“The old sinner thought I’d dog it, I suppose,” Matt sneered, as he passed the message to Mr. Murphy, who shivered as he read it.  “I guess you’re elected, Mike,” the skipper continued.  “The second mate has quit.  However, it isn’t going to be very hard on you this time.  I was speaking to the skipper of that schooner in the berth ahead of us, and he gave me a recipe for killing the perfume of a cargo of green hides.”

“If he’d given it to us in Antofagasta, I’d name a ship after him some day,” Mr. Murphy mourned.

“Well, we’ve gotten it in time to be of some use,” Matt declared.  “You don’t suppose I’m going to let this old snoozer Ricks get away with the notion that he put one over on us, do you?  Shall we haul Old Glory down?  No!  Never!  I’ll just switch off the laughing gas on Cappy Ricks,” and the young skipper went ashore and wired his managing owner as follows: 

“Green hides are the essence of horror if you do not know how to handle them.  Fortunately I do.  Pour water on a green hide and you muzzle the stink.  I judge from your last telegram you thought you handed me something.”

When Cappy Ricks got that telegram he flew into a rage and refused to believe Matt Peasley’s statement until he had first called up a dealer in hides and confirmed it.  The entire office staff wondered all that day what made Cappy so savage.

By the following day, however, Cappy’s naturally optimistic nature had reasserted itself.  He admitted to himself that he had fanned out, but still the knowledge brought him some comfort.

“He’s walloped me so,” Cappy soliloquized, “he just can’t help writing and crowing about it.  If I didn’t do anything else I bet I’ve pried a letter out of him.  It certainly will be a comfort to see something except a telegram and a statement of account from that fellow.”

However, when the report of the voyage arrived, Mr. Skinner reported that it contained no letter.  Cappy’s face reflected his disappointment.

“I guess you’ll have to go stronger than green hides to get a yelp out of that fellow,” Mr. Skinner predicted.

“Why, there isn’t anything stronger than a cargo of green hides, Skinner,” Cappy declared thoughtfully.  He clawed his whiskers a moment.  Then:  “What have you got for her on the Sound, Skinner?”

“Nothing nasty, sir.  We’ll have to give him a regular cargo this time—­that is, unless he quits.  I’ve got a cargo for Sydney, ready at our own mill at Port Hadlock.”

“Well, he hasn’t resigned yet,” Cappy declared; “so we might as well beat him to it.  Wire him, Skinner, to tow to our mill at Port Hadlock and load for Sydney.  If he believes we’re willing to call this thing a dead heat he may conclude to stick.  Tell him this is a nice cargo.”  Again Cappy clawed his whiskers.  “Sydney, eh?” he said musingly.  “That’s nice!  We can send him over to Newcastle from there to pick up a cargo of coal, and maybe he’ll come home afire!  If we can’t hand him a stink, Skinner, we’ll put a few gray hairs in his head.”