n he got my
telegram I knew he would begin to figure out some plan to make me
mad! And, of course, I knew Murphy would help him out--the Irish are
imaginative and vindictive; and--oh, dear me, Skinner--read that!" And
Cappy handed his general manager the following telegram:

You are right. I will be relieved when I get good and ready,
and I will not be ready until I get back from Antofagasta.
Shipped crew yesterday afternoon. All arrived drunk. Next
morning all hands sober. Realizing predicament, riot resulted.
Fearing lose crew, Murphy and I manhandled and locked in
fo'castle. When your telegram arrived it found Murphy minus
front tooth, myself black eye. Can stand injury, but not
insult. Hence you are stuck with us for another voyage,
whether you want us or not. Will have towed out by time you
receive this. Go to Halifax!

Peasley.

Mr. Skinner's face was cold and austere as he handed this telegram back
to Cappy.

"So you made peace with honor, eh?" he sneered.

"Peace your grandmother!" Cappy chirped. "This war goes on until I get
a letter from the man Peasley. Skinner, he and Murphy think they've done
something wonderfully brilliant. When I wired him he would be relieved
when I got good and ready it did him an awful lot of good to throw the
words back in my face. Sure, Skinner! They think they're giving Cappy
Ricks the merry ha-ha!"

"Well, of course, sir,"' said Mr. Skinner, "if this sort of horseplay
is your fun--if it's your notion of business--I have no comment. You own
fifteen-sixteenths of the Retriever, and you can afford to pay for your
fancies; but if it was the last act of my life I'd fire that man Peasley
in Callao and let him get home as best he could."

"Yes; I know," Cappy replied bitterly. "You fired him in Cape Town
once--and how did he come home? He came home in the cabin of the
Retriever--that's how he came home; and the Terrible Swede I sent to
thrash him and fire him came home under hatches. Yes; you'd do a lot of
things, Skinner--in your mind."

Mr. Skinner pounded his desk savagely. Cappy's retort made him boiling
mad.

"Well, I'll bet I'd do something," he rasped. "I'd make that bucko
suffer or I'd know the reason why."

"Skinner, that's just what we're going to do--just what we're doing, in
fact. One of my ancestors sailed with the late John Paul Jones and ever
since the Ricks' family motto has been: