Skinner came into the old fellow's sanctum and requested
an interview.
"Fire away, my boy," said Cappy amiably, yet with a queer sinking
feeling in his vitals, for he did not like the look in Skinner's eye;
and something told him there was blood on the moon.
"With reference to this rowdy, Peasley, whom you tell me you are going
to make port captain--"
"I also told you, Skinner, my boy, that he is to be my son-in-law,"
Cappy interrupted, like a good general bringing up his heavy artillery
prior to ordering a charge. "I beg of you, Skinner, whatever your
animosities, to bear in mind the fact that my daughter could not
possibly engage herself to a rowdy."
"Out of respect to you and Miss Florence I shall not indulge in
personalities, sir," Mr. Skinner replied smilingly, and Cappy
shuddered, for Mr. Skinner never smiled in a fight unless he had the
situation well in hand. "I have merely called to tell you that I have
invested seventy-five cents of my salary in a stout hickory
pick-handle, and the next time Captain Matt Peasley enters my office I
shall test the quality of the said pick-handle over his head. I don't
care if he is engaged to your daughter; the minute you bring that man
into this office I go out. You shall have my resignation instantly.
That decision, Mr.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242