“I'll wear the other side out,” Cappy finished for him. “Listen to me, Skinner! How's the shingle market in the Southwest?”
“The market is steady at three dollars and fifty cents, f.o.b. Missouri River common points.”
Cappy scratched his ear and cogitated.
“The Unicorn will carry eighteen million shingles,” he murmured. “The going water freight from Grays Harbor to San Francisco is how much?”
“Thirty-five cents a thousand,” Mr. Skinner replied promptly.
“Therefore, if we used one of our own vessels to freight eighteen million shingles it would cost us—”
“Six thousand three hundred dollars,” prompted Mr. Skinner.
“Fortunately for us, however, we do not use one of our own vessels. We use that fellow Hudner's and we get her for three hundred and twenty-five dollars a day. She can sail from here to Grays Harbor, take on her cargo, get back to San Francisco and discharge it in twelve days. What's twelve times three hundred and twenty-five?”
“Thirty-nine hundred dollars,” flashed Skinner, to the tremendous admiration of Matt Peasley, who now considered the manager an intellectual marvel.
“Being a saving of how much?” Cappy droned on.