his time on that errand?"

"I have. And I'm going to stick on the job until I deliver the goods.
For God's sake let me have two thousand dollars and bring it down to me
at B. Cohen's Art Shop on Geary Street near Grant Avenue. I'm too
utterly exhausted to go up after it."

"My dear Mr. Peck, I haven't two thousand dollars in my house. That is
too great a sum of money to keep on hand."

"Well, then, come downtown, open up the office safe and get the money
for me."

"Time lock on the office safe, Peck. Impossible."

"Well then, come downtown and identify me at hotels and cafes and
restaurants so I can cash my own check."

"Is your check good, Mr. Peck?"

The flood of invective which had been accumulating in Mr. Peck's system
all the afternoon now broke its bounds. He screamed at Mr. Skinner a
blasphemous invitation to betake himself to the lower regions.

"Tomorrow morning," he promised hoarsely, "I'll beat you to death with
the stump of my left arm, you miserable, cold-blooded, lazy, shiftless
slacker."

He called up Cappy Ricks' residence next, and asked for Captain Matt
Peasley, who, he knew, made his home with his father-in-law. Matt
Peasley came to the telephone and listened sympathetically to Peck's
tale of woe.

"Peck, that's the worst outrage I ever heard of," he declared. "The idea
of setting you such a task. You take my advice and forget the blue
vase."

"I can't," Peck panted. "Mr. Ricks will feel mighty chagrined if I fail
to get the vase to him. I wouldn't disappoint him for my right arm. He's
been a dead game sport with me, Captain Peasley."

"But it's too late to get the vase to him, Peck. He left the city at
eight o'clock and it is now almost half past nine."

"I know, but if I can secure legal possession of the vase I'll get it to
him before he leaves the train at Santa Barbara at six o'clock tomorrow
morning."

"How?"

"There's a flying school out at the Marina and one of the pilots there
is a friend of mine. He'll fly to Santa Barbara with me and the vase."

"You're crazy."

"I know it. Please lend me two thousand dollars."

"What for?"

"To pay for the vase."

"Now I know you're crazy--or drunk. Why if Cappy Ricks ever forgot
himself to the extent of paying two hundred dollars for a vase he'd
bleed to death in an hour."

"Won't you let me have two thousand dollars, Captain Peasley?"

"I will not, Peck, old son. Go home and to bed and forget it."

"Please. You can cash yo