Matt Peasley beamed across at his future father-in-law.

“That was well done, sir,” he said, “and I wish I had known you were going to do it.  I would have saved you the trouble, because, you see, I never intended to go to work for you in this office anyhow.”

“The devil you say!” Cappy interrupted.  “Well, you just put some reverse English on those intentions of yours, my boy.  I know what’s good for you.”

But Matt Peasley only shook his head.

“I can’t do it, sir,” he said.  “While deeply appreciative of all you want to do for me, the fact is, if I’m going to marry your daughter—­and I am—­I’m not going to do it on your money and be dependent upon you for a job.  I’ll be my own man, Mr. Ricks.  I never ask odds of any man, and I don’t like to work for a relative.”

“Damn your Yankee independence,” snapped Cappy angrily.  “Why do you oppose me?”

“Because I’ll not have anybody saying:  ’There goes Matt Peasley.  He fell into a good thing.  Yes, indeed!  Used to be a common A. B. until Alden P. Ricks’ daughter fell in love with him—­and of course after that he went right up the line in the Blue Star Navigation Company.  He’s a lucky stiff.’”

“What do you care what people say?  I know what I want.”

“I do care what they say, and I care what I feel.  I want to fight my own way.  I want to make a wad of money and build up a business of my own—­”

“You’re crazy!  Why, here’s one ready-made, and it will stand all kinds of building up—­”

“Then let Skinner build it.  I’ll build my own.  I do not want anybody to think I married your daughter for your money.”

“Matt, you poor, chuckleheaded boy, listen to me.  I intend doing for you—­”

“And that,” roared Matt Peasley, smiting the desk, “is the very reason why I shall not permit you to do anything for me.  That’s final, Mr. Ricks.  I hope you will realize it’s useless to argue with me.”

“I ought to by this time,” Cappy replied bitterly.  “Very well, I’ve told you my business with you.  Suppose you state your business with me.”

“I’d like to draw twenty thousand dollars from my credit on the Blue Star books.”

“Huh!  So you want to dig into that money the recharter of the Unicorn is bringing you, eh, Matt?”

“If you can spare it, Mr. Ricks.”

“Of course I can spare it—­only I’ll not.  If you want that money, Matt, sue for it; and since you haven’t any documents to prove you have it coming to you, I suppose you will agree with me that a suit would be useless expenditure of time, money and energy.”

“Then you will not give me the money, sir?” Matt Peasley demanded.

“Not a red,” said Cappy calmly.  “We’ve fought this whole matter out before, so why argue?”

“Why, indeed,” Matt answered, and reached for his hat.  He was fighting mad and desired to go away before he quarreled with Cappy.