Cappy Ricks Part 31

Matt Peasley beamed across at his future father-in-law.

"That was well done, sir," he said, "and I wish I had known you were going to do it. I would have saved you the trouble, because, you see, I never intended to go to work for you in this office anyhow."

"The devil you say!" Cappy interrupted. "Well, you just put some reverse English on those intentions of yours, my boy. I know what's good for you."

But Matt Peasley only shook his head.

"I can't do it, sir," he said. "While deeply appreciative of all you want to do for me, the fact is, if I'm going to marry your daughter--and I am--I'm not going to do it on your money and be dependent upon you for a job. I'll be my own man, Mr. Ricks. I never ask odds of any man, and I don't like to work for a relative."

"d.a.m.n your Yankee independence," snapped Cappy angrily. "Why do you oppose me?"

"Because I'll not have anybody saying: 'There goes Matt Peasley. He fell into a good thing. Yes, indeed! Used to be a common A. B. until Alden P.

Ricks' daughter fell in love with him--and of course after that he went right up the line in the Blue Star Navigation Company. He's a lucky stiff.'"

"What do you care what people say? I know what I want."

"I do care what they say, and I care what I feel. I want to fight my own way. I want to make a wad of money and build up a business of my own--"

"You're crazy! Why, here's one ready-made, and it will stand all kinds of building up--"

"Then let Skinner build it. I'll build my own. I do not want anybody to think I married your daughter for your money."

"Matt, you poor, chuckleheaded boy, listen to me. I intend doing for you--"

"And that," roared Matt Peasley, smiting the desk, "is the very reason why I shall not permit you to do anything for me. That's final, Mr.

Ricks. I hope you will realize it's useless to argue with me."

"I ought to by this time," Cappy replied bitterly. "Very well, I've told you my business with you. Suppose you state your business with me."

"I'd like to draw twenty thousand dollars from my credit on the Blue Star books."

"Huh! So you want to dig into that money the recharter of the Unicorn is bringing you, eh, Matt?"

"If you can spare it, Mr. Ricks."

"Of course I can spare it--only I'll not. If you want that money, Matt, sue for it; and since you haven't any doc.u.ments to prove you have it coming to you, I suppose you will agree with me that a suit would be useless expenditure of time, money and energy."

"Then you will not give me the money, sir?" Matt Peasley demanded.

"Not a red," said Cappy calmly. "We've fought this whole matter out before, so why argue?"

"Why, indeed," Matt answered, and reached for his hat. He was fighting mad and desired to go away before he quarreled with Cappy.

"I'll go downstairs to the cigar stand and shake you the dice, one flop, to see whether you go into business for yourself or come to work for me," Cappy pleaded.

Matt came to him and placed his great hands on the old man's shoulders.

"You're the finest man I ever knew, Mr. Ricks," he said, "and you're the meanest man I ever knew, so I'll not shake dice with you. You're too fond of having your own way--"

"Yes, and you're the same, blast you!" Cappy shrilled, losing his temper entirely. "Wait till you're my age. There won't be any standing you at all. Get out!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIV. A GIFT FROM THE G.o.dS

The barkentine Retriever, lumber laden from Astoria to San Francisco, lay under the lee of Point Reyes in a dead calm. It was a beautiful, moonlit night, with the sea as smooth as a fishpond, and Captain Michael J. Murphy, albeit a trifle surprised at his proximity to the California coast--the result of three days and nights of thick fog, which had suddenly lifted--was not particularly worried. At eight o'clock he turned in, after warning the mate to call him in case the Retriever should drift insh.o.r.e.

"Never fear, sir," the mate replied. "We'll have a puff of wind about daylight at the latest, and the current sets north and south here rather than toward the beach."

For two hours after Captain Murphy had retired the Retriever rose and fell gently on the slightest swell, her booms and yards swinging idly amids.h.i.+ps, her sails and cordage slatting listlessly as the vessel rolled.

Suddenly the lookout shouted: "Steamer on the port bow!" and the mate, following the direction indicated, made out the red and green sidelights and the single white light at the short masthead of the approaching vessel.

"Tug," he announced to the man at the wheel. "Good enough! The lookout at Point Reyes reported us, and the owners have sent a tug out to snake us in."

The mate's prognostication was correct in some particulars, for in about half an hour the tug steamed slowly alongside the Retriever and hailed her.

"Barkentine, ahoy!"

"Ahoy! Retriever, of the Blue Star, Astoria for San Francisco."

"Sea Fox, of the Red Stack Line. Is Captain Murphy on deck?"

"No, but I'll send for him," the mate shouted, and forthwith sent a man below to rout out the skipper. When Murphy came on deck and hailed the tug he nearly fainted at the information that came floating across the water.

"Murphy, this is Matt Peasley speaking."

"Not Matt Peasley that used to command this old box--"

"Don't speak disrespectfully of my first command, Mike--"

"And you're only a tug captain--a dirty, thieving, piratical towboat man, holding up every honest skipper that pokes his nose into San Francis...o...b..y. Matt, I'm ashamed of you. How are you anyhow?"

"Fine, Mike. Want a tow?"

"I don't need one; I'll have a bit of breeze before long. I'm independent of you!"

The tug crept in closer. "Don't be foolish, Mike; better let me slip you a line."

"How much will it cost, Matt? None of your highway robbery now. Be easy on the Retriever for old times' sake."

"A thousand dollars," Matt Peasley answered pleasantly, and was rewarded with a volley of oaths from Mike Murphy and his crew.

"You're a thief!" yelled Murphy.

"And you're a fool, Mike. You're not more than two miles off the breakers, you're in a calm that may last two days, and when the tide is at flood you'll set in on the beach as sure as death and taxes--and then I'll have a salvage job that will cost your owners not one thousand but ten."