“Do you want to save the Blue Star Navigation Company some money?” Matt managed to articulate.
“Certainly! Now you're talking business; so I'll listen.”
“As charterer of your steamer Tillicum, I find that Captain Grant, the master you installed there, is offensive to me. I object to the way he parts his hair and knots his necktie, and I want a new skipper on the ship.”
Cappy Ricks slid out to the edge of his swivel chair, placed a hand on each knee and eyed Matt suspiciously over the rims of his spectacles. After a long silence he shook his head negatively.
“Then I'll sue you!” Matt replied. “There's a clause in the charter party. You've got to do it.”
Cappy's mouth flew open.
“Oh, by Judas Priest, that's right,” he said, and laughed. “So you're providing a job for yourself after the smoke clears away, eh?” he quizzed. “Well, you can skipper the Tillicum while you keep up the payments of the charter money, Matt; but I give you my word that the day you slip up on a payment, out you go and back Captain Grant goes into the ship. Meantime, however, I think I see now why you inserted that clause. In the event of just such a contingency as the present you wanted the privilege of jumping in and taking command yourself.”
Matt nodded.
“Captain Grant is a good man, but old. He can't drive a crew like I can, Mr. Ricks—and, with me on the job, that steamer will be discharged and back in San Francisco Bay from three to five days sooner that she would ordinarily. It means six hundred dollars a day to me, sir, and every day saved is worth that much cash in hand to you, since you profess to think so lightly of my promissory note.”
“Enough!” Cappy commanded. “I'll admit that the thought does you credit. It was a mighty bright idea, Matt, and showed fine forethought. Now, then, what are you going to do to save your roll?”