"
"Then you will not give me the money, sir?" Matt Peasley demanded.
"Not a red," said Cappy calmly. "We've fought this whole matter out
before, so why argue?"
"Why, indeed," Matt answered, and reached for his hat. He was
fighting mad and desired to go away before he quarreled with Cappy.
"I'll go downstairs to the cigar stand and shake you the dice, one
flop, to see whether you go into business for yourself or come to work
for me," Cappy pleaded.
Matt came to him and placed his great hands on the old man's
shoulders.
"You're the finest man I ever knew, Mr. Ricks," he said, "and you're
the meanest man I ever knew, so I'll not shake dice with you. You're
too fond of having your own way--"
"Yes, and you're the same, blast you!" Cappy shrilled, losing his
temper entirely. "Wait till you're my age. There won't be any
standing you at all. Get out!"
CHAPTER XXXIV
A GIFT FROM THE GODS
The barkentine Retriever, lumber laden from Astoria to San Francisco,
lay under the lee of Point Reyes in a dead calm. It was a beautiful,
moonlit night, with the sea as smooth as a fishpond, and Captain
Michael J. Murphy, albeit a trifle surprised at his proximity to the
California coast--the result of three days and nights of thick fog,
which had suddenly lifted--was not particularly worried.
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