Cappy Ricks Part 25

"Her skipper's a big Finn," Cappy warned him. "Behave yourself, Matt.

He's bad medicine for young second mates."

"I'll do my duty, sir."

He took his leave. As he went out the door Cappy gazed after him with twinkling eyes: "Young scoundrel!" he murmured. "d.a.m.ned young scoundrel!

You'll be ringing Florry up the minute you leave this office, if you haven't already done it. I'm onto you, young fellow!"

Matt Peasley took Florry Ricks to a matinee that very day. Cappy, suspecting he might attempt something of the sort and desiring to verify his suspicions, went home from the office early that day, and from his hiding place behind the window drapes in his drawing room he observed a taxicab draw up in front of his residence at six o'clock. From this vehicle Matt Peasley, astonis.h.i.+ngly well tailored, alighted, handed out the heir to the Ricks millions, said good-by lingeringly and drove away.

"Well," Cappy soliloquized, "I guess I'm going to land the son-in-law I'm after. The matinee is over at a quarter of five, and those two have fooled away an hour. I'll bet a dollar Florry steered that sailor into a tea fight somewhere, and if she did that, Matt, you're a tip-top risk and I'll underwrite you."

That same evening Cappy sneaked into his daughter's apartments and found a photograph of Matt Peasley in a hammered silver frame on Florry's dressing table.

"Holy sailor!" he chuckled. "They think they're putting one over on the old gentleman, don't they? Trying to cover me with blood, eh? Huh! If I'd let that fellow Matt stay ash.o.r.e he'd have hung round Florry until he wore out his welcome, and I suppose in the long run I'd have had to put up with one of these lawn-tennis, tea-swilling young fellows too proud to work. By Judas Priest, when I quit the street I want to give my proxy to a lad that will make my compet.i.tors mind their step, and by keeping Matt at sea a couple of years, I'll get him over the moon-calf period. Deliver my girl and my business from the hands of a d.a.m.ned fool!"

The following evening Cappy questioned his daughter's chauffeur--a chauffeur, by the way, being a luxury which Cappy scorned for himself.

He maintained a coachman and a carriage and a spanking team of bays, and drove to his office like the old-fas.h.i.+oned gentleman he was. From this chauffeur Cappy learned that he, the chauffeur, had been out all the afternoon with Miss Florence and a large, light-hearted young gentleman.

They had lunched together at the Cliff House.

"What did she call him?" Cappy demanded, anxious to verify his suspicions. "Didn't she address him as 'Matt?'"

"No, sir," the man replied, grinning. "She called him 'dearie.'"

"Holy jumped-up Jehosophat!" murmured Cappy, and questioned the man no further. That evening, however, he decided to have a heart--particularly after Florry had informed him that she was going out to dinner the following night.

"And you'll be all alone, popsy-wops," she added, "so you had better eat dinner at the club."

"Oh, I'm tired of my clubs," Cappy replied sadly. "Still your remark gives me an idea, Florry. If I happen to run across that young fellow Peasley--you remember him, Florry; the boy I'm training for a steams.h.i.+p captain--I'll have him out for dinner with me so I'll not have to eat alone."

"I thought you didn't care for him socially," Florry put forth a feeler.

"Well, he used to remind me considerably of a St. Bernard pup, but I notice he's losing a lot of that fresh, puppy-dog way he used to have.

And then he's a Down-East boy. His Uncle Ethan Peasley and I were pals together fifty years ago, and for Ethan's sake I feel that I ought to show the boy some consideration. He's learning to hold himself together pretty well, and if I should run into him to-morrow I'll ask him out."

Florry exhibited not the slightest interest in her father's plans, but he noticed that immediately after dinner she hurried up to her room, and that upon her return she declined a game of pool with her father on the score of not feeling very well.

