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Updated: June 3, 2025
Cappy listened to Matt Peasley's announcement; then with a propitiatory "Ahem! Hum! Harump-h-h-h!" he hitched himself forward in his chair and gazed at Matt over the rims of his spectacles. "Tell me, Matt," he demanded presently, "who is this man Reardon? I do not recall such an engineer in our employ and I thought I knew them all." "He is not in our employ, sir.
"Where's the letter that came with this report, Skinner?" Cappy piped. "He didn't enclose one, Mr. Ricks." "Im-possible!" "All of Captain Peasley's communications with this office since he entered our employ have been by wire." "But dad-burn the fellow, Skinner why doesn't he write and tell us something?" "About what?" "Why, about his ship, his voyage any old thing.
By this time they were at the Widow Peasley's, stamping the snow from off their boots. "How general is this sentiment?" Austen asked, after he had set down his bag in the room he was to occupy. "Why," said Mr. Redbrook, with conviction, "there's enough feel as I do to turn that House upside down if we only had a leader. If you was only in there, Austen."
If they won't pay all, strike 'em for half." He hung up without saying good-bye. "Well, that's out of the way," he declared with satisfaction. "Just closed for a cargo of zinc ore from Australia to San Francisco ex our schooner Mindoro. Matt Peasley's been hunting wild-eyed for a cargo for her scouring the market, Gus and nothing doing!
"Why, how be you, Austen?" he cried, extending a welcome hand; and, when Austen had told him his dilemma: "Come right along up to my lodgings. I live at the Widow Peasley's, and there's a vacant room next to mine." Austen accepted gratefully, and as they trudged through the storm up the hill, he inquired how legislative matters were progressing. Whereupon Mr. Redbrook unburdened himself.
"I'm afraid I shouldn't be of much use," Austen answered. "They'd have given me a back seat, too." The Widow Peasley's was a frame and gabled house of Revolutionary days with a little terrace in front of it and a retaining wall built up from the sidewalk. Austen, on the steps, stood gazing across at a square mansion with a wide cornice, half hidden by elms and maples and pines.
The snow was of a dazzling whiteness and sprinkled with diamond dust; and the air of such transcendent clearness that Austen could see by leaning a little out of the Widow Peasley's window the powdered top of Holdfast Mountain some thirty miles away.
As his silk hat appeared over the Retriever's rail a wind-bitten, bewhiskered, gaunt, hungry-looking semi-savage reached down, grasped him under the arms, snaked him inboard and hugged him to his heart. Silence for a minute, while Cappy Ricks' thin old shoulders shook and heaved as from some internal spasm, and Matt Peasley's big brown hand patted Cappy's back.
Skinner gazing at him. He held out the check and tapped Matt Peasley's signature. "Get on to that, Skinner, my boy," he said; "get on to that! Matt's gone into the shipping business, and he's making an humble start with three little old antiquated schooners, for which he has paid me more than eight thousand dollars. Now he will go broke!" "I do not agree with you, Mr. Ricks," Mr.
Soon after nightfall they put their guests on a small load of hay, so that they could quickly cover themselves if necessary, and set out for Peasley's farm. As they rode along Samson had a frank talk with Harry. "I think you ought to get over being in love with Bim," he said. "I've told myself that a dozen times, but it don't do any good," said the boy.
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