Читать книгу Cappy Ricks; Or, the Subjugation of Matt Peasley - Peter B. Kyne - Страница 11

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Captain Ole Peterson was known to the coastwise trade as All Hands And Feet. He was a giant Swede whose feet resembled twin scow models and whose clenched fists, properly smoked and cured, might have passed anywhere for picnic hams. He was intelligent, competent and belligerent, with a broad face, slightly dished and plentifully scarred, while his wide flat nose had been stove in and shifted hard a-starboard. Cappy Ricks liked him, respected his ability and found him amusing as one finds an educated bear amusing. He had a reputation for being the undefeated rough and tumble champion of Sweden and the United States.

“You ban vant to see me, sir?” he rumbled as, hat in hand, he stood beside Cappy Ricks' desk half an hour later. Compared with the huge Swede, Cappy looked like a watch charm.

“Sit down, captain,” Cappy replied amiably. “I hear you're out of a job. Why?”

Briefly All Hands And Feet explained what Cappy already knew; that his last command, being old and rotten and over-loaded, had worked apart in a seaway and fallen to pieces under him. The inspectors had held him blameless.

“I have a job for you, Ole,” Cappy announced. “But there's a string attached to it.”

“Aye ban able to pull strings, sir,” Ole reminded him.

Cappy smiled, and outlined to the Swede the conditions surrounding the barkentine Retriever. “I'm going to give you command of the Retriever,” he continued confidentially. “You are to bring her home from Cape Town, and when you get back I'll have a staunch four-masted schooner waiting for you. I was going to send McBride of the Nokomis on this job, but thought better of it, for the reason that Mac may not be physically equipped to perform the additional task I have in mind and I believe you are. Peterson, if you want a steady job skippering for the Blue Star Navigation Company you've got to earn it, and to earn it you've got to give this fellow Peasley a good sound thrashing for the good of his immortal soul. The very moment you step aboard the Retriever let him know you're the master.”

“Do you tank he ban villin' to fight?” Ole demanded.

“Something tells me he will. However, in case he doesn't, don't let that embarrass you. Man-handle him until he does. Let me impress upon you, captain, the fact that I want the man Peasley summarily chastised for impudence and insubordination.”

“All right, sir,” said Ole. “Aye ban work him over.” To be asked to fight for a job was to this descendant of the Vikings the ne plus ultra of sportsmanship. “Aye never ban licked yet,” he added reminiscently.

“When we cabled we were sending a man to relieve him,” Cappy complained, “he replied, telling us to insure his successor's life, because he was going to throw him overboard the minute he arrived.”

All Hands And Feet swept away any lingering fears Cappy might chance to be entertaining. “Aye ban weigh two hundret an' saxty pounds,” he announced.

“Which being the case,” Cappy warned him, “should he succeed in throwing YOU overboard I should consider you unfit for a job in my employ.” (The old fox had not the slightest idea such a contretemps was possible, but in order to play safe he considered it good policy to hearten Ole for the fray.) “Should he defeat you, captain, I have no hesitancy in saying to you now that such a misfortune would have a most disastrous effect on your future in my employ. You know me. When I order a job done, I want it done, and I want it done well. Understand! I don't want you to maim or kill the man, but just give him a good sound—er—commercial thrashing; and after you've tamed him I want you to—”

All Hands And Feet nodded his comprehension.

“An',” he interrupted, “after aye ban slap him once or twice aye ban give good kick under de coattail an' fire dis fresh guy—eh?” he suggested.

“Fire nothing!” shrilled Cappy. “You follow instructions, Ole, or I'll fire you! No, sir. After you've thrashed him I want you to bend a rope round him amidships and souse him overside to bring him to! Remember, we fired him once and he would not be fired. The damned sea lawyer quoted the salt-water code to us and said he'd shipped for the round trip; so we'll take him at his word. He's your first mate, captain. Bring him back to Grays Harbor with you; and then, if you feel so inclined, you may apply the tip of your number twenty-four sea boot where it will do the most good; in fact, I should prefer it. But by all means see to it that he completes his contract with the barkentine Retriever.”

“Aye skoll see to it,” Ole promised fervently.

“I thank you, captain. Come out in the general office now and I'll introduce you to the cashier, who will furnish you with expense money. Meantime, I'll have Skinner fill out a certificate of change of masters and have it registered at the custom-house. Can't send you down there without your credentials, you know.”

All Hands And Feet mumbled his thanks; for, indeed, he was grateful for this chance to prove his metal. Calm in the knowledge of his past performances, he took no thought of the personal issue with Matt Peasley, for never had he met a mate he could not thrash. He followed Cappy out to the cashier's desk; and while the latter equipped All Hands And Feet for his journey to South Africa, and Mr. Skinner departed for the custom-house to have the certificate registered, Cappy wired McBride, aboard the Overland speeding east, instructing him to come back to San Francisco.

When Skinner returned to the office he found Cappy clawing nervously at his whiskers.

“The man Peasley has completely disrupted our organization,” he complained bitterly. “Here I go to work and promote McBride to the Retriever to make room for his mate in the Nokomis, and now I have to recall Mac and give the Retriever to All Hands And Feet until she gets back to Grays Harbor; in consequence of which Mac hasn't a thing to do for four months and draws full pay for doing it, and later I've got to provide a permanent place for All Hands And Feet! Skinner, if this continues, I shall yet fill a pauper's grave.” He was silent for several seconds; then: “By the way, Skinner, have you replied to that last cablegram from the man Peasley?”

“No, sir. I didn't think it required an answer.”

“You mean you didn't know what answer to give him,” Cappy snarled. “Well, neither do I; but since the cuss has got us into the spending habit, I'm going to be reckless for once and send him a cable myself, just to let him know I'm calling his bluff.”

And, with that remark, Cappy squared round to his desk and wrote, in a trembling hand: “Special messenger big as horse carries reply your last cablegram.”

“There,” he said, turning to his general manager; “send that to the man Peasley, and sign my name to it.”