“No encouragement, eh?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, now, son,” Cappy informed his cheerful visitor confidentially, “you take my tip and see my son-in-law, Captain Peasley.  He’s high, low and jack-in-the-game in the shipping end of our business.”

“I have also interviewed Captain Peasley.  He was very kind.  He said he felt that he owed me a job, but business is so bad he couldn’t make a place for me.  He told me he is now carrying a dozen ex-service men merely because he hasn’t the heart to let them go.  I believe him.”

“Well, my dear boy—­my dear young friend!  Why do you come to me?”

“Because,” Mr. Peck replied smilingly, “I want you to go over their heads and give me a job.  I don’t care a hoot what it is, provided I can do it.  If I can do it, I’ll do it better than it was ever done before, and if I can’t do that I’ll quit to save you the embarrassment of firing me.  I’m not an object of charity, but I’m scarcely the man I used to be and I’m four years behind the procession and have to catch up.  I have the best of references—­”

“I see you have,” Cappy cut in blandly, and pressed the push-button on his desk.  Mr. Skinner entered.  He glanced disapprovingly at William E. Peck and then turned inquiring eyes toward Cappy Ricks.

“Skinner, dear boy,” Cappy purred amiably, “I’ve been thinking over the proposition to send Andrews out to the Shanghai office, and I’ve come to this conclusion.  We’ll have to take a chance.  At the present time that office is in charge of a stenographer, and we’ve got to get a manager on the job without further loss of time.  So I’ll tell you what we’ll do.  We’ll send Andrews out on the next boat, but inform him that his position is temporary.  Then if he doesn’t make good out there we can take him back into this office, where he is a most valuable man.  Meanwhile—­ahem! hum-m-m!  Harumph!—­meanwhile, you’d oblige me greatly, Skinner, my dear boy, if you would consent to take this young man into your office and give him a good work-out to see the stuff he’s made of.  As a favor to me, Skinner, my dear boy, as a favor to me.”

Mr. Skinner, in the language of the sporting world, was down for the count—­and knew it.  Young Mr. Peck knew it too, and smiled graciously upon the general manager, for young Mr. Peck had been in the army, where one of the first great lessons to be assimilated is this:  that the commanding general’s request is always tantamount to an order.

“Very well, sir,” Mr. Skinner replied coldly.  “Have you arranged the compensation to be given Mr. Peck?”

Cappy threw up a deprecating hand.  “That detail is entirely up to you, Skinner.  Far be it from me to interfere in the internal administration of your department.  Naturally you will pay Mr. Peck what he is worth and not a cent more.”  He turned to the triumphant Peck.  “Now, you listen to me, young feller.  If you think you’re slipping gracefully into a good thing,