"Damned young scoundrel! You Yankee thief,
haven't you any conscience?" And he laid his old head on his desk and
laughed his shrill, senile laugh, while tears of joy rolled down his
rosy old cheeks. "Oh-h-h-h, my!" he cackled. "But wait until I get
Hudner among my young friends at the Round Table up at the Commercial
Club to-morrow! To think of a young pup like you coming in and chasing
an old dog like Hudner round the lot and taking his bone away from him!"

He turned to the general manager:

"Oh, Skinner! Skinner, my dear boy, this will be the death of me yet!
Remember that old maid stenographer Hudner stole away from us, Skinner?
Remember? Oh, but isn't he paying for her through the nose? Isn't he,
Skinner? Oh, dear! Oh, dear, what a lot of fun there is in just living
and raising hell with your neighbor--particularly, Skinner, when he
happens to be a competitor."

When Cappy could control his mirth he handed the money back to Matt.

"Oh, Matt, my dear young bandit," he informed that amazed young man,
"I'm human. I can't take this money. It's been worth a thousand dollars
to have had this laugh and to know I've got a lad like you growing up
in my employ. You're worth a bonus, Matt; I'll stand all the commission.
Soak Hudner's thousand away in the bank, Matt; or, better still--Here!
Here; let's figure, Matt: You had sixteen hundred saved up and you've
loaned a thousand on that mortgage. Now you've made a thousand more.
Better buy a good thousand-dollar municipal bond, Matt. That's better
than savings-bank interest, and you can always realize on the bond. I'll
buy the bond for you."

"Thank you, sir," Matt replied.

CHAPTER XXV. CAPPY PROVES HIMSELF A DESPOT

Cappy Ricks lay back in his swivel chair, his feet on his desk and
his eyes closed. He was thinking deeply, for he had something to think
about. Coming in from his club the night before he had observed that
Florry was entertaining company in the billiard room, as the crash of
pool balls testified. He had scarcely reached his room on the second
floor, however, when the pool game came to an end and he heard voices
in the drawing room, followed presently by a few random chords struck on
the piano, and a resonant baritone was raised in the strangest song ever
heard in that drawing room--a deep-sea chantey.

Cappy was no great shakes on music, but before he had listened to the
first verse of Rolling Home he knew Captain Matt Peasley for the singer
and sus