I've
wanted a son like you, Matt. Had a boy once--little chap--just seven
when he died--might have been big like you. I was the runt of the Ricks'
tribe, you know--all the other boys over six feet--and his mother's
people--same stock. I--I--"

Matt patted his shoulder. Truly he understood.

CHAPTER XLVI. A SHIP FORGOTTEN

The Blue Star Navigation Company's big steam schooner Amelia Ricks,
northbound to load lumber at Aberdeen in command of a skipper who
revered his berth to such an extent that he thought only of pleasing Mr.
Skinner by making fast time, thus failing to take into consideration a
two-mile current setting shoreward, had come to grief. Her skipper had
cut a corner once too often and started overland with her right across
the toe of Point Gorda. Her wireless brought two tugs hastening up from
San Francisco; but, before they could haul her off at high tide, the
jagged reef had chewed her bottom to rags, and in a submerged condition
she was towed back to port and kicked into the dry dock at Hunters
Point.

Cappy Ricks, feverishly excited over the affair, was very anxious to
get a report on the condition of the vessel as soon as possible. He had
planned to hire a launch and proceed to Hunters Point for a personal
appraisal of the damage to the Amelia Ricks, but the northwest trades
were blowing half a gale that day and had kicked up just sufficient sea
to warn Cappy that seasickness would be his portion if he essayed to
brave it in a launch. It occurred to him, therefore, to stay in the
office and send somebody in whose knowledge of ships he had profound
confidence. He got Matt Peasley on the phone at once.

"Matt," he said plaintively. "I want you to do the old man a favor, if
you will. You heard about our Amelia Ricks, didn't you? Well, she's in
dry dock at Hunters Point now, and they'll have the dock pumped out in
two hours so we can see what her bottom looks like. I know she's ripped
out clear up to the garboards and probably hogged, and I can hardly wait
to make sure. The marine surveyor for the Underwriters will go down this
afternoon to look her over, and then he'll take a day to present his
long, typewritten report--and I can't wait that long. Will you skip down
to Crowley's boathouse, hire a launch and charge it to us, and go down
to see the Amelia? She'll be shored up by the time you get down there.
Make a good quick examination of the damage and hurry back so I can talk
it over with you.