ive the Retriever until she develops a certain little squeak up
forward--and then it's time to shorten sail. She isn't squeaking yet,
Mike. Don't worry. She'll let us know," and his beaming glance
wandered aloft to the straining cordage and bellying canvas. "Into it,
sweetheart," he crooned, "into it, girl, and we'll show this Cappy
Ricks what we know about sailing a ship that can sail! Meager maritime
experience, eh? I'll show him!"

Oh, Sally Brown, I love your daughter,
I love your daughter, indeed I do,

he caroled, and buck-and-winged his way back to the poop, for he was
only a boy, life was good, he was fighting a fight and as Mr. Murphy
remarked a minute later when Matt ordered him to bend the fore-staysail
on her; "What the hell!"

Day and night Matt Peasley drove her into it. He stood far off shore
until he ran out of the sou'east trades, fiddled around two days in
light airs and then picked up the nor'east trades; drove her well
into the north, hauled round and came romping up to Grays Harbor bar
seventy-nine days from Cape Town. A bar tug, ranging down the coast,
hooked on to him and snaked him in.

CHAPTER XI. MR. SKINNER RECEIVES A TELEGRAM

Cappy Ricks was having his customary mid-afternoon nap in his big swivel
chair and his feet on his desk, when Mr. Skinner came in and woke him
up.

"I just couldn't help it, sir," he announced apologetically, as Cappy
opened one eye and glared at him, "I had to wake you up and tell you the
news."

"Tell it!" Cappy snapped.

"The Retriever arrived at Grays Harbor this morning, Mr. Ricks. She's
broken the record for a fast passage," and he handed Cappy Ricks a
telegram.

"Bless my withered heart!" Cappy declared, and opened his other eye.
"You don't tell me? Well, well, well! All Hands And Feet is making good
right off the bat, isn't he?" Cappy chuckled. "Skinner, my dear boy,"
he bragged, "did you ever see me start out to pick a skipper and hand
myself the worst of it?"

"No, sir," Mr. Skinner maintained dutifully, and turned away to hide a
wicked little smile, which under the circumstances Skinner was entitled
to.

"And you never will, Skinner. Paste that in your hat, boy. That big
Swede, Peterson, can handle a ship as well as he can handle a refractory
mate--and that's going some, Skinner--going some! I'm not surprised at
his fast passage. Not at all, Skinner. Come to think of it, I'm going
to fire that Scotchman in the Fortuna and give All Ha