Matt Peasley leveled an accusing finger at Cappy Ricks.  “We never argued you into taking over the management of those Shipping Board boats.  We argued me into it.  I’m the goat.  You have nothing to do with it.  You retired ten years ago.  All the troubles in the marine end of this shop belong on my capable shoulders, old settler.”

“Theoretically—­yes.  Actually—­no.  I hope you do not expect me to abandon mental as well as physical effort.  Great Wampus Cats!  Am I to be denied a sentimental interest in matters where I have a controlling financial interest?  I admit you two boys are running my affairs and ordinarily you run them rather well, but—­but—­ahem!  Harumph-h-h!  What’s the matter with you, Matt?  And you, also, Skinner?  If Matt makes a mistake, it’s your job to remind him of it before the results manifest themselves, is it not?  And vice versa.  Have you two boobs lost your ability to judge men or did you ever have such ability?”

“You’re referring to Henderson, of the Shanghai office, I dare say,” Mr. Skinner cut in.

“I am, Skinner.  And I’m here to remind you that if we’d stuck to our own game, which is coast-wise shipping, and had left the trans-Pacific field with its general cargoes to others, we wouldn’t have any Shanghai office at this moment and we would not be pestered by the Hendersons of this world.”

“He’s the best lumber salesman we’ve ever had,” Mr. Skinner defended.  “I had every hope that he would send us orders for many a cargo for Asiatic delivery.”

“And he had gone through every job in this office, from office boy to sales manager in the lumber department and from freight clerk to passenger agent in the navigation company,” Matt Peasley supplemented.

“I admit all of that.  But did you consult me when you decided to send him out to China on his own?”

“Of course not.  I’m boss of the Blue Star Navigation Company, am I not?  The man was in charge of the Shanghai office before you ever opened your mouth to discharge your cargo of free advice.”

“I told you then that Henderson wouldn’t make good, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“And now I have an opportunity to tell you the little tale you didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you before you sent him out.  Henderson was a good man—­a crackerjack man—­when he had a better man over him.  But—­I’ve been twenty years reducing a tendency on the part of that fellow’s head to bust his hat-band.  And now he’s gone south with a hundred and thirty thousand taels of our Shanghai bank account.”

“Permit me to remind you, Mr. Ricks,” Mr. Skinner cut in coldly, “that he was bonded to the extent of a quarter of a million dollars.”

“Not a peep out of you, Skinner.  Not a peep.  Permit me to remind you that I’m the little genius who placed that insurance unknown to you and Matt.  And I recall now that I was reminded by you, Matthew, my son, that I had retired ten years ago and please, would I quit interfering in the internal administration of your office.”