Then
there's Rickey, the ship-builder, and--yes, even Alcott, the crimp,
will take a piece of her. I'd look in on Louis Wiley, the chronometer
man, and Cox, the coppersmith--why I'd take in every firm and
individual who might hope to get business out of the ship; and, you
bet, I'd sell 'em all a little block of stock in the S. S. Narcissus
Company."
"It might be done," Matt answered evasively. "I'll think it over."
He did think it over very seriously the greater portion of that night.
As a result, instead of going to his office next morning he went to
Mission Street bulkhead and engaged a launch, and forty minutes later,
in response to his hail, the aged watchman aboard the Narcissus came
to the rail and asked him what he wanted.
"I want to come aboard!" Matt shouted.
"Got a permit from the office?"
"No."
"Orders are to allow nobody aboard without a permit."
"How do you like the color of this permit?" Matt called back, and
waved a greenback.
The answer came in the shape of a Jacob's ladder promptly tossed
overside and Matt Peasley mounted the towering hulk of the Narcissus.
"What do you want?" the watchman again demanded as he pouched the bill
Matt handed him.
"I want to examine this vessel from bilge to truck," Matt answered.
"I'll begin with a look at the winches.
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