For a month no gleam of light filtered through the deep gloom of the old gentleman’s predicament.  A dozen times had he reached forth to press the push-button on his desk, summon Skinner and force the latter to do one of two things; recede from his position or resign as general manager.  Ten times he had paused with his finger on the push-button.  He simply could not afford to dispense with Skinner!  The eleventh time, however, grown desperate from much brooding over his unhappy lot, Cappy pressed the button.

“Send Mr. Skinner in,” he commanded bravely to the boy who answered his summons.

Mr. Skinner entered and stood awaiting Cappy’s pleasure.  On the instant the old fellow was overcome by panic.  Frantically he sought an “out.”

“Skinner, my dear boy,” he purred, “has it occurred to you that young Tommy, the office boy, has been here long enough, and behaved himself well enough, to merit a raise of about ten dollars a month?”

Mr. Skinner was a natural conservative and considerable of a pessimist.

“Well, I daresay he has, although I hadn’t given the matter any thought, sir.  However, the way lumber has been selling the past few months, we ought to be cutting salaries instead of raising them.”

“I know, Skinner, I know.  But a boy needs some encouragement; he has to have some concrete evidence of appreciation, er—­er—­attend to it, Skinner, my boy, attend to it.”

Mr. Skinner nodded and retired, leaving Cappy to grit his teeth and curse himself for a poltroon.  “It’s certainly hell when a man of my age and financial rating stands between his love and duty,” he mourned.  “Darn that fellow Skinner.  If my bluff should fail to work and he got on his high horse and quit, I’d have to climb off my high horse and beg him to return to work.  And he knows it.  He knows I’ve been taking it easy so long I never could bring myself to take up the burden of active business again.  Money!  What does money mean if it can’t buy happiness?  Drat that devilish Skinner.  I wish to jiminy he had the burden of my dollars—­”

He paused, overcome by a sudden brilliant thought.  “Bully for you, Alden P., you old, three-ply, copper-riveted, reinforced, star-spangled jack-ass!” he murmured.  “Why didn’t you think of it before and save yourself all this grief?”

His hand shot out once more to the push-button.  “Send in Mr. Hankins, sonny,” he ordered the office boy.

Mr. Hankins was the cashier; also secretary of all of Cappy’s companies, of which Mr. Skinner was first vice president.  He entered and stood deferentially beside Cappy’s desk.

“Hankins, my dear boy, bring me the stock certificates for my holdings in the Ricks Lumber and Logging Company and the Blue Star Navigation Company.  I am going to indorse them, after which I wish you would reissue the stock to me, less one hundred shares of each in the name of Mr. Skinner.  Say nothing to Mr. Skinner about this and bring the new certificates to me immediately.”