"You skipped upstairs like a sick woman," Cappy reflected. "I'll bet a hat you telephoned that son of a sea cook to be sure and throw himself in my way to-morrow, so I'll invite him out to dinner. And you're complaining of a headache now so you'll have a good excuse to cancel that dinner engagement to-morrow night so as to eat at home with your daddy and his guest. Poor old father! He's such a dub! I'll bet myself a four-bit cigar I eat breakfast alone to-morrow morning."

And it was even so. Florry sent down word that she was too indisposed to breakfast with her father, and the old man drove chuckling to his office. That afternoon Matt Peasley, in an endeavor to invade the floor of the Merchants' Exchange, to which he had no right, was apprehended by the doorkeeper and asked to show his credentials.

"Oh, I'm Captain Peasley, of the Blue Star Navigation Company," he replied lightly, and was granted admittance as the courtesy accorded all sea captains. He knew Cappy Ricks always spent an hour on 'Change after luncheon at the Commercial Club. When Cappy met him, however, the old man was mean enough to pay not the slightest attention to Matt; so after waiting round for three-quarters of an hour longer, the latter left the Exchange and walked down California Street, where he posted himself in the shelter of a corner half a block south of No. 258, where the Blue Star Navigation Company had its offices. From this vantage point presently he spied Cappy trotting home from the Merchants' Exchange; whereupon Matt strolled leisurely up the street and met him. And in order that Cappy should realize whom he was meeting Matt b.u.mped into the schemer and then begged his pardon profusely.

"Don't mention it, Matt," the old rascal protested. "You shook up a flock of ideas in my head and jarred one loose. If you haven't anything on to-night, my boy, better come out to the house and have dinner with me. I'm all alone and I want company."

"Thank you, sir," Matt replied enthusiastically; "I'll be glad to come."

"You bet you will," Cappy thought. Aloud he said: "At six-thirty."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." And Matt Peasley was off like a tin-canned dog to slick himself up for the party, while Cappy entered the elevator chuckling. "If I ever find the sour-souled philosopher who said you can't mix business and sentiment without resultant chaos," he soliloquized, "I'll boil the kill-joy in oil."

CHAPTER XXIX. NATURE TAKES HER COURSE

The big steam schooner Quickstep was lying at the Los Medanos dock when Matt Peasley reported for duty. The captain was not aboard, but the first mate received him kindly and explained that Captain Kjellin had gone down to San Francis...o...b.. train for a little social relaxation and to bring back funds to pay off the longsh.o.r.emen.

Early on Monday morning the crew and a large force of stevedores commenced to discharge the vessel. Two winches were kept busy, the first mate being in charge of the work up forward and Matt superintending that aft. The s.h.i.+ngles were loaded in huge rope cargo nets, s.n.a.t.c.hed out of the s.h.i.+p and swung overside onto flat cars, which were shunted off into the drying yard as soon as loaded.

The captain returned at noon on Tuesday, and at two o'clock the last bundle of s.h.i.+ngles was out of the Quickstep, for the mate had worked overtime Monday night in order that they might finish discharging early enough on Tuesday afternoon to drop down to Oleum and take on fuel oil for the next voyage. This schedule would bring them to the dock at San Francisco about six o'clock, where they would take on stores and pa.s.sengers and sail at seven for Eureka, on Humboldt Bay, where they would arrive Wednesday night. On Thursday they would commence taking on cargo, but since they had to take s.h.i.+ngles from several mills round the bay, they were bound to be delayed waiting for tides to get in and out, and in all probability they would not be loaded and at sea until Sat.u.r.day night, which would give them Sunday at sea--and in the lumber trade on the Pacific Coast the only profitable way to spend Sunday is to spend it at sea. To spend it in port is a day lost, with the crew loafing and drawing full pay for it. The mate explained to Matt that Captain Kjellin would drive them hard to maintain this schedule, for he prized his job as master of the Quickstep, and had a reputation for speed and efficiency with his owners which he was anxious to maintain.

