Cappy had
the whip hand and was fully capable of cracking the whip; so presently
he said:

"Well, I've met bedbugs before, Mr. Ricks. I'll go aboard in the
morning."

"I'm glad to hear it, Matt. And another thing: I like you, Matt, but not
well enough for a son-in-law. Remember, my boy, you're only a sailor on
a steam schooner now--so it won't be necessary for you to look aloft.
You understand, do you not? You want to remember your position, my boy."

Matt turned and bent upon Cappy a slow, smoldering gaze. Cappy almost
quivered. Then slowly the rage died out in Matt Peasley's fine eyes and
a lilting, boyish grin spread over his face, for he was one of those
rare human beings who can smile, no matter what the prospect, once he
has definitely committed himself to a definite course of action. Only
the years of discipline and his innate respect for gray hairs kept him
from bluntly informing Cappy Ricks that he might forthwith proceed to
chase himself! Instead he said quietly:

"Very well, sir. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, sir," snapped Cappy.

At the door Matt paused an instant, for he was young and he could not
retire without firing a shot. He fired it now with his eyes--a glance
of cool disdain and defiance that would have been worth a dollar of
anybody's money to see. Cappy had to do something to keep from laughing.

"Out, you rebel!" he yelled. The door closed with a crash, and Cappy
Ricks took down the telephone receiver and called up his daughter.

"Florry," he said gently, "I want to tell you something."

"Fire away, Pop!" she challenged.

"It's about that fellow Peasley," Cappy replied coldly. "I wish you
wouldn't have that big, awkward dub calling at the house, Florry. He'll
fall over the furniture the first thing you know, and do some damage. I
think a lot of him as a sailor, but that's about as far as my affection
extends; and if you insist on having him call at the house, my dear, my
authority over him as an employee will suffer and I'll be forced to fire
the fellow. Of course I realize what a pleasant boy he is; but then you
don't know sailors like I do. They're a low lot at heart, Florry, and
this fellow Peasley is no exception to the general rule."

Cappy paused to test the effect of this broadside. There was a little
gasp from the other end of the wire; then a click as his daughter hung
up, too outraged to reply.

Cappy's kindly eyes twinkled merrily as he replaced the receiver on the