did want to manhandle me, Mr. Ricks, just as a sporting proposition. Besides, you tried to double-cross me with that wireless message. I knew what you were up to. You thought you had pulled the same stunt on me I pulled on you, and that letter to Captain Grant contained full instructions. However, you wanted to be so slick about it you wouldn't get caught with your fingers in the jam; so you forbore to cancel my charter. You figured you'd present me with my troubles all in one heap the day I got back from Panama. I'm onto you!"

"Well, I guess we've still got a sting in our tail," Cappy answered pertly. "Slap on your libels. We'll lift 'em all, and to-morrow we'll expect eighteen thousand dollars from you, or I'm afraid, Matthew, my boy, you're going to lose that ship with her cargo of steel rails, and we'll collect the freight."

"Again you lose. You'll have to make a formal written demand on me for the money before you cancel the charter; and when you do I'll hand you a certified check for eighteen thousand dollars. Don't think for a minute that I'm a pauper, Mr. Ricks; because I'm not. When a fellow freights one cargo to Panama and another back, and it doesn't cost him a blamed cent to stow the first cargo and cheap Jamaica n.i.g.g.e.r labor to stow the second, and the cost of operating the ship for the round trip is absolutely nil--I tell you, sir, there's money in it."

Cappy Ricks' eyes blazed, but he controlled his temper and made one final appeal.

"Matt," he said plaintively, "you infernal young cut-up, quit kidding the old man! Don't tell me that a Peasley, of Thomaston, Maine, would take advantage of certain advent.i.tious circ.u.mstances and the legal loopholes provided by our outrageous maritime laws--"

"To swindle the Blue Star Navigation Company!" Mr. Skinner cut in.

"Swindle is an ugly word, Mr. Skinner. Please do not use it again to describe my legitimate business--and don't ask any sympathy of me. You two are old enough and experienced enough in the shipping game to spin your own tops. You didn't give me any the best of it; you crowded my hand and joggled my elbow, and it would have been the signal for a half holiday in the office if I had gone broke."

"But after all Mr. Ricks has done for you--"

"He always had value received, and I asked no favors of him--and received none."

"But surely, my dear Matt," Skinner purred, for the first time calling his ancient enemy by his Christian name--"surely you're jesting with us."

"Skinner, old horse, I was never more serious in my life. Mr. Alden P.

Ricks is my ideal of a perfect business man; and just before I left for Panama he informed me--rather coldly, I thought--that he never mixed sentiment with business. Moreover, he advised me not to do it either.

To surrender to him now would mean the fracturing, for the first time in history, of a slogan that has been in the Peasley tribe for generations."

"What's that?" Cappy queried with shaking voice.

"Pay your way and take your beating like a sport, sir," Matt shot at him. He drew out his watch. "Well," he continued, "I guess the United States Marshal is in charge of the Tillic.u.m by this time; so get busy with the bond and have him removed from the ship. The minute one of those birds lights on my deck I just go crazy!"

"Yes, you do!" screamed Cappy Ricks, completely losing his self-control.

"You go crazy--like a fox!"

And then Cappy Ricks did something he had never done before. He swore, with a depth of feeling and a range of language to be equalled only by a lumberjack. Matt Peasley waited until he subsided for lack of new invective and then said reproachfully:

"I can't stand this any longer, Mr. Ricks. I'll have to go now. Back home I belonged to the Congregational Church--"

"Out!" yelled Cappy. "Out, you vagabond!"

CHAPTER XLIII. CAPPY PLANS A KNOCK-OUT

The morning following Matt Peasley's triumphant return from Panama with the steamer Tillic.u.m, Cappy Ricks created a mild sensation in his offices by reporting for duty at a quarter past eight. Mr. Skinner was already at his desk, for he was a slave driver who drove himself fully as hard as he did those under him. He glanced up apprehensively as Cappy bustled in.

"Why, what has happened, Mr. Ricks?" he queried.

"I have an idea," said Cappy. "Skinner, my boy, a word with you in private."

Mr. Skinner rose with alacrity, for instinct warned him that he was in for some fast and clever work. Cappy sat in at his desk, and Skinner, drawing up a chair, sat down beside him and waited respectfully for Cappy to begin.

"Skinner," Cappy began impressively, "for many years you and I have been harboring the delusion that we are business men, whereas, if we can stand to hear the truth told about ourselves, we handle a deal with the reckless abandon of a pair of bear cubs juggling hazel nuts."

"I have sufficient self-esteem," Skinner replied stiffly, "not to take that pessimistic view of myself. If you refer to the inglorious rout we suffered yesterday in our skirmish with Captain Matt Peasley, permit me to remind you, in all respect, that you handled that entire deal yourself."

"Bah!" said Cappy witheringly. "Why, you aided and abetted me, Skinner.

You told me my strategy was absolutely flawless."

"I am not the seventh son of a seventh son, sir. I did not see the flaw in your strategy. You lost by one of those strange accidents which must be attributed to the interference of the Almighty in the affairs of men."

"Lost!" Cappy jeered. "Lost! Skinner, you infuriate me. I haven't lost.

Like John Paul Jones, I haven't yet commenced to fight. Skinner, listen to me. When I get through with that Matt Peasley you can take it from me he'll be sore from soul to vermiform appendix."

"If I may be permitted a criticism, sir, I would suggest that you let this matter rest right where it is. Surely you realize the delicate position you are in, quarreling with your future son-in-law--"