Skinner replied coldly, "he's a huge, healthy animal,
able and willing to fight his way in any ship, and at the same time
clever enough to take advantage of your paternal interest in him--"
"Rats! I'll give you the answer, Skinner, my boy: He gets results
because he does his duty and doesn't sidestep for man or devil. And
he's able to do his duty and do it well because he has a clear
understanding of what his duty is--and that, Skinner, is the kind of
skipper material I've been looking for all my life. As for the boy's
horsepower, let me tell you this: If Matt Peasley wasn't any bigger
than I am, he'd fight any man that tried to walk over him. It's in
his breed. Damn it, sir, he's a Yankee skipper, and when you've said
that you're through. I guess I know. How much have we been paying
that bully Kjellin?"
"Two hundred a month."
"Too much! Pay Matt two-twenty-five and attend to the certificate of
change of masters."
When Mr. Skinner had departed Cappy sat back in his chair and closed
his eyes, as was his habit when his gigantic brain grappled with a
problem of more than ordinary dimensions. For fully ten minutes he
sat absolutely motionless, then suddenly he straightened up like a
jack-in-the-box and summoned Mr. Skinner.
"Skinner," he said plaintively, "I'm feeling a little run down.
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