“Well, then,” Skinner replied.  “Peasley must be a wise man, because he never writes at all.  The only specimen of that fellow’s handwriting I’ve ever seen is his signature on the drafts he draws against us.  You will notice that he has even engaged a stenographer—­at his own expense, so the clerk informs me—­to typewrite his statement of account.”

“Then that explains it, Skinner.  The big-fisted brute can’t write a hand that anybody could read.  But, still, he should have dictated a letter, Skinner.  The least he might have done was to say:  ’Enclosed herewith find my report of disbursements for last voyage.’  And then he could have slipped in some mild complaint about the creosote, the trouble he had in getting a crew, and so on.

“I don’t see why you complain about a lack of correspondence, sir,” Mr. Skinner protested.  “For my part, I think it a profound relief to have a captain that isn’t writing or wiring in complaints about slow dispatch in loading or discharging, his private feuds with marine cooks and walking delegates from the Sailors’ Union.  Confound these fellows that are always unloading a cargo of woe on their owners!  It strikes me that they’re trying to square themselves for incompetence.”

“I agree with you, Skinner.  But then, all the Thomaston Peasleys were quick-tempered and wouldn’t be imposed on; and I hate to think I’ve picked the only one of the tribe who will dog it and never let a peep out of him.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Skinner.  “I see!  You want him to start something with you, eh?”

Cappy evaded this blunt query, however, and turned his attention to the report.

“Hello!” he said.  “I’m blessed if he hasn’t anticipated the very question I should have asked.  Here’s a footnote in red ink:  ’Decided not to carry third mate.  Two mates ample.’  And so two mates are ample, Skinner, though I used to humor Cap’n Noah with three.  This confirms me in the belief that Peasley must be a young man, Skinner, and not afraid to stand a watch himself if necessary.  And here’s another footnote:  ’Chief Mate Michael J. Murphy very gallantly declined to leave when he smelled the creosote, and was a tower of strength when it came to stowing the nitrate.  He holds an unlimited mate’s license, is sober, intelligent, courageous, honest and a hard worker.  He goes up for his master’s license this week!”

“Ah-h-h!” Cappy Ricks looked up, smiling.  “Skinner,” he declared, “it is as hard to keep a good man down as it is for a camel to enter the Kingdom of Heaven—­I mean for a rich man to enter a camel—­bother!  I mean you can’t keep a good man down, Skinner.  And this is the reason:  The first mate, Murphy, wanted to leave, but his loyalty would not permit it.  Hence the man Peasley must be a good, fair, decent man, to inspire such loyalty.  He is, and this report proves it.  His action in bringing Murphy to our attention indicates appreciation and a sense of justice.  Good!  Skinner, make a note of the qualifications of Michael J. Murphy for a master’s berth and give him the first opening.”