“I think he’ll do.”

“Why do you think he’ll do?”

“Because he ought to do.  He’s been with us long enough to have acquired sufficient experience to enable him—­”

“Has he acquired the courage to tackle the job, Matt?” Cappy interrupted.  “That’s more important than this doggoned experience you and Skinner prate so much about.”

“I know nothing of his courage.  I assume that he has force and initiative.  I know he has a pleasing personality.”

“Well, before we send him out we ought to know whether or no he has force and initiative.”

“Then,” quoth Matt Peasley, rising, “I wash my hands of the job of selecting Henderson’s successor.  You’ve butted in, so I suggest you name the lucky man.”

“Yes, indeed,” Skinner agreed.  “I’m sure it’s quite beyond my poor abilities to uncover Andrews’ force and initiative on such notice.  He does possess sufficient force and initiative for his present job, but—­”

“But will he possess force and initiative when he has to make a quick decision six thousand miles from expert advice, and stand or fall by that decision?  That’s what we want to know, Skinner.”

“I suggest, sir,” Mr. Skinner replied with chill politeness, “that you conduct the examination.”

“I accept the nomination, Skinner.  By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet!  The next man we send out to that Shanghai office is going to be a go-getter.  We’ve had three managers go rotten on us and that’s three too many.”

And without further ado, Cappy swung his aged legs up on to his desk and slid down in his swivel chair until he rested on his spine.  His head sank on his breast and he closed his eyes.

“He’s framing the examination for Andrews,” Matt Peasley whispered, as he and Skinner made their exits.

* * * * *

II

The President emeritus of the Ricks’ interests was not destined to uninterrupted cogitation, however.  Within ten minutes his private exchange operator called him to the telephone.

“What is it?” Cappy yelled into the transmitter.

“There is a young man in the general office.  His name is Mr. William E. Peck and he desires to see you personally.”

Cappy sighed.  “Very well,” he replied.  “Have him shown in.”

Almost immediately the office boy ushered Mr. Peck into Cappy’s presence.  The moment he was fairly inside the door the visitor halted, came easily and naturally to “attention” and bowed respectfully, while the cool glance of his keen blue eyes held steadily the autocrat of the Blue Star Navigation Company.

“Mr. Ricks, Peck is my name, sir—­William E. Peck.  Thank you, sir, for acceding to my request for an interview.”

“Ahem!  Hum-m-m!” Cappy looked belligerent.  “Sit down, Mr. Peck.”

Mr. Peck sat down, but as he crossed to the chair beside Cappy’s desk, the old gentleman noticed that his visitor walked with a slight limp, and that his left forearm had been amputated half way to the elbow.  To the observant Cappy, the American Legion button in Mr. Peck’s lapel told the story.