ckie was somewhat mollified but she took care not to show it.

"You're not figuring on Mascola either," she began.

"Mascola," Gregory repeated. "Why, he's been decent enough the last two
or three weeks."

"I know it," she interrupted. "That's what has me guessing. It isn't
like Mascola to be that way. He's been checking up on us right along,
but he hasn't bothered any of our boats since he lost the _Roma_. It's
about time he showed his hand."

"We have nearly as many boats as he has now," Gregory observed. "Maybe
he thinks----"

Again the girl anticipated his words.

"Get that out of your head," she snapped. "If you think Mascola's quit,
you're wrong. The more boats dad got, the harder Mascola fought him.
It's only when an outfit gets big enough to make a showing that he
begins to get busy."

"We'll have the rest of the cannery boats out the last of the week,"
Gregory announced. "I'll have the boys rush them. We won't start
anything, but just get good and ready. It's Mascola's move. I've made it
perfectly clear to all the men that we are not looking for trouble."

Dickie was silent for a moment. Then she said:

"I have an idea that Rock gave Mascola a 'bum steer' and that both of
them are just beginning to find out their mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Rock guessed wrong. He told a lot of people around town
when you opened up that you'd be broke in thirty days. He and Mascola
are pretty thick and the chances are he told Mascola the same thing and
the dago believed him. Now they're beginning to find out they slipped up
in not trying to cripple you before you got your men broken in. I've
just got a hunch it won't be long before we hear from Mascola. He's
bringing more boats in here every day from down the coast and the
islands."

Seeing they were getting nowhere by their talk, Gregory tossed the
balance sheet to the desk and got to his feet.

"We'd better be on our way," he said.

With Dickie following, he lead the way out into the cannery where he
stopped for a moment to speak to McCoy. "I'm going outside for a while,
Mac. If the Western people call up, tell them we're shipping the last of
those sardines to-day. Sound them out on albacore prices in job lots."

Dickie turned away at the mention of the jobbers. Gregory evidently
thought very little of her advice. Biting her lips, she walked to the
door to wait on the receiving platform. McCoy watched his employer
follow after her. Dick was