Mr. Skinner did not answer.
“Since when?” Cappy repeated.
“Since he administered such a thorough thrashing to the Blue Star Navigation Company,” Mr. Skinner answered, “and did it without prejudice. He swatted us, and we deserved it, but he didn't get angry. Every time he banged us, he'd look at me as much as to say: 'I hate to swat you two, but it's got to be done.' Bang! 'This hurts me more than it does you.' Biff! And then he went out smiling. I used to think he was an—an—interloper, I thought he had designs on the Blue Star Navigation Company and the Ricks Lumber and Logging Company, but he hasn't. He doesn't give a hoot for anything or anybody except for what he can be to them; not for what they can be to him. He's brainy and spunky and, by thunder, I'm for him, and if you're going to hand him a clout when he isn't looking you'll have to do it yourself.”
“Skinner,” said Cappy Ricks impressively. “Look me square in the eye. Do you refuse orders?”
“I do, sir,” Skinner replied, and looked Cappy in the eye so fiercely that the old schemer quailed. “This is an unworthy business, Mr. Ricks. You're trying to teach Matt Peasley some business tricks, and he's taught you a few, so be a sport, sir, and pay for your education.”
“All right,” Cappy replied meekly. “When my own general manager goes back on me, I suppose there's nothing to do but quit. The program appears to be impracticable, so we'll say no more about it.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Ricks,” Skinner answered feelingly, and forthwith repaired to his own office.
Cappy Ricks gazed after him almost affectionately, and as the door closed behind the general manager, Cappy murmured sotto voce:
“Skinner, I've been twenty-five years wondering why the devil I liked you, and now I know. Why, you cold-blooded, efficient, human automaton, you've actually got a heart! Bow! wow! Faithful Fido Skinner was just a-tugging at the chain and dragging the dog house after him in his efforts to eat me up! I hope I go bankrupt if I don't raise his salary!”
He turned to a pigeonhole in his desk and drew forth the charter he had negotiated months before with Matt Peasley for the Tillicum. He read it over carefully, tucked it in his breast pocket and slipped quietly out the door. One hour later a suit against the Pacific Shipping Company was filed in the county clerk's office, and at five minutes after ten a deputy-sheriff appeared at the paying-teller's window in the Marine National Bank and filed a writ of attachment on the funds to their credit.