Now it does not please any mariner to be told that he is timid, and, while Matt Peasley made no reply, nevertheless, he chalked up a black mark against Mr. Skinner and commenced to plan against the day of reckoning.
That was an unusually severe winter. Four times Matt Peasley came down to the entrance to Humboldt Bar and came to anchor. Three times he tried to cross out and was forced to change his mind; seven times did Mr. Skinner upbraid him. The eighth time that Matt Peasley's caution knocked the San Francisco passenger traffic into a deficit, Mr. Skinner sent him this message where the Quickstep lay behind Coos Bay Bar:
What is the matter with you? Your predecessor always managed to negotiate that bar, and this company expects same of you.
“He's bound to run me out of this ship,” Matt soliloquized when he read that terse aerogram, “but I promised Cappy I'd stick six months and I'll do it. That penny-pinching Skinner wants me to cut corners and get myself into trouble so he can fire me. I'll not tell him the things I want to tell him, so I guess I won't say anything—much.”
He didn't. He just wired Mr. Skinner as follows:
Any time you want to commit suicide I will furnish a pistol.
About the beginning of March Mr. Skinner opened his cold heart long enough to let in a little human love and get married, and shortly thereafter he found it necessary to make a business trip to the redwood mill of the Ricks Lumber and Logging Company on Humboldt Bay. He went up on the regular P. C. passenger boat and took his bride with him, and while he was at the mill Matt Peasley came nosing in with the Quickstep and loaded a cargo of redwood lumber. He finished loading on the same day that Mr. Skinner discovered he had no further excuse for remaining away from the office, in consequence of which the latter decided to return to San Francisco on the Quickstep. This for several very good reasons: The food on the Quickstep was better than the food on the regular liner, the accommodations were fully as good, the vessel was loaded deeply and would ride steadily—and Mr. Skinner and his bride would travel without charge.
The sight of the Skinners coming aboard was not a pleasing one to Matt Peasley. He did not like Mr. Skinner well enough to care to eat at the same table with him, and he bethought him now of all the mean, nagging complaints of the past six months. In particular he recalled Mr. Skinner's instructions to him anent the carrying of dead-head passengers—and suddenly he had a brilliant idea. He sent for his wireless operator and ordered him to send this message:
Blue Star Navigation Company, San Francisco, Cal.
Please accept my resignation as master of your steamer Quickstep, said resignation to take effect immediately upon my arrival in San Francisco. Kindly have somebody on hand to relieve me.