Hence, even though the war should not materialize, he would be making no mistake in tying her up.  She was a bully gamble and a wonderful bargain at the price; with Terence Reardon presiding over her engines at a salary twenty-five dollars in excess of the union scale, the orders to keep her out of the shop would be followed, so far as lay in Terence’s power.  Even should he not succeed in financing the enterprise Cappy Ricks would be glad to take his bargain off his hands—­perhaps at a neat profit.  Consequently, Matt went over to his bank, procured an additional certified check for fifteen thousand dollars and returned to MacCandless’ office, where he signed the contract of sale and paid over his twenty-five thousand dollars.  He trembled a little as he did it.

“I’ll have the insurance on her placed this afternoon,” MacCandless suggested as he handed Matt his copy of the sale contract; whereat the latter came to life with galvanic suddenness.

“Oh, no, you’ll not, Mr. MacCandless,” he suggested smilingly.  “I’ll place that insurance myself.  My company has to pay for it, so I’ll act as agent and collect my little old ten per cent. commission.  But, passing that, do you want to know the latest—­the very latest news?”

“I don’t mind,” MacCandless replied.

“Well, there’s going to be a devil of big war in Europe and I wouldn’t take four hundred thousand dollars for the Narcissus this minute.  May I use your telephone?  Thanks!” He called up his office.  “Is there a telegram there for me?” he queried, and on being answered in the affirmative he directed his stenographer to read it to him.  He turned to MacCandless.

“Mr. Terence Reardon will have entire charge of the work of retubing those condensers, and so on,” he explained.  “I’ll give him a letter to you, which will be his authority to superintend the job.  I’m going to New York tonight, but I think I’ll be back in time to accept the vessel when she’s ready for commission.”  He looked at his watch.  It was just twelve-thirty o’clock.  “The Overland leaves at two-thirty,” he murmured.  “I’ll have just time to pack a suit case.”  And he picked up his hat and fled with the celerity and singleness of purpose of a tin-canned dog.

Cappy Ricks woke from his mid-afternoon doze to find his son-in-law shaking him by the shoulder.

“Well, young man,” Cappy began severely, “so you’re back, are you?  Give an account of yourself.  Where the devil have you been for the past two weeks?  Why did you go, and why did you have the consummate nerve to leave Florry behind you?  Why, you hadn’t been married two months—­”

“I couldn’t take her with me, sir,” Matt protested.  “I wanted to, but she would have been in the way.  You see, I knew I was going to be busy night and day.”

Cappy Ricks slid out to the edge of his swivel chair; with a hand on each knee he gazed at his smiling son-in-law over the rims of his spectacles.  For fully a minute he remained motionless.