Part 18 (1/2)

”Right after the San Francisco fire, when fir lumber jumped from a twelve-dollar base to twenty-five, lumber freights soared accordingly,”

Hayes explained. ”Vessels that had been making a little money at four dollars a thousand feet, from Oregon and Was.h.i.+ngton ports to San Francisco, were enabled to get ten dollars; and anything that would float was hauled out of the bone yard and put to work. Old Man Ricks, of the Blue Star Navigation Company, was the first to see the handwriting on the wall; so he sneaked East and bought the Lion and the Unicorn.

It was just the old cuss's luck to have a lot of cash on hand; and he bought them cheap, loaded them with general cargo in New York, and paid a nice dividend on them on their very first voyage under the Blue Star flag. When he got them on the Coast he put them into the lumber trade and they paid for themselves within a year.

”Then, just before the panic of 1907, old Ricks unloaded the Unicorn on the Black b.u.t.te Company for ten thousand dollars more than he paid for her--the old scamp! He's the shrewdest trader on the whole Pacific Coast. He had no sooner sawed the Unicorn off on the Black b.u.t.te people than the freight market collapsed in the general crash, and ever since then the owners of the Lion and the Unicorn have been stuck with their vessels. They're so big it's next to impossible to keep them running coastwise in the lumber trade during a dull period, and they're not big enough for the foreign trade. About the only thing they could do profitably was to freight coal, coal freights have dropped until the margin of profit is very meager; compet.i.tion is keen and for the last six months the Lion and the Unicorn have been laid up.”

Matt Peasley smiled.

”They'll be hungry for the business,” he said, ”and I'm sailor enough to see you'll be able to drive a bargain without much trouble.”

”I ought to get them pretty cheap,” Mr. Hayes admitted. ”As you perhaps know, a vessel deteriorates faster when laid up than she does in active service; and an owner will do almost anything to keep her at sea, provided he can make a modest rate of interest on her cost price or present market value.”

”Naturally,” Matt Peasley observed as they rose from the table.

He purchased a cigar for Mr. Hayes, and as they retired to the buffet car to continue their acquaintance something whispered to Matt not to divulge to this somewhat garrulous stranger the news that he was a sea captain lately in the employ of the Blue Star Navigation Company and soon to enter that employ again. He had learned enough to realize that Cappy's bank roll was threatened by this man from Seattle; that with his defenses leveled, as it were, the old gentleman would prove an easy victim unless warned of the impending attack.

Therefore, since Matt had not sought Mr. Hayes' confidence nor accepted it under a pledge of secrecy, he decided that there could be nothing unethical in taking advantage of it. Plainly the broker had jumped to the conclusion that Matt was a common sailor--above the average in point of intelligence, but so young and unsophisticated that one need not bother to be reserved or cautious in his presence. Some vague understanding of this had come to Matt Peasley; hence throughout the remainder of the journey his conversations with the broker bore on every other subject under heaven except s.h.i.+ps and s.h.i.+powners.

CHAPTER XXII. FACE TO FACE

In his private office Cappy Ricks sat on his spine, with his old legs on his desk and his head sunk forward on his breast. His eyes were closed; to the casual observer he would have appeared to be dozing. Any one of his employees, however, would have known Cappy was merely thinking. It was his habit to close his eyes and sit very still whenever he faced a tussle with a tough proposition.

Presently an unmistakably feminine kiss, surrept.i.tiously delivered, roused Cappy from his meditations. He opened his eyes and beheld his daughter Florence, a radiant debutante of twenty, and the sole prop of her eccentric parent's declining years.

”Daddy dear,” she announced, ”there's something wrong with my bank account. I've just come from the Marine National Bank and they wouldn't cash my check.”

”Of course not,” Cappy replied, beaming affectionately. ”They telephoned about five minutes ago that you're into the red again; so I've instructed Skinner to deposit five thousand to your credit.”

”Oh, but I want ten thousand!” she protested.

”Can't have it, Florry!” he declared. ”The old limousine will have to do. Go slow, my dear--go slow! Why, they're offering random cargoes freely along the street for nine dollars. Logs cost six dollars, with a dollar and a half to manufacture--that's seven and a half; and three and a half water freight added--that's eleven dollars. Eleven-dollar lumber selling for nine dollars, and no business at that! I haven't had a vessel dividend in six months--”

Mr. Skinner entered.

”Mr. Ricks,” he announced, ”Captain Peasley, late of the Retriever, is in the outer office. Shall I tell him to wait?”

”No. Haven't we been itching to see each other the past eighteen months?

Show him in immediately, Skinner.” Cappy turned to his daughter. ”I want to show you something my dear,” he said; ”something you're not likely to meet very often in your set--and that's a he-man. Do you remember hearing me tell the story of the mate that thrashed the big Swede skipper I sent to Cape Town to thrash him and bring the vessel home?”

”Do you mean the captain that never writes letters?”

”That's the man. The fellow I've been having so much fun with--the Nervy Matt that tried to hornswoggle me with my own photograph. Pa.s.sed it off as his own, Florry! He hails from my old home town, and he's a mere boy--Come in!”

The door opened to admit Matt Peasley; and as he paused just inside the entrance, slightly embarra.s.sed at finding himself under the cool scrutiny of the trimmest, most das.h.i.+ng little craft he had ever seen, Miss Florry decided that her father was right. Here, indeed, was a specimen of the genus h.o.m.o she had not hitherto seen. Six feet three he was, straight from shoulder to hip, broad-chested and singularly well formed and graceful for such a big man.

He wore stout shoes, without toe caps--rather old-fas.h.i.+oned footgear, Florry thought; but they were polished brightly. A tailor-made, double-breasted blue serge suit, close-hauled and demoded; a soft white silk s.h.i.+rt, with non-detachable collar; a plain black silk four-in-hand tie, and a uniform cap, set a little back and to one side on thick, black, glossy, wavy hair, completed his attire. He had his right hand in his trousers pocket; his left was on the doork.n.o.b. He glanced from her to her father.

”He's handsome,” thought Florry. ”What a beautiful tan on his throat! He looks anything but the brute he is. But he hasn't any manners. Oh, dear!