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Updated: May 23, 2025
"I guess this is a rotten day's work for the president emeritus, eh?" he chuckled. "President emeritus! By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, if I waited for you and Skinner to get wise to all the good things that are lying round loose, the Blue Star Navigation Company would be in the hands of a receiver within the year. Matt, if you expect to manage the Blue Star you'll have to wake up.
Skinner, president of the Ricks Lumber & Logging Company. "Skinner, my dear boy," he began, "have you read the President's Message to Congress?" "I have," replied Skinner. "I guess that President of ours isn't some tabasco, eh? By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, he's just naturally read Bill Hohenzollern out of the party. Bully for Woodrow!" Mr.
Michael J. Murphy, however, did not turn to see her disappear; he was gazing, instead, at a thin red trickle that came from under Cappy's cap band and was running down his wizened neck. "Mr. Ricks," he said anxiously, "you're wounded." Cappy rubbed the sore spot, and when he withdrew his fingers they were bloody. "By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet!" he gasped wonderingly. "You're right, Mike.
Here I've been living from day to day, just marking time on the road to eternity and figuring life wasn't worth while because the stock was going to die out with me. Up until recently I was content with a little old one-horse business; but now, by the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, boy, we've got to get out and shake a leg! Freighters! That's what we want.
Ricks? If Captain Matt " "At my age to take a beating like that?" Cappy shrilled. "Impossible! Why, he'll tell this story on the Merchants' Exchange, and I can't afford that. Not at my age, Skinner, not at my age! I have a reputation to sustain, and, by the Holy Pink-toed Prophet, I'm going to sustain it. I'm going down fighting like a bear cat.
Redell hitched his chair close to Cappy and with his index finger tapped the old gentleman three times on the right knee-three impressive taps. "Alden P. Ricks," he began with equal impressiveness, "I have a scheme " Cappy chuckled and slapped his thin old thigh. "I knew it! By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet!
"The Tyee is sailing in, Cappy," he announced. "The Merchants' Exchange has just telephoned." "It's an infernal lie," Cappy shrilled excitedly. "It can't be the Tyee. If it is, she's two months ahead of her schedule, and by the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, I fixed up that schedule myself." Matt Peasley grinned. "Perhaps Joey didn't like your schedule and re-arranged it to suit himself," he suggested.
They inspired him; his agile old brain, benumbed by the shock of the exciting events of the last quarter of an hour, threw off its paralysis; his little five-feet-four body thrilled with the impact of a sudden brilliant idea. "I have it!" he piped. "By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, it might be done! Mike, the submarine lies to starboard. Tell the mate to lower the port gangway."
Ricks; quite true in ordinary cases," the Consul told him smilingly. "By the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet! I smell a mouse. Hum-m-m! That simplifies matters. We-l-l!
I'm sick of their unauthorized strikes and sabotage, and by the Holy Pink-Toed Prophet, Cappy Ricks Post. No. 534, American Legion, is the only sort of back-fire I can think of to put the Wobblies on the run." "Every office and ship and retail yard could be run by a first-sergeant," Skinner complained. "I'm thinking of having reveille and retreat and bugle calls and Saturday morning inspections.
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