“Sir, are you crazy?”

“No, I am not; I’m just disgusted with you.  Fifteen dollars here and now before I cast off the lines, or I’ll run you off the ship.  Don’t tempt me, Skinner.  If I ever lay violent hands on you there’ll be work for a doctor.”

Mr. Skinner was speechless, but he laid fifteen dollars on the captain’s desk and returned to his stateroom.  His silence was ominous.  Five minutes later the Quickstep backed out from the mill wharf and headed down the bay.  As she plowed along, the rain commenced falling and a stiff southeast breeze warned Matt that he was in for a wet crossing.  He was further convinced of this when the bar tug Ranger met him a mile inside the entrance.  She steamed alongside, and, as she passed, her captain hailed Matt.

“Don’t try to cross out, Peasley,” he shouted.  “The bar is breaking.”

“The Quickstep doesn’t mind it,” Matt answered.

“Don’t try it, I tell you.  I’ve been twenty years on Humboldt Bar and I know it, Peasley.  I’ve never seen it so bad as it is this minute.”

“Oh, we’ll cross out without any fuss,” Matt called back cheerfully, and rang for full speed ahead.  They were down at the entrance, and the Quickstep had just lifted to the dead water from the first big green roller, when Mr. Skinner came up and touched Matt Peasley on the arm.

“Well, sir?” Matt demanded irritably.

“Drop anchor inside, captain.  That bar is too rough to attempt to cross out.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Matt declared.

“But didn’t you hear what that tug-boat captain said?  He said it was breaking worse than he had known it for twenty years.”

“Bah!  What does he know about it?”

“I don’t care what he knows, Captain Peasley; I order you not to attempt to cross out.  My wife is aboard and I’ll take no chances.  Come to anchor and wait for the bar to settle.”

“You order me?” Matt sneered.  “Who in blazes are you to give orders on my ship?  I’m at sea, you understand, and you have nothing to say.  You’ll give your orders and I’ll obey them when I’m at the dock, but crossing Humboldt Bar, I’m the master of ceremonies.  I can’t turn back now.  I’d lose my rudder as I came about.  Get out.  Who invited you up here?”

“How dare you, sir?” Mr. Skinner cried furiously.  “Man, have you lost your mind?  Obey me, I say.”

Matt Peasley laughed blithely.  “You miserable, cold-blooded, nagging old woman,” he said, and took Mr. Skinner by the nape and shook him.  “I’ve prayed for this day.  Do you remember the time you wired me at Coos Bay that my timidity had lost you some passenger traffic?  You impugned my courage then, you whelp, and now I’m going to give you a sample of it.  All winter long you’ve been hounding me, trying to make me take chances crossing this bar, just so the vessel might pick up a couple of hundred dollars extra in passenger money.