the canny MacLean retorted. "That's because t'owd boy's
skippers have held their berths ower long."

But Mr. Murphy shook his head. He had come up from before the mast
in the ships of the Blue Star Navigation Company, and since he had
ambitions he had been at some pains to acquaint himself with the
peculiarities of the president of that corporation.

"Give Cappy Ricks one look into Matt Peasley's face and I'll be
skippering the Retriever," he declared.

And in this he was more than half right, for Cappy Ricks had never met
Matt Peasley, and when the Old Man made up his mind that he wanted the
boy to skipper his barkentine, the Retriever, he was acting entirely on
instinct. He only knew that in Matt Peasley he had a man who had shipped
out before the mast and returned from the voyage in command of the ship,
and naturally such an exploit challenged recognition of the most signal
nature--particularly when, in its performance, the object of Cappy's
admiration had demonstrated that he was possessed of certain sterling
attributes which are commonly supposed to make for success in any walk
of life.

Since Matt Peasley had accomplished a man's work it never occurred to
Cappy Ricks to consider that the object of his interest might be a boy.
Young he knew him to be--that is to say, Cappy figured the rascal to be
somewhere between thirty and thirty-five.

Had he known, however, that his prospective captain had but recently
attained his majority the Old Man would have ascribed Matt Peasley's
record-breaking voyage from Cape Town to Grays Harbor as sheer luck,
and forthwith would have set Master Matthew down for a five-year
apprenticeship as first mate; for Cappy was the product of an older day,
and held that gray hairs and experience are the prime requisites for a
berth as master.

Any young upstart can run coastwise, put in his service sailing a
ship from headland to headland, and then take a course in a navigation
school, where in six weeks he can cram sufficient navigation into his
thick head to pass the inspectors and get a master's ticket; but for
offshore cruising Cappy Ricks demanded a real sailor and a thorough
business man rolled into one.

Mother's Darling had returned to Grays Harbor from a flying visit to
Seattle, where two grizzled old ex-salts, the local inspectors, had put
him through a severe examination to ascertain what he knew of Bowditch
on Navigation and Nichols on Seamanship. Naturally he did not know