“Yes, considering the aroma of codfish that goes with it, free-gratis,” Cappy admitted dryly; “but then I suppose that’s what attracted you in the first place.  But have you done any real business, Matt?”

“Well, I’ve arranged with several good old-line insurance companies to accept any marine-insurance business I may bring in, though I haven’t sold any yet; neither have I been able to find a load for your Tillicum.  By the way, you have a little old three-legged schooner laid up in Oakland Inner Harbor.”

“I have three of them—­more’s the pity!” Cappy replied—­“the Ethel Ricks, the Nukahiva and the Harpoon.  Which one do you mean?”

“The Ethel Ricks.  She’s the only one I examined closely.  Would you consider selling her?”

“Ah,” said Cappy, “I perceive.  Your friend Slade wants her for a codfisher, eh?”

“That’s all she’s good for now, Mr. Ricks.  She has had her day in the lumber trade; the steam schooners have relegated her to a final resting place in the ooze of Oakland Inner Harbor; her class of windjammers is a thing of the past for general cargo.  She’s been laid up now for three years.  True, her bottom is coppered and you dry-dock her every year; but that’s an expense.  And then you must consider taxes and depreciation, and sooner or later, if she lies in the mud long enough, the Teredo will eat her up; so it occurred to me that you might be glad to sell.  She was built in 1883, but she was built to last—­”

“Never built a cheap ship in my life and never ran ’em cheap,” Cappy challenged proudly.  “The Ethel Ricks is in the discard, but she’s as sound a little packet as you’ll find anywhere.  She’s had the best of care.  The same is true of the Harpoon and the Nukahiva.”

“What do you want for her?”

“Four thousand dollars,” Cappy answered promptly.

“I was offered the Dandelion for three thousand; she’s ten years younger than the Ethel Ricks and in very good condition.  Sorry, but I guess you’ll have to keep the Ethel—­and let me tell you, the longer you keep her the less she’s worth.  However, I guess she doesn’t owe you anything.”

“No; she paid for herself more’n twice,” Cappy replied.

“Then if you get three thousand for her it’s like finding the money and losing a worry.”

“Sold!” said Cappy.

“I didn’t say I’d buy,” Matt warned him.  “What do you want for the Harpoon and the Nukahiva?”

“They’re all sister ships.  Three thousand each.”

“I am empowered to make you an offer of twenty-seven hundred and fifty dollars each for the three!” Matt shot at him.

“Net?  The three of them?” Cappy was all attention now; for selling schooners in lots of three was decidedly new and interesting.

“Hardly!  Five per cent to me.  Remember I’m a ship, freight and marine insurance broker, and I’m not working for my health.  Why, I haven’t even suggested any other vessels to my clients—­and, by the way, they are not codfish people either.  I knew you’d want to get rid of these little hookers, so I’m giving you first crack at the bargain.”