y. I'm capable--"

"Mike," Matt interrupted. "I like you fine, but I want to tell you that
if Cappy Ricks cabled you to take charge, I wouldn't let you. I'm next
in command, and it's only etiquette that I should have my chance."

"Then," Mr. Murphy murmured sententiously, "there'd be a fight with skin
gloves and I'm afraid you'd get licked, son. I wasted a good many years
in the navy, Matt, and there I learned two things--how to obey and how
to fight with my fists. I was the champion amateur light-heavy-weight of
the Atlantic fleet, and every once in a while something happens to prove
to me that I'm far from being a slouch even at this late date."

"No offense, Mike. We're crossing our bridges before we come to them,
and besides, I didn't intend to be offensive."

"I understand. Our conversation was entirely academic," Murphy admitted
graciously.

"You said you learned to obey in the navy," Matt suggested. "What's the
matter with obeying my last order?"

"All right, Matt. I'll obey. But remember, I have given you fair
warning. If I move into your cabin to-day, I'll not move out when the
relief skipper comes."

"I'll take a chance," said Matt Peasley.

CHAPTER VI. WORDY WAR AT A DOLLAR A WORD

While the capable Mr. Skinner was preparing the reply to Matt Peasley's
cablegram, and dictating for Cappy Ricks' signature a letter to Noah
Kendall's widow, Cappy was busy at the telephone. First he retailed the
news to the Merchants' Exchange, to be bulletined on the blackboard and
read by Captain Noah's friends; next he called up the secretary of the
American Shipmasters' Association, of which the deceased had been a
member, and lastly he communicated the sad tidings to the water-front
reporters of all the daily papers. This detail attended to, Cappy's
active mind returned to more practical and profitable affairs, and he
took up Matt Peasley's cablegram. He was deep in a study of it when Mr.
Skinner entered with the letter to Mrs. Kendall.

"'Captain knifed, killed, Kru boy argument boat fare,'" Cappy read
aloud. "Skinner, my dear boy, what is the cable rate per word to Cape
Town?"

"Ninety-eight cents per word," replied Mr. Skinner, who had just looked
it up.

"We will if you please, Skinner, confine ourselves to round numbers.
There is such a thing as being too exact. Call it a dollar. Figuring on
that basis, I see this garrulous mate has squandered five dollars of our
money to no purpose--yes, by jingo, m