“Hello, old soldier.  What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Nothing—­after I conclude my conference with Mr. Skinner.  By the way, he has just given me a most handsome boost in salary, for which I am most appreciative.  I feel, however, despite Mr. Skinner’s graciousness, that you have put in a kind word for me with him, and I want to thank you—­”

“Tut, tut.  Not a peep out of you, sir.  Not a peep.  You get nothing for nothing from Skinner or me.  However, in view of the fact that you’re feeling kindly toward me this afternoon, I wish you’d do a little errand for me.  I can’t send a boy and I hate to make a messenger out of you—­er—­ah—­ahem!  That is har-umph-h-h—!”

“I have no false pride, Mr. Ricks.”

“Thank you, Bill.  Glad you feel that way about it.  Bill, I was prowling around town this forenoon, after church, and down in a store on Sutter Street, between Stockton and Powell Street, on the right hand side as you face Market Street, I saw a blue vase in a window.  I have a weakness for vases, Bill.  I’m a sharp on them, too.  Now, this vase I saw isn’t very expensive as vases go—­in fact, I wouldn’t buy it for my collection—­but one of the finest and sweetest ladies of my acquaintance has the mate to that blue vase I saw in the window, and I know she’d be prouder than Punch if she had two of them—­one for each side of her drawing room mantel, understand?

“Now, I’m leaving from the Southern Pacific depot at eight o’clock tonight, bound for Santa Barbara to attend her wedding anniversary tomorrow night.  I forget what anniversary it is, Bill, but I have been informed by my daughter that I’ll be very much de trop if I send her any present other than something in porcelain or China or Cloisonne—­well.  Bill, this crazy little blue vase just fills the order.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir.  You feel that it would be most graceful on your part if you could bring this little blue vase down to Santa Barbara with you tonight.  You have to have it tonight, because if you wait until the store opens on Monday the vase will reach your hostess twenty-four hours after her anniversary party.”

“Exactly, Bill.  Now, I’ve simply got to have that vase.  If I had discovered it yesterday I wouldn’t be asking you to get it for me today, Bill.”

“Please do not make any explanations or apologies, Mr. Ricks.  You have described the vase—­no you haven’t.  What sort of blue is it, how tall is it and what is, approximately, its greatest diameter?  Does it set on a base, or does it not?  Is it a solid blue, or is it figured?”

It’s a Cloisonne vase, Bill—­sort of old Dutch blue, or Delft, with some Oriental funny-business on it.  I couldn’t describe it exactly, but it has some birds and flowers on it.  It’s about a foot tall and four inches in diameter and sets on a teak-wood base.”

“Very well, sir.  You shall have it.”

“And you’ll deliver it to me in stateroom A, car 7, aboard the train at Third and Townsend Streets, at seven fifty-five tonight?”