“Cappy,” he pleaded, “don't say that. You wrong me cruelly. It is in my power to stand idly by and let you assimilate a poke right now; but, just to show you I haven't any hard feelings, I'll do something nice for you instead.”
“What do you mean—nice?”
“I'll save you money—not only today but for years to come; and I'll save your self-respect.”
“Shoot!”
“Call up J. O. Heyfuss & Co. and tell them to take their cargo of zinc ore in bulk for your schooner Mindoro and go to the devil with it!”
“But, good gracious, boy, I have to get something for her homeward trip!”
“In this case nothing is better than something. Do you know anything about zinc ore?”
“Yes; as much as an Eskimo knows about the doctrine of transubstantiation.”
“I thought so. Well, I'll enlighten you. Zinc ore is blamed near as heavy as lead, and it's as fine as cement. Load it in a ship in bulk and, what with the pitching and rolling of a vessel on a long voyage, she opens up every seam and crack in her interior; then this powdered ore sifts into the skin of the ship and down into her bilge, and you'll never be able to get it out without tearing the ship apart. Why, after a vessel has freighted a cargo of zinc ore there may be as much as fifty tons left in her after she's supposed to be discharged; and, of course, thereafter she'll carry that much less cargo than she did before. Besides, the consignees are liable to send you a bill for the shortage; you can gamble your head they'll deduct it from the freight bill.”
“Holy sailor!” Cappy was appalled.