“You’re a devil!” said Cappy Ricks.  “But—­I’ll pay the drafts.”  Matt laughed happily.  “You’re bringing about a million and a half into the company—­at least, if everything goes well, you will; and you’ve got a half interest in what you have brought in,” Cappy continued.

He touched a push button.  An instant later Mr. Skinner appeared.

“Skinner, my dear boy,” said Cappy, “Matt has a flock of charters he has made for us in the East—­also, a flock of recharters of the same boats—­also, a contract of sale on the steamer Narcissus.  Make out a form of assignment of that contract from the Pacific Shipping Company to the Blue Star Navigation Company and Matt will sign it.  We’ll keep that boat ourselves.  Then give Matt a check for the next payment due that man MacCandless on the Narcissus and after you’ve cleaned up with Matt, Skinner, have Hankins issue him seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of stock—­half in the Blue Star and half in the Ricks Lumber & Logging Company.  Tell Hankins, also, to call a special meeting of the board of directors of both companies for ten o’clock tomorrow—­and to be sure to have a quorum present.  And in the meantime put the Narcissus under provisional American registry.”

“Why, what are you going to do?” Mr. Skinner demanded wonderingly.

Cappy walked tip to his general manager and affectionately placed his hand on Skinner’s arm.

“Skinner, my dear boy,” he said, “we’re going to elect you president of the lumber company and Matt is to be president of the Navigation Company.  I’m going to resign and be a sort of president emeritus of both companies and advisory director to both boards.  Matt, you might tell Skinner what your plans are for the Blue Star.”

“Well,” said Matt, “I’m going to leave the president emeritus on the job a few months longer.”

“Not by a jugful!  I quit tomorrow.  Hereafter I’m just scenery.  I’m old and I must give way to youth.  I’ve had my day; I’m out of the running now,” Cappy answered sadly.

“We’re going to leave the president emeritus on the job,” Matt repeated, “while I go to Europe and pick up a couple of big British tramps, under the provisions of the recent Emergency Shipping Act, and stick ’em under the American flag.  Regardless of what the other fellows may do or think, the fact is we’re American citizens; and we’re going to do our duty and help establish an American mercantile marine.  Skinner, we’ll make the Blue Star flag known on the Seven Seas.”

Cappy Ricks sprang into the air and got one thin old arm round Matt Peasley’s neck; with the other he groped for Skinner, for there were tears in his fine old eyes.

“What a pair of lads to have round me!” he said huskily.  “Matt—­Skinner, my boy—­by the Holy Pink-toed Prophet!—­we’ll do it; not because we need the money or want it, or give a particular damn to hoard up a heap of it, but because it’s the right thing to do.  It’s patriotic—­it’s American—­our activities shall enrich the world—­and oh, it’s such a bully game to play!”