Peasley, Skinner, to have his photograph
taken and forwarded to me immediately charging expense."

"Very well, sir," Mr. Skinner responded.

"Well, I'll be keel-hauled and skull-dragged," Matt Peasley declared to
Mr. Murphy. "Here's a telegram from the owners demanding my photograph."

Mr. Murphy read the amazing message, scratched his raven poll, and
declared his entire willingness to be damned.

"It's a trap," he announced presently. "Don't send it. Matt, you look
about twenty years old and for the next few years, if you expect to
work under the Blue Star flag, you must remember your face isn't your
fortune. You've got to be pickled in salt for twenty years to please
Cappy Ricks. If he sees your photograph he'll fire you, Matt. I know
that old crocodile. All he wants is an excuse to give you the foot,
anyhow."

"But he's ordered me to send it, Mike. How am I going to get out of it?"

As has been stated earlier in this tale, Mr. Murphy had an imagination.

"Go over into the town, sir," he said, "and in any photograph gallery
you can pick up a picture of some old man. Write your name across it and
send it to Cappy. He'll be just as happy, then, as though he had good
sense."

"By George, I'll just do that!" Matt declared, and forthwith went
ashore.

He sought the only photographer in Port Hadlock. At the entrance to the
shop he found a glass case containing samples of the man's art, and was
singularly attracted to the photograph of a spruce little old gentleman
in a Henry Clay collar, long mutton-chop whiskers, and spectacles.

Moreover, to Matt's practiced eye, this individual seemed to savor of
a Down-Easter. He was just the sort of man one might expect to bear the
name of Matthew Peasley; so the captain mounted the stairs and sought
the proprietor, from whom he purchased the picture in question for the
trifling sum of fifty cents. Then he bore it away to the Retriever,
scrawled his autograph across the old gentleman's hip and mailed the
picture to Cappy Ricks.

CHAPTER XX. PEACE AT LAST!

Mr. Skinner entered Cappy Ricks' office bearing an envelope marked
"Photo. Do not crush or bend!" From the announcement in the upper
right-hand corner the general manager deduced that the photograph was
from Matt Peasley.

"Well, here's Captain Peasley's picture, Mr. Ricks," he announced.

"Ah! Splendid. Prompt, isn't he?" Cappy tore open the envelope, drew
forth the photograph, scrutinized it carefully and th