You are right. I will be relieved when I get good and ready,
and I will not be ready until I get back from Antofagasta.
Shipped crew yesterday afternoon. All arrived drunk. Next
morning all hands sober. Realizing predicament, riot resulted.
Fearing lose crew, Murphy and I manhandled and locked in
fo'castle. When your telegram arrived it found Murphy minus
front tooth, myself black eye. Can stand injury, but not
insult. Hence you are stuck with us for another voyage,
whether you want us or not. Will have towed out by time you
receive this. Go to Halifax!
Peasley.
Mr. Skinner's face was cold and austere as he handed this telegram back to Cappy.
“So you made peace with honor, eh?” he sneered.
“Peace your grandmother!” Cappy chirped. “This war goes on until I get a letter from the man Peasley. Skinner, he and Murphy think they've done something wonderfully brilliant. When I wired him he would be relieved when I got good and ready it did him an awful lot of good to throw the words back in my face. Sure, Skinner! They think they're giving Cappy Ricks the merry ha-ha!”
“Well, of course, sir,”' said Mr. Skinner, “if this sort of horseplay is your fun—if it's your notion of business—I have no comment. You own fifteen-sixteenths of the Retriever, and you can afford to pay for your fancies; but if it was the last act of my life I'd fire that man Peasley in Callao and let him get home as best he could.”
“Yes; I know,” Cappy replied bitterly. “You fired him in Cape Town once—and how did he come home? He came home in the cabin of the Retriever—that's how he came home; and the Terrible Swede I sent to thrash him and fire him came home under hatches. Yes; you'd do a lot of things, Skinner—in your mind.”
Mr. Skinner pounded his desk savagely. Cappy's retort made him boiling mad.
“Well, I'll bet I'd do something,” he rasped. “I'd make that bucko suffer or I'd know the reason why.”
“Skinner, that's just what we're going to do—just what we're doing, in fact. One of my ancestors sailed with the late John Paul Jones and ever since the Ricks' family motto has been: 'I have not yet begun to fight.' Now listen to reason, Skinner. The Retriever just came off dry-dock, didn't she? Well, it stands to reason she was dirty after that last cargo of creosoted piling; and it stands to reason, also, that the man Peasley slicked her up with white paint until she looked like an Easter bride. A Scandinavian doesn't give a hoot if his vessel is tight, well found and ready for sea; but a Yankee takes a tremendous pride in his ship and likes to keep her looking like a yacht. And just think, Skinner, how the man Peasley must have felt when he came off dry dock, all clean and nice, and then had to slop her up with another cargo of creosoted piling? Just think of that, Skinner!” and again he commenced his insane cackle.
“I have other, and more important things to think about,” Mr. Skinner retorted icily. As a business man he was opposed to levity in the office. “What are your plans with reference to the Retriever? Do you wish to bring her back from Antofagasta in ballast?”