“Well, well, boy; sit down, sit down,” Cappy commanded briskly, “while I tell you the plans I have for your future. I ought to have fired you long ago—”
“I shall always be happy to testify that you tried hard enough,” Matt interrupted, and Florry's silvery laugh filled the room. Cappy winced, but had to join with her in the laugh on himself.
“For the sake of your Uncle Ethan, and the fact that you're one of our own boys, Matt,” he continued, “I'll retain you if you behave yourself. As I believe I wired you, I'm going to put you in steam.”
“You didn't consult me about it, sir; but, to please you, I'll tackle steam. I'm very grateful for your interest in me, Mr. Ricks.”
“Huh! That's not true, Matt. You're not grateful; and if you are you have no business to be. I paid you a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month to skipper the Retriever; you earned every cent of it and I made you fight for the job; so, no thanks to me. And I know for a fact that you and Mr. Murphy cursed me up hill and down dale—”
“Oh, Captain Peasley!” Miss Ricks interrupted. “Did you curse my father?”
“She's trying to fluster me,” Matt thought. “She thinks I'm a farmer.” Aloud he said: “Well, you see, Miss Ricks, I had to work for him. However, Mr. Murphy and I have forgiven him. We're both willing to let bygones be bygones.”
“Young scoundrel!” piped Cappy, delighted beyond measure, for he was used to unimaginative, rather dull skippers, who revered their berths and stood before him, hat in hand, plainly uncomfortable in the presence of the creator of the payroll. “Dashed young scoundrel! Well, we had some fun anyhow, didn't we, Matt? And, as the young fellows say, I got your Capricorn. Very well, then. We'll make a new start, Matthew; and if you pay attention to business it's barely possible you may amount to something yet.
“I'm going to provide a berth for you, my boy, as second mate on the dirtiest, leakiest little bumboat you ever saw—our steam schooner Gualala. She's a nautical disgrace and carries three hundred thousand feet of lumber—runs into the dogholes on the Mendocino Coast and takes in cargo on a trolley running from the top of the cliff to the masthead. It'll be your job to get out in a small boat to pick up the moorings; and that'll be no picnic in the wintertime, because you lie just outside the edge of the breakers. But you'll learn how to pick up moorings, Matt, and you'll learn how to turn a steamer round on her heels also.”
“I never did that kind of work before,” Matt protested. “I stand a good chance of getting drowned, don't I?”