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 Tillicum, 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.”