“We should always be prepared to meet the worst, Mr. Ricks,” Mr. Skinner admonished the president emeritus. “While piracy as a practice practically perished prior to the—”
“Skinner! In the fiend's name, spare us this alliteration and humbug,” Cappy fairly shrieked. “You're driving me crazy. If it isn't platitude, it's your dog-gone habit of initialing things!” He placed his old elbows on his knees and bowed his head in his hands. “If I'm not the original Mr. Tight Wad!” he lamented. “But you must forgive me, Matt. I got in the habit of thinking of expense when I was young, and I've never gotten over it. You know how a habit gets a grip on a man, don't you, Matt? Oh, if you had only overruled me when I decided to save money by cutting out the wireless on the Narcissus! I remember now you wanted it, and I said: 'Well, what's the use? The Narcissus hasn't any passenger license and she doesn't have to have wireless—so why do something we don't have to do?' Skinner, you should have known enough—”
“I am managing the lumber end of the business, Mr. Ricks,” Skinner retorted icily.
“Never mind what you're managing. You're my balance wheel. I've raised you for that very purpose. I've been twenty-five years breaking you in to your job of relieving me of my business worries—and you don't do it. No, you don't, Skinner. Don't deny it, now. You don't. I pay you to boss me, but do you do it? No, sir. You let me have my own way—when I'm round you're afraid to say your soul's your own. You two boys know blamed well I'm an old man and that an old man will make mistakes. It is your duty to watch me. I pay the money, but I don't get the service. When Matt argued with me about the wireless you sided in with me, Skinner. You've got that infernal saving habit, too—drat you! Don't deny it, Skinner. I can see by the look in your eye you're fixing to contradict me. You're as miserable a miser as I am—afraid to spend five cents and play safe—you penurious—er—er—fellow! Skinner, if you ever forget yourself long enough to give three hoots in hell you'll want one of them back. See now what your niggardly policy has done for us? At a time when we'd hock our immortal souls for a wireless to talk to Mike Murphy and tell him things, where are we?” Cappy snapped his fingers. “Up Salt Creek—without a paddle!”
“Come, come,” Matt said soothingly, “As Skinner says, we can only wait and pray—”
“All right. You two do the praying. I'm going to sit here and cuss.”
“Well, we'll hope for the best, Mr. Ricks. No more crying over spilled milk now. I'll figure out when the Narcissus is due at Pernambuco and cable Mike to let his crew go. And you know, sir, even if he should not receive our cablegram, we have still one hope left. True, it is a forlorn one, but it's worth a small bet. The crew of the Narcissus is not all German. There are—”
“Two pro-German Irishmen, two disinterested Native Son Chinamen and a little runt of a Cockney steward,” Cappy sneered. “And she carries a crew of forty, all told. Matt, those odds are too long for any bet of mine. Besides, Reardon and Murphy hate each other. A house divided against itself, you know—”
“They might bang each other all over the main deck,” Matt replied musingly, “but I'll bet they'll fight side by side for the ship. Of course we haven't known Terence Reardon very long; he may be a bad one after all; but Mike Murphy will go far. He's as cunning as a pet fox, and he may make up in strategy what he lacks in numbers.”
“The Irish are so filled with blarney—” Skinner began, but Cappy cut him short with a terrible look.