CHAPTER XLIX
MONSIEUR LE CAPITAINE RICKS
Cappy Ricks entered his office at the unheard-of hour of eight-thirty. On his way to his sanctum at the end of the long suite of offices Cappy paused in the lair of Mr. Skinner, who looked up, amazed.
“Hello!” he saluted the president emeritus. “What brings you down on the job so early this morning, Mr. Ricks?”
“I've got a hen on,” Cappy replied briskly. He glanced at Skinner and rubbed his hands together. “Skinner, my dear boy,” he continued, “this is a one-horse concern.”
“Three sawmills with a combined output of a million feet a day on a ten-hour shift—not to mention a billion feet of stumpage—isn't my idea of a one-horse concern,” Mr. Skinner retorted with some asperity.
“Tut, tut, Skinner! I'm not referring to the lumber end at all; so don't get touchy. I'm referring to the Blue Star Navigation Company. It's a dinky proposition.
“Forty-two vessels—windjammers, steam schooners and foreign-going freighters—” began Mr. Skinner; but Cappy cut him short: