“I see no way out of it now except to send another captain to Tacoma.”
“Skinner,” he declared, “you're absolutely no use to me in an emergency. When I made you my general manager, on a bank president's salary, I thought I'd be able to take it easy for the rest of my life.” He wagged his head sadly. “And what's the result? I work harder than ever. Skinner, if I hadn't any more imagination than you possess I'd be out there on the corner of California and Market Streets peddling lead pencils this minute. Leave this problem to me, Skinner. I suppose I'll find a way out of it, with entire honor to all concerned. Holy sailor!” he added. “But that man Murphy is loyal—and loyalty is a pretty scarce commodity these days, let me tell you!”
CHAPTER XVII. CAPPY FORCES AN ARMISTICE
During the week that succeeded, Cappy Ricks did not once mention the subject of the Retriever and her recalcitrant skipper and mate; and Mr. Skinner argued from this that all was well. Finally one day Cappy came into the office and paused beside the general manager's desk. He was grinning like a boy.
“Well, Skinner,” he piped. “I've just come from the Merchants' Exchange and I see by the blackboard that our Retriever cleared for Antofagasta yesterday.”
“Indeed!” Mr. Skinner replied politely. “So you found a captain for her. Whom did you send?”
“Nobody,” the old man cackled. “Matt Peasley took her out, and the manager of the Rainier mill wires me that Murphy went with him as chief kicker. What do you think of that?”
“Why, I'm—er—satisfied if you are, sir.”
“Well, you can bet I'm satisfied. If I wasn't I'd have a revenue cutter out after the man Peasley and his mate right now. By golly, Skinner,” he piped, and slapped his wizened flank, “I tell you I've worked this deal pretty slick, if I do say it myself. And all on dead reckoning—dead reckoning, and not a single day of demurrage!”