and sundry other crimes on the high seas are out of the ordinary;
hence the United Press correspondent at Hoquiam had considered the story
of Matt Peasley's arrest worthy of dissemination over the Pacific Coast.

Cappy Ricks read it, the principal item of interest in it being a
purported interview with Matt Peasley, who, in choice newspaperese, had
entered a vigorous denial of the charge. The story concluded with the
statement that Peasley was a native of Thomaston, Maine, where he had
always borne a most excellent reputation for steadiness and sobriety.

Cappy Ricks laid the paper aside.

Thomaston, Maine! So the man Peasley was a Down-Easter! That explained
it.

"Well, I hope my teeth may fall into the ocean!" Cappy murmured.
"Thomaston, Maine! Why, he's one of our own town boys--one of my own
people! Dear, dear, dear! Well now, it's strange I didn't know that
name. I must be getting old to forget it."

He sat in his swivel chair, rocking gently backward and forward for
several minutes, after a fashion he had when perturbed. Suddenly his
old hand shot out and pressed the push button on his desk, and his
stenographer answered.

"Send Mr. Skinner in!" he commanded.

Presently Mr. Skinner came, and again Cappy eyed him over the tops of
his spectacles; again the terrible silence. Skinner commenced to fidget.

"Skinner," began Cappy impressively, "how often have I got to tell you
not to interfere with the shipping? Tut, tut! Not a peep out of you,
sir--not a peep! You had the audacity, sir, to swear to a Federal
warrant against the man Peasley. How dare you, sir? Do you know who the
man Peasley is? You don't. Well, sir, I'll tell you. He's a Down-East
boy and I went to school with his people. I'll bet Ethan Peasley was
a relative of this boy Matt, because Ethan had a cousin by the name of
Matthew; and Ethan and Matt and I used to hell around together until
they went to sea.

"Lord bless you, Skinner, I can remember yet the day the Martha Peasley
came up the harbor, with her flag at half-mast--and poor old Ethan was
gone--whipped off the end of her main yard when she rolled!

"We were great chums, Ethan and I, Skinner; and I cried. Why--why, damn
it, sir, this boy Matt's people and mine are all buried in the same
cemetery back home. Yes, sir! And nearly all of 'em have the same
epitaph--'Lost at Sea'--and--you idiot, Skinner! What do you mean, sir,
by standing there with your infernal little smile on your smug f