“Many thanks. The second mate and the cook quit the minute
they discovered it was to be another cargo of creosoted piling;
and now that I am fired Mr. Murphy has concluded that he might
as well quit also. Will stick by ship, however, until you send
my successor; meantime loading continues as usual.”
“Well, that's what the man Peasley says!” Cappy snapped. “Murphy's quit, eh? Well, I guess Mr. Murphy hadn't received my telegram when Peasley sent this message. It'll take more than a cargo of creosoted piling to keep Murphy out of the master's cabin when he hears from me.”
The stenographer entered with another telegram.
“Ah!” Cappy remarked, and rubbed his hands together in pleased anticipation. “I dare say this is from Mr. Murphy.”
It was; and this is what the loyal Murphy had to say:
“I thank you for the consideration. Very sweet of you; but I
wouldn't work for you again on a bet. You couldn't hand me a
ripe peach! Master or mate, creosote tastes the same to me.
At Captain Peasley's request am staying by vessel until new
master arrives and hires new mate. Would have stuck by vessel
for Old Man's sake if you'd slipped us cargo of uncrated
rattlesnakes; but since I encouraged him to tell you things for
good of your soul and you fired him for it I must decline to
profit by his misfortune.”
Silently Cappy Ricks folded that telegram and laid it on his desk; his head sagged forward on his breast and he fell to meditating deeply. Finally he looked up and eyed Mr. Skinner over the rims of his spectacles.
“Skinner,” he said solemnly, “do you realize, my boy, that we have two extremely remarkable men on the barkentine Retriever?”
“They are certainly most remarkably deficient in respect to their superiors, though in all probability exceedingly capable seamen,” Mr. Skinner answered sympathetically, for he had great veneration for the creator of the pay roll.
“I know,” Cappy replied sadly; “but then, you know, Skinner, the good Lord must certainly hate a bootlicker! Skinner, I simply cannot afford to lose those two damned scoundrels in the Retriever. They're good men! And a good man who knows he's good will not take any slack from man or devil; so I cannot afford to lose those two. Skinner, I've got myself into an awful mess. Here I've been running by dead reckoning and now I'm on the rocks! What'll I do, Skinner? I'm licked; but, dang it all, sir, I can't admit it, can I? Isn't there some way to referee this scrap and call it a draw?”