The Retriever just came off
dry-dock, didn't she? Well, it stands to reason she was dirty after
that last cargo of creosoted piling; and it stands to reason, also,
that the man Peasley slicked her up with white paint until she looked
like an Easter bride. A Scandinavian doesn't give a hoot if his
vessel is tight, well found and ready for sea; but a Yankee takes a
tremendous pride in his ship and likes to keep her looking like a
yacht. And just think, Skinner, how the man Peasley must have felt
when he came off dry dock, all clean and nice, and then had to slop
her up with another cargo of creosoted piling? Just think of that,
Skinner!" and again he commenced his insane cackle.
"I have other, and more important things to think about," Mr. Skinner
retorted icily. As a business man he was opposed to levity in the
office. "What are your plans with reference to the Retriever? Do you
wish to bring her back from Antofagasta in ballast?"
"Why, certainly not. Hunt a cargo for her, Skinner. We might just as
well let the man Peasley know that though he's gone he's not
forgotten. Use the cable freely and see if you can't pick up something
for the return trip that will make those two firebrands sick at the
stomach."
A month later Mr. Skinner stepped into Cappy's sanctum.
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