“Florry,” he said gently, “I want to tell you something.”
“Fire away, Pop!” she challenged.
“It's about that fellow Peasley,” Cappy replied coldly. “I wish you wouldn't have that big, awkward dub calling at the house, Florry. He'll fall over the furniture the first thing you know, and do some damage. I think a lot of him as a sailor, but that's about as far as my affection extends; and if you insist on having him call at the house, my dear, my authority over him as an employee will suffer and I'll be forced to fire the fellow. Of course I realize what a pleasant boy he is; but then you don't know sailors like I do. They're a low lot at heart, Florry, and this fellow Peasley is no exception to the general rule.”
Cappy paused to test the effect of this broadside. There was a little gasp from the other end of the wire; then a click as his daughter hung up, too outraged to reply.
Cappy's kindly eyes twinkled merrily as he replaced the receiver on the hook.
“What a skookum son-in-law to take up the business when I let go!” he murmured happily. “Oh, Matt, I'm so blamed sorry for you; but it's just got to be done. If you're going to build up the Blue Star Navigation Company after the Panama Canal is opened for business, you've got to know shipping; and to know it from center to circumference. It isn't sufficient that you be master of sail and steam, any ocean, any tonnage. You've got to learn the business from the rules as promulgated by little old Alden P. Ricks, the slave driver. There's hope for you, sonny. You have already learned to obey.”
Mr. Skinner bustled in with the mail.
“Skinner,” said Cappy plaintively, “what's the best way to drive obstinate people south?”
“Head them north,” said Mr. Skinner.
“I'm doing it,” said Cappy dreamily.