“He’s handsome,” thought Florry.  “What a beautiful tan on his throat!  He looks anything but the brute he is.  But he hasn’t any manners.  Oh, dear!  He stands there like a graven image.”

Matt Peasley’s hand came out of his pocket; off came his cap and he bowed slightly.

“I am Captain Peasley,” he said.

Cappy Ricks, leaning forward on the edge of his swivel chair, with head slightly bent, made a long appraisal of the young man over the rims of his spectacles.

“Ahem!” he said.  “Huh!  Harumph!” Ensued another terrible silence.  Then:  “Young scoundrel!” Cappy cried.  “Infernal young scoundrel!”

“I accept the nomination,” said Matt dryly.  “You’d never know me from my photograph, would you, sir?  I’d know you from yours, though—­in a minute!”

Miss Florry tittered audibly, thus drawing on herself the attention of the skipper, who was audacious enough to favor her with a solemn wink.

“None of your jokes with me, sir!” said Cappy severely.

“That’s just what I say, sir; none of your jokes on me!  Those green hides were absolutely indecent.”

“Matt, you’re a fresh young fellow,” Cappy charged, struggling to suppress a smile.

“And I was raised on salt water too,” Matt added seriously.

Cappy laughed.

“You’re a Thomaston Peasley,” he declared, and shook hands.  “Ever hear of Ethan Peasley back there?”

“He was my uncle, sir.  He was drowned at sea.”

“He was a boyhood chum of mine, Matt.  Permit me to present my daughter, Miss Florence.”

Miss Florence favored the captain with her most bewitching smile and nodded perkily.  Matt held out his great hand, not realizing that a bow and a conventional “Delighted, I’m sure!” was the correct thing in Florry’s set.  Florry was about to accept his great paw when Cappy yelled: 

“Don’t take it, Florry!  He’ll squeeze your hand to jelly.”

“I won’t,” Matt declared, embarrassed.  “I might press it a little—­”

“I know.  You pressed mine a little, and if I live to be a thousand years old I’ll never shake hands with you again.”

“I’ll give her my finger then,” Matt declared, and forthwith held out his index finger, which Florry shook gravely.

“Well, well, boy; sit down, sit down,” Cappy commanded briskly, “while I tell you the plans I have for your future.  I ought to have fired you long ago—­”

“I shall always be happy to testify that you tried hard enough,” Matt interrupted, and Florry’s silvery laugh filled the room.  Cappy winced, but had to join with her in the laugh on himself.

“For the sake of your Uncle Ethan, and the fact that you’re one of our own boys, Matt,” he continued, “I’ll retain you if you behave yourself.  As I believe I wired you, I’m going to put you in steam.”

“You didn’t consult me about it, sir; but, to please you, I’ll tackle steam.  I’m very grateful for your interest in me, Mr. Ricks.”