Despite their best efforts, however, the vessel was doomed to fall behind her schedule. At Oleum they found the oil dock lined with vessels taking on fuel, and in consequence were forced to wait two hours for a berth; seeing which the captain went ash.o.r.e and telephoned his owners that he would be unable to get to the dock in San Francisco until about eight o'clock. Consequently, Mr. Skinner, realizing that the pa.s.sengers their agent had booked for the Quickstep, by reason of the cut-rates prevailing on lumber steamers, would not wait on the dock until the Quickstep should arrive, instructed the captain to lay over in San Francisco all night and put to sea at nine o'clock Wednesday morning.

In the meantime he said he would send a clerk down to the dock to notify the waiting pa.s.sengers of the unavoidable change in schedule.

Promptly at eight o'clock Wednesday morning the Quickstep got away from the dock. The minute she was fairly out the Golden Gate, however, she poked her nose into a stiff nor'west gale; and as she was bound north and was empty, this gale, catching her on the port counter, caused her to roll and pitch excessively, and cut her customary speed of ten miles an hour down to five. Every pa.s.senger aboard was soon desperately seasick, and off Point Reyes so violently did the Quickstep pitch that even some members of the crew became nauseated, among them Matt Peasley.

He had never been seasick before and he was ashamed of himself now, notwithstanding the fact that he knew even the hardiest old seadogs are not proof against mal-de-mer under certain extraordinary conditions.

Captain Kjellin, coming up on the bridge during Matt's watch, found the latter doing the most unseamanlike thing imaginable. Caught in a paroxysm at the weather end of the bridge, Matt, in his agony, was patronizing the weather rail! The captain heard him squawk, and ducked to avoid what instinct told him the gale would bring him his way.

"Vat you ban tankin' of?" he roared furiously. "You d.a.m.ned landsman!

Don't you know enough to discharge dot cargo over der lee rail?"

Having disposed of a hearty breakfast, Matt raised his green face and stared sheepishly at the Finn. "You didn't get sprayed, did you, sir?"

he queried breathlessly.

"No, but who der devil ever heard of a seaman gettin' sick to windward--?"

"I know it looks awful, sir," quavered Matt. "I thought something like this might happen, and in order to be prepared for eventualities I hung a fire bucket over the edge of the weather-bridge railing and set another there by the binnacle. The man at the wheel got me started, sir. He asked me if I liked fat pork. Can't you see that if I had made a quick run for the lee rail while the vessel was pitching to leeward the chances are I'd continue right on overboard? As soon as I get my bearings again I'll empty the bucket, sir."

"Der fire buckets ban't for dot purpose."

"All right, sir. I'll buy you a new fire bucket when we get to Eureka,"

Matt answered contritely.

Kjellin stayed on the bridge a few minutes, growling and glaring, but Matt was too ill and dispirited to pay any attention to him, so finally he went below.

The Quickstep bucked the gale all the way to Humboldt Bar, and tied up at the first mill dock at half past one o'clock on Friday. It was two o'clock before the pa.s.sengers and their baggage had been sent ash.o.r.e, but the minute the last trunk went over the rail the loading began.

"We'll work overtime again to-night," the first mate told Matt at luncheon. "The old man will drive us hard to-morrow, and we'll have more overtime Sat.u.r.day night so we can get to sea early Sunday morning."

"I don't care," Matt replied. "I get seventy-five cents an hour for my overtime, and I'm big enough to stand a lot of that. But, believe me, I'll jump lively. The old man's out of sorts on account of the delay due to that head wind."

At three o'clock the captain walked aft, where Matt Peasley was superintending the stowing in the after hold.

"Is dot all you've got to do," he sneered--"settin' roundt mit your hands in your poggeds?"

Matt glared at him. True, his hands were in his pockets at that moment, but he was not setting round. He was watching a slingload of s.h.i.+ngles hovering high over the hatch, and the instant it was lowered he intended to leap upon it, uns.h.i.+p the cargo hook, hang the spare cargo net on it and whistle to the winchman to hoist away for another slingload. He controlled his temper and said:

"I'm doing the best I can, sir. That winchman doesn't have to wait on us a second, sir. We handle them as fast as they swing them in from the mill dock."