“But—but—about this Narcissus?” Cappy sputtered.
“Just before I left for home I chartered her at fourteen hundred dollars a day—forty-two thousand dollars a month—on the Government form of charter.”
“Impossible!” Cappy shrieked, losing all control of himself. “Dog-gone you, Matt Peasley, don't tell me such stories. You're driving me crazy!”
“It will cost me nine thousand a month to run her—and she doesn't even go near the war zone. I'm going to run her to South American ports.”
“How long?”
Matt Peasley smiled. “How long?” he echoed. “Why, she's only chartered for one trip just now. You don't suppose I'd charter her for several voyages or for a year, on a freight market that's growing over-night?”
“And those fifteen vessels you chartered. You rechartered them. For what period?”
“Three months, with privilege of renewal at the going rates.”
“Matt,” Cappy murmured, “you're great. Damn me, sir, I could kiss you.”
Matt grinned at this earnest commendation.