'll do it; not because we need
the money or want it, or give a particular damn to hoard up a heap
of it, but because it's the right thing to do. It's patriotic--it's
American--our activities shall enrich the world--and oh, it's such a
bully game to play!"

Mr. Skinner glanced at Cappy Ricks with the closest approach to
downright affection he considered quite dignified to permit during
business hours.

"I notice you were going to quit a minute ago to become president
emeritus--and now you're including yourself in the new program of
activity," he reminded Cappy Ricks. "I seem to remember that for the
past few years you've been talking of the happy day when you could
retire and learn to play golf."

"Golf!" Cappy glanced at Mr. Skinner witheringly. "Skinner," he
continued, "don't be an ass! Golf is an old man's game--and I belong
with the young fellows. Why, don't you remember the day, three years
ago, when we discovered we had a sailor named Matt Peasley before the
mast in the old Retriever? Why, ever since I've been having so much
fun--"

"And that reminds me," Matt interrupted: "We must send a new skipper to
Aberdeen to relieve Mike Murphy in the Retriever. He has his ticket for
steam and I've hired him at two hundred and fifty a month to skipper the
Narcissus. Mike is one of the best men under the Blue Star; he has come
up from before the mast."

"The only kind I ever gave a whoop for," Cappy declared. "In effect, he
once told me to go chase myself."

"But," Skinner persisted, "how about playing golf?"

Cappy Ricks raised his eyes reverently upward. "Please God," he said,
"I'll die in the harness!"

"Amen!" said Mr. Skinner; and Matt Peasely re-echoed the sentiment.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cappy Ricks, by Peter B. Kyne

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