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Updated: May 3, 2025
The authorities promptly wired north to send a United States marshal down to Grays Harbor to arrest the culprit; and the following afternoon, when Cappy Ricks got back to his office after luncheon and picked up the paper, the very first thing his glance rested on was the headline: MATE CHARGED WITH MUTINY!
"Oh, Matt, my boy, why do you want to be a tugboat man when I need a man with your brains? Why don't you be sensible and listen to reason?" Matt held the old man off at arm's length and grinned at him affectionately. "It's worth twenty thousand dollars to get the better of you, sir," he said. Cappy sat down very suddenly. "Ah, yes," he said.
Reardon's knowledge and consent, but when he asked Mr. Schultz about it the latter replied that Cappy Ricks must have changed his mind about installing wireless on the Narcissus, for he had cabled to the agents of the charterers in Pernambuco to have a wireless plant and a competent operator waiting for the vessel upon arrival. It was Mr.
He's in the Harbor Receivin' Hospital this minute, an' I'm here to tell ye, sor, wit' all respect, that if ye don't like the way I've treated that Dutchman ye can get yerself a new port ingineer, for I'll quit, an' that's somethin' I'm not wishful to do." Quite calmly Cappy Ricks pressed the buzzer on his desk. The cashier of the Blue Star Navigation Company entered.
I'm a wicked, foolish, bone-headed old man; but Lord, I do thank Thee I do, indeed!" Half an hour later Cappy Ricks and Mr. Skinner, in a fast motorboat, came flying up the bay and caught sight of the Retriever loafing lazily past Fort Mason.
Then we'll build a couple of real steamers." So Matt Peasley promptly sold five steam schooners, following which he made up his mind that the world still had two years of war ahead of it. Accordingly he urged the letting of contracts for two seven-thousand-five-hundred-ton steel freighters immediately. "Nothing doing!" Cappy declared.
Reardon replied in a deep Kerry brogue, and extended a grimy paw upon the finger of which Mike Murphy observed a gold ring that proclaimed Mr. Terence Reardon an Irishman, presumably a Catholic one who had risen to the third degree in Freemasonry. Cappy Ricks saw that ring also, and started visibly.
"He's framing the examination for Andrews," Matt Peasley whispered, as he and Skinner made their exits. The President emeritus of the Ricks' interests was not destined to uninterrupted cogitation, however. Within ten minutes his private exchange operator called him to the telephone. "What is it?" Cappy yelled into the transmitter. "There is a young man in the general office. His name is Mr.
"Ever read Kipling's Barrack Room Ballads, Skinner?" "I have no time to read," Mr. Skinner protested. "Go up town this minute and buy a copy and read one ballad entitled 'Tommy," Cappy barked. "For the good of your immortal soul," he added. "Well, Comrade Peck doesn't make a hit with me, Mr. Ricks. He applied to me for a job and I gave him his answer.
There were thirty-odd vessels in the Blue Star fleet windjammers and steam schooners; and Cappy was registered as managing owner of every one. Following that point in his career when the young fellows on the Street, discovering that he was a true-blue sport, had commenced to fraternize with him and call him Cappy, the old gentleman ceased to devote his attention to the details of his business.
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