“Why, you don't mind, do you, my boy? It's all for your own good.”
“I can bear it, sir, because one of these bright days I'm going to do something without consulting you.”
Cappy favored him with a sharp glance. “As the street boys say,” he flashed back, “'I get you, Steve!'”
“And having gotten me, Mr. Ricks, do you still want me in your employ?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly. Any time I want to get rid of you I'll fire you or have Skinner do it for me.”
Matt looked at his watch and rose. “I have four days' shore leave before me, sir,” he said, “so I guess I'll be trotting along and make the most of it. I'll be at Los Medanos Sunday night.”
“Her skipper's a big Finn,” Cappy warned him. “Behave yourself, Matt. He's bad medicine for young second mates.”
“I'll do my duty, sir.”
He took his leave. As he went out the door Cappy gazed after him with twinkling eyes: “Young scoundrel!” he murmured. “Damned young scoundrel! You'll be ringing Florry up the minute you leave this office, if you haven't already done it. I'm onto you, young fellow!”
Matt Peasley took Florry Ricks to a matinee that very day. Cappy, suspecting he might attempt something of the sort and desiring to verify his suspicions, went home from the office early that day, and from his hiding place behind the window drapes in his drawing room he observed a taxicab draw up in front of his residence at six o'clock. From this vehicle Matt Peasley, astonishingly well tailored, alighted, handed out the heir to the Ricks millions, said good-by lingeringly and drove away.