ntelligent,
would have had his superior sent to a hospital and wired the office for
orders.

"Skinner," said Cappy, "send in a stenographer."

When the girl appeared Cappy Ricks dictated this wire:

Captain Matthew Peasley,
Master Barkentine Retriever,
Colman Dock, Seattle, Washington.

Are you drunk, dead or asleep? You have your orders. Obey
them P.D.Q. or turn over command to Chief Mate Murphy.

Alden P. Ricks.

"There!" he shrilled. "I've signed my name to it. Sign a telegram Blue
Star Navigation Company and these infernal skippers think a clerk sent
it; but when they know the boss is on to them they'll jump lively. Bring
me the answer to that as soon as it comes, Skinner."

However, the answer did not come that day. Indeed, the next day
had almost dragged to a close before Mr. Skinner appeared with this
telegraphic bomb:

Alden P. Ricks,
258 California St.,
San Francisco.

Neither! Been waiting my turn to go on dry dock. On now.
Didn't reply yesterday because too busy driving toothpicks in
vessel's bottom to plug up wormholes. If Murphy hadn't hauled
into fresh water last time on Grays Harbor while I was in
Seattle getting my ticket, her bottom would look like a
colander now. Sixteen months in the water. You ought to be
ashamed to treat a good staunch ship like that. Off dock day
after to-morrow; will tow to Tacoma immediately thereafter.
Meantime expect apology for insulting telegram.

Peasley.

Sixteen months without dry-docking! Why, her bottom must look like the
devil! Cappy Ricks gazed long and earnestly at his general manager.

"Skinner," he said, "you're an ass! Why was not this vessel dry-docked
before you sent her to Antofagasta?"

Mr. Skinner lost his temper.

"Because I didn't send her to Antofagasta," he replied sharply. "You
did! And the reason she wasn't docked is because there isn't a dock on
Grays Harbor. If you wouldn't interfere in the shipping, Mr. Ricks, and
spoil my plans to satisfy your personal whims, the vessel would never
have gone on that long voyage without being cleaned and painted."

"Enough!" Cappy half screamed. "It's a disgrace! Not another word, sir!
Not another peep out of you. Why didn't you order the man Peasley to
dock her? Why did you leave the decision to him? He knew his vessel was
foul--he thought we ought to kn