“As a decoy.”
“I don't understand.”
“We'll put a hand-picked crew aboard her, Mike; we'll arm her fore and aft with six-inch guns, which we can readily get from the navy now that it's the fashion to arm merchantmen; and then go cruising in the submarine zone. You can pick up a few old navy men for a gun crew and train some of the Costa Rica's crew, can't you?”
“If we can get somebody to give me the range and manage to get the gun loaded somehow, I'll do the gun pointing; with half a chance I'll guarantee results.”
“And that is exactly what I plan to give you—half a chance,” Cappy declared enthusiastically. “The Costa Rica isn't worth two hoots in a hollow, but she still looks enough like a steamer to attract submarines; and during this fine summer weather we can chance a final voyage with the old wreck.”
“Where do you get this 'we' stuff, Mr. Ricks?” Mike Murphy queried bluntly. “You're not figuring on going to sea in that coffin, are you?”
“I most certainly am so figuring. I take my fun where I find it, Mike, and if I'm to plan and pay for this experiment—then, by gravy, I'm going to be on deck to watch it work out if it's the last act of my sinful career.”
“But if they fire on us you may be killed.”
“We'll be firm' back at 'em, won't we? And if I'm killed in action, won't that be a fitting finish for a Ricks?”
“We may be afloat in an open boat for a week. I don't want you to die of exposure, sir.”