“Who wants them?” Cappy demanded craftily.

“If I told you that you’d do me the way you did that Seattle broker who tried to put through the charter of the Lion and the Unicorn.  When you knew who his clients were you were in position to defy him—­and you did!”

“No offense,” Cappy retorted innocently.  “Don’t be so touchy!  Is this a cash proposition, Matt?”

“In the hand.”

“I accept.”

“Then give me a written option,” Matt warned him.  “No more word-of-mouth business for me with you.”

Cappy laughed; and, calling in a stenographer, he dictated the option.

“Now, then, Matt,” he said as he signed the option five minutes later and handed it to Matt, “who shall we make out the bills of sale to?”

“To the Pacific Shipping Company.  When you’re ready telephone me and I’ll bring the check round.”

“Go get your check now,” Cappy ordered.  “Skinner will have the bills of sale ready by the time you return.  And I do wish to heaven,” he added, “that you had called round with this proposition four days ago.  I’ve just had those three schooners dry-docked, cleaned and painted.”

“Which is the very reason why I didn’t call round until to-day, Mr. Ricks.  You can afford that dry-dock bill so much better than—­er—­the Pacific Shipping Company.”

He left, laughing, and proceeded to the office of the Pacific Shipping Company, where he procured a check for eighty-two hundred and fifty dollars and returned to the Blue Star Navigation Company’s office.  Mr. Skinner had in the meantime prepared proper bills of sale; a notary, with offices in the building, had been called in to attest the signatures of Cappy Ricks and Mr. Hankins, president and secretary respectively of the Blue Star Navigation Company; and when Cappy Ricks handed over the bills of sale to Matt Peasley, together with the Blue Star check for four hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents—­Matt’s commission—­the latter handed him the certified check of the Pacific Shipping Company.

“Who is the Pacific Shipping Company, Matt?” Cappy queried.  “I never heard of them before.”

“It’s a new company, sir,” Matt replied; and, gathering up his bills of sale and the check for his commission, he fled precipitately, leaving Cappy Ricks to adjust his spectacles and examine the check.  It was signed:  “Pacific Shipping Company, by Matthew Peasley, President.”

For a long time Cappy Ricks sat staring at that check.  Finally he looked up and saw Mr. Skinner gazing at him.  He held out the check and tapped Matt Peasley’s signature.

“Get on to that, Skinner, my boy,” he said; “get on to that!  Matt’s gone into the shipping business, and he’s making an humble start with three little old antiquated schooners, for which he has paid me more than eight thousand dollars.  Now he will go broke!”

“I do not agree with you, Mr. Ricks,” Mr. Skinner replied dryly, “for I notice he didn’t forget to stick us four hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents for the privilege of selling him those three schooners!  This is the first time I ever heard of anybody’s paying the purchaser a commission!”