deed," Skinner agreed. "I'm sure it's quite beyond my poor
abilities to uncover Andrews' force and initiative on such notice. He
does possess sufficient force and initiative for his present job, but--"

"But will he possess force and initiative when he has to make a quick
decision six thousand miles from expert advice, and stand or fall by
that decision? That's what we want to know, Skinner."

"I suggest, sir," Mr. Skinner replied with chill politeness, "that you
conduct the examination."

"I accept the nomination, Skinner. By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet! The
next man we send out to that Shanghai office is going to be a go-getter.
We've had three managers go rotten on us and that's three too many."

And without further ado, Cappy swung his aged legs up on to his desk and
slid down in his swivel chair until he rested on his spine. His head
sank on his breast and he closed his eyes.

"He's framing the examination for Andrews," Matt Peasley whispered, as
he and Skinner made their exits.

* * * * *

II

The President emeritus of the Ricks' interests was not destined to
uninterrupted cogitation, however. Within ten minutes his private
exchange operator called him to the telephone.

"What is it?" Cappy yelled into the transmitter.

"There is a young man in the general office. His name is Mr. William E.
Peck and he desires to see you personally."

Cappy sighed. "Very well," he replied. "Have him shown in."

Almost immediately the office boy ushered Mr. Peck into Cappy's
presence. The moment he was fairly inside the door the visitor halted,
came easily and naturally to "attention" and bowed respectfully, while
the cool glance of his keen blue eyes held steadily the autocrat of the
Blue Star Navigation Company.

"Mr. Ricks, Peck is my name, sir--William E. Peck. Thank you, sir, for
acceding to my request for an interview."

"Ahem! Hum-m-m!" Cappy looked belligerent. "Sit down, Mr. Peck."

Mr. Peck sat down, but as he crossed to the chair beside Cappy's desk,
the old gentleman noticed that his visitor walked with a slight limp,
and that his left forearm had been amputated half way to the elbow. To
the observant Cappy, the American Legion button in Mr. Peck's lapel told
the story.

"Well, Mr. Peck," he queried gently, "what can I do for you?"

"I've called for my job," the veteran replied briefly.

"By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet!" Cappy ejaculated, "you say that like a
man who do