“No, but I’ll get acquainted with him in due course.  Don’t let that worry you Mike.”

“All right, I won’t.  But what does worry me is the fact that Cappy Ricks doesn’t know you.

“Does he know you?”

“No.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, by proxy.  I’ve heard a lot about him, and that’s why I’m in his employ and resolved to stay there.  If a man sails under the Blue Star flag long enough and behaves himself and displays a little human intelligence from time to time sooner or later he gets his chance.  Cappy Ricks does all the hiring and firing for the fleet, and whenever he has a good job to fill, he never goes outside his own employ to fill it.  He always promotes the deserving.  You cabled him, of course, that Captain Kendall has been killed.”

“Yes, I did.  And I cabled him also to cable me authority to draw drafts, as skipper, in order to disburse the vessel.”

“Just like a kid!  Just like a kid!” Mr. Murphy groaned.  “That finishes you, Matt.  Cappy’ll think you’re fresh and you’ll be ten years proving to him you are not.”

“It proves I’m on the job,” Matt protested doggedly.

“No matter, Matt.  Cappy Ricks will go over the list of his skippers due for promotion into a larger ship and more pay, and right away he’ll start Captain Noah’s successor for Cape Town to bring the ship home.”

“If he does, Mike, he’s crazy.”

“Oh, he’s crazy enough, Matt, like a fox—­so blamed crazy he will not consider handing over this Retriever to an untried and unknown man who has been in his employ for less than a voyage.  Why, I wouldn’t myself.”

“Maybe you think he’ll hand her over to you?” Matt asked, with the suspicion and impetuosity of youth.

“Boy,” said Mr. Murphy patiently, “you’re getting into deep water close to the shore.  Starboard your helm and put her on the other tack.  If he gives her to me—­which he will not—­I’ll take her.  I’ve been three years in his employ.  I’m capable—­”

“Mike,” Matt interrupted.  “I like you fine, but I want to tell you that if Cappy Ricks cabled you to take charge, I wouldn’t let you.  I’m next in command, and it’s only etiquette that I should have my chance.”

“Then,” Mr. Murphy murmured sententiously, “there’d be a fight with skin gloves and I’m afraid you’d get licked, son.  I wasted a good many years in the navy, Matt, and there I learned two things—­how to obey and how to fight with my fists.  I was the champion amateur light-heavy-weight of the Atlantic fleet, and every once in a while something happens to prove to me that I’m far from being a slouch even at this late date.”

“No offense, Mike.  We’re crossing our bridges before we come to them, and besides, I didn’t intend to be offensive.”

“I understand.  Our conversation was entirely academic,” Murphy admitted graciously.

“You said you learned to obey in the navy,” Matt suggested.  “What’s the matter with obeying my last order?”