Cappy Ricks held up his hand.

“My dear boy,” he said with maddening calm, “listen to me!  I had a hunch this would happen.  As a matter of fact, I declined to charter to Morrow & Company direct ten days before you came prancing in with your head all swelled up with a brand-new idea for making a lot of easy money in a hurry.  Me charter to them—­me!” In his superb scorn Cappy waxed ungrammatical.  “I should kiss a pig!  Why, if sawmills were selling for six bits each I wouldn’t trust that concern with a hatful of sawdust—­not that they weren’t honest and capable, but they haven’t got any money to speak of any more!”

“But—­but—­Why, dad burn it, sir, you said it was perfectly agreeable to you to have me charter the Tillicum to them!” Matt roared, angry, hurt and amazed.

“Why should I worry what you do?  I have all I can do to attend to my own business.  Why should I tell you yours?”

“But—­”

“No ifs or buts, Matt.  I played safe; but you’re caught away off third base and now you’re out!  You’ve got to settle with me for every day you have that vessel under charter until you deliver her back here in San Francisco Bay and formally surrender her to me.  You’ve got to pay me—­and what’s more, I’m going to see to it that you do!  Business is business, my boy.”

“Well, I’ll pay you all the cash I can and give you my note for the remainder.”

“Your note!” Cappy jeered.  “Your note!  What do I want with your note!  Is it hockable at any bank?  Huh!  Answer me that.”

“You needn’t insult me!” Matt growled wrathfully.

“Bah!” Cappy sneered.  “You think you’re mighty smart, don’t you, Matt?  Do you remember what I told you when you declined to go to work for me and insisted on going into business for yourself?  I told you you’d go bust—­and you’re going right now.  All you’ll have left in thirty days will be the clothes you stand in and the corporation seal of the Pacific Shipping Company.  Ho-ho!  Isn’t that funny?  The idea of a man’s paying thirty thousand dollars for a dinky old corporation seal worth two and a half!”

Matt Peasley’s face went white with suppressed fury.

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “I seem to remember some such prophecy; also, some conversation to the effect that I’d be a better business man if I purchased my business experience with my own money.  You said there were wolves along California Street that would take my roll away from me so fast it’d surprise me.  I must confess, however, that I had no idea you would lead the pack!  However, I didn’t come here to argue, Mr. Ricks—­”

“What did you come for?  Sympathy?” Cappy queried.  “Because, if you did, you’ve come to the wrong shop, my boy.  Business is business, Matt; I never mix sentiment with it and I advise you never to do it either.  Pay your way and take your beating like a sport—­that’s my policy, Matt.”

“Do you want to save the Blue Star Navigation Company some money?” Matt managed to articulate.