“He’ll promptly file a bond to lift the attachment—­”

“Will he?  Who in this city will go on his bond?  Who does he know?”

“There are bonding companies in business, and for a cash consideration—­”

“Rot!  They will investigate and ponder before granting his application for a bond.  It takes a day or two to get a bond through a bonding house, and all I want to do is to tie Matt up for a day.  Now, listen!  You see to it that the suit is filed and an attachment levied on Matt Peasley’s bank account in the Marine National.  That’s where he keeps his little wad, because I took him over and introduced him there myself.  Well, sir, in the meantime I’ll call up Matt and precipitate a devil of a row with him over the phone.  I’ll tell him I’ve made up my mind to fight him to the last ditch and that those libels will not be lifted until he lifts them himself.  Of course, he’ll figure right away that he won’t need a certified check to-day, and maybe he’ll neglect to provide himself with one; or he may be chump enough to figure we’ll take his check uncertified, and if he does that will teach him something.”

“Well, I’m betting he’ll not be caught napping,” Mr. Skinner declared, “and if you want my opinion of this new proceeding I will state frankly that I am not in favor of it.  It savors too much of assination.  Of course, you may do it and get away with it—­”

“Pooh!” snorted Cappy.  “Forget it.  At ten minutes of three this afternoon the libel on the Tillicum will be lifted, and Matt Peasley will be paid in cash the sum he advanced his crew for wages.  That will block him from slapping any more libels on her and holding us up.  Then we’ll make formal, written demand upon him for eighteen thousand dollars; he won’t have it where he can lay his hands on it, and he’ll be up Salt Creek without a paddle.”

“I am not in favor of it,” Mr. Skinner reiterated firmly.

“Neither am I, Skinner, but I’ve got to do something.  Can’t let that young pup cover me with blood.  No, sir, not at my age, Skinner.  I can’t afford to be laughed off California Street.  And by the way, since when did you become a champion of Matt Peasley?”

Mr. Skinner did not answer.

“Since when?” Cappy repeated.

“Since he administered such a thorough thrashing to the Blue Star Navigation Company,” Mr. Skinner answered, “and did it without prejudice.  He swatted us, and we deserved it, but he didn’t get angry.  Every time he banged us, he’d look at me as much as to say:  ‘I hate to swat you two, but it’s got to be done.’  Bang!  ’This hurts me more than it does you.’  Biff!  And then he went out smiling.  I used to think he was an—­an—­interloper, I thought he had designs on the Blue Star Navigation Company and the Ricks Lumber and Logging Company, but he hasn’t.  He doesn’t give a hoot for anything or anybody except for what he can be to them; not for what they can be to him.  He’s brainy and spunky and, by thunder, I’m for him, and if you’re going to hand him a clout when he isn’t looking you’ll have to do it yourself.”