“Skinner!” Cappy almost shouted.
Mr. Skinner looked at him, startled.
“How can you think and talk of old barkentines and non-insurable foreign cargoes at this crisis in our country's history?” the autocrat of the numerous Ricks corporations shrilled furiously. “Dad burn your picture, Skinner, are you human? Don't you ever get a thrill from reading a document like this?”—and he tapped the envelope containing the press clipping. “What kind of juice runs in your arteries, anyhow? Red blood or buttermilk? Is your soul so dog-goned dead, crushed under the weight of dollars, that you have failed to realize this document is destined to go down in history side by side with Lincoln's Gettysburg speech? I'll bet you don't know the Gettysburg speech. Bet you never heard of it!”
“Oh, nonsense, Mr. Ricks,” Skinner retorted suavely. “Pray do not excite yourself. Suppose war does impend? Is that any reason why I should neglect business?”
“Of course it is, you gibbering jackdaw! I feel like setting fire to the building, just to celebrate. Can't you step into my office on a day like this and discuss the country and her affairs for five minutes, just to prove you're an American citizen? Can't you rejoice with me over these lofty, noble sentiments—”
“Words, words, empty words,” warned Mr. Skinner, always a reactionary Republican.
“Skinner,” said Cappy with deadly calm, “one more disloyal peep out of you and I shall have no alternative save to request your resignation. I think you're a pacifist at heart, anyhow!”
“Huh,” snorted Skinner. “You've changed your tune, haven't you? Who trotted up and down California Street last fall, soliciting campaign contributions for the Republican nominee from the lumber and shipping interests? Wasn't it Alden P. Ricks? Who thought the country was going to wrack and ruin—”
“That was last fall,” Cappy interrupted shrilly. “We live and learn—that is, some of us do,” he added significantly. “Never mind about my politics last fall; just remember I haven't any this spring. I'm an American citizen, and by the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, some German or Germans will find it out before I'm gathered to the bosom of Abraham. I have a right to disapprove of my President if I feel like it, but I'll be shot if I'll let anybody else pick on him.” And Cappy shook his head emphatically several times like a squinch-owl.
“Oh, I'm for him, now that we're committed to this war,” Skinner declared in an effort to soothe the old man.