, no matter how many messages we send? Give me
your message to Mr. Ricks and when I get back aboard the Tillicum I'll
wireless it to him for you, and it won't cost the ship a cent extra.'

"Well, you know your own captains, Mr. Ricks. They'll save their ships a
dollar wherever they can; and simple, honest Old Man Grant agreed to my
suggestion. Before he had an opportunity to consider I stepped to the
telegraph office and wrote this message for him." Matt produced another
telegram and read:

"'Blue Star Navigation Company,

"'258 California Street, San Francisco.

"'Instructions with reference to change of masters received.

"Would feel badly if I thought any act of mine necessitated
change; but since my conscience is clear I shall not worry. I
always have done and always shall do my duty to my owners
without thought of my personal interests, and you may rely
fully on that in the present emergency.'"

"Well, sir, that sounded so infernally grandiloquent to Old Man Grant
that his hand actually trembled with emotion as he signed it--at my
suggestion. You know I'd hate to be tried for forgery. Then I shook
hands with him and started for Panama once more--only this time I kept
right on going; and I didn't spare the fuel oil either. Why should I? It
wasn't costing me anything."

Both Cappy and Mr. Skinner winced, as from a blow. Matt waited for them
to say something, but they didn't; so after a respectful interval he
resumed:

"Off the Coronado Islands I sent you Captain Grant's diplomatic message.
I was very glad to send it to you, Mr. Ricks, because I knew its receipt
would make you very happy, and I like to scatter happiness wherever I
can. The Scriptures say we should return good for evil."

Cappy Ricks bounded to his feet and shook a skinny fist under Matt
Peasley's nose.

"You're a damned scoundrel!" he piped, beside himself with rage. "Be
careful how you talk to me, young man, or I'll lose my temper; and if I
ever do--"

"That would be terrible, wouldn't it?" Matt laughed. "I suppose you'd
just haul off and biff me one, and I'd think it was autumn with the
leaves falling!"

Cappy choked, turned purple, sat down again, and glanced covertly at Mr.
Skinner, who returned the glance with one that seemed to shout aloud:
"Mr. Ricks, I smell a rat as big as a Shetland pony. Something has
slipped and we're covered with blood. Incredible as it may seem, this
rowdy Peasley has outthought us!"