CHAPTER XXVIII
ALAS! Man proposes, but God disposes. Cappy had smoked his post-prandial cigar next day and was in the midst of his mid-afternoon siesta, when the buzzer on his desk waked him with its insistent buzzing. He reached for the telephone.
“My dear,” he reproved his private exchange operator, “how often have I told you not to disturb me between two and three o'clock?”
“I knew you wouldn't mind being disturbed this afternoon, Mr. Ricks. Your old friend Mr. Gurney, of New York, is calling.”
“Old Joe Gurney? By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet! Show him in.” Cappy was at the door to meet his visitor when the latter entered. Mr Joseph Gurney, senior partner of the firm of Gurney & Harlan, was, like Cappy Ricks, a shiping man and a Down-Easter. He and Cappy Ricks had been a boyhood friends in Thomaston, Main, and Gurney & Harlan were the agents and controlling owners of the Red Funnel line plying between New York and ports on the West Coast.
“Well, Joe, you doddering old pirate?” cried Cappy Ricks affectionately. “Come in and rest your hands and feet. I'm tremendously glad to see you. When did you drift into down?”
He shook hands with Gurney and steered him toward a chair.
“Ten minutes ago, Alden, my boy. Delighted to see you again, and particularly pleased to see how carelessly you carry your years. I'm three months younger than you—and I feel like the last rose of summer.”