“You feel that would about fill the bill, eh, Skinner?”
“Well, next Christmas I think we ought to give them each a month's salary.”
“Hum! You do?”
“Yes, sir. I think that would be a very delicate thing to do.”
Cappy sighed. Poor Skinner! Victim of the saving habit! Decent devil—didn't mean to be small, but just couldn't help it. A bush-leaguer—Skinner. Never meant for big company—
“In addition—” Skinner began.
“Yes, Skinner, my boy. Go on, go on, old horse. Now then, in addition—”
“It seems like the wildest extravagance, Mr. Ricks, but those men have fought for their ship and I—remember, Mr. Ricks, this is only a suggestion—I think it would be a very—er—tactful thing to do to—er—”
“It'll choke him before he gets it out,” Cappy soliloquized. Aloud he said: “Go on, Skinner, my dear boy. Don't be afraid.”
“At a time like this, when freights are so good and vessel property pays so well, it seems to me—that is, if you and Matt have no objection—that we ought to give Mike and Terence a—er—a little piece of the Narcissus—the ship—er—they love—say—er—a—ten-thousand-dollar interest—each—”