“Then you’d better hurry and close the deal, sir,” Matt warned him.  “I only arrived in town this morning; and I checked my baggage at the depot and came up here immediately.  The Seattle broker went up to his hotel.  He said he had to have a bath and a shave and some clean linen first thing,” he added scornfully:  “Me, I’d swim Channel Creek at low tide in a dress suit if I had important business on the other side.”

“Matt,” said Cappy gratefully, “you’re a boy after my own heart.  Really, I think you ought to get something out of this if we put it through.”

“Well, as I stated, I wouldn’t take anything out of the Lion charter, because it’s my duty to save you when somebody has a gun at your head; but on the Unicorn charter I thought—­well, if you can recharter at a profit I thought you might agree to split the profit with me.  I’m a skipper, you know, and this sort of thing is out of my regular line; and besides, I’m not on your pay roll at present.  I’ve promoted the deal, so to speak.  I supply the ship and the brains and the valuable information, and you supply business for the ship.”

“Yes; and, in spite of the hard times, I’ll supply it at a profit if I have to,” Cappy declared happily.  “Of course I’ll split the profit with you, Matt.  As you say, this Unicorn deal is outside your regular line.  It’s a private deal; and as the promoter of it you’re entitled to your legitimate profit.”  He rang for Mr. Skinner.

“Skinner, my boy,” he said when that functionary entered, “Matt and I are going to unload that white elephant of a Lion and get her off our hands for four years at a fancy figure; but to do it we’ve got to charter another white elephant—­the Black Butte Lumber Company’s Unicorn.  Here’s an option Captain Peasley has just secured on her.  Have the charter parties made out immediately in conformity with this option and bring them here for my signature.”

Mr. Skinner read the option and began to protest.

“Mr. Ricks, I tell you we cannot possibly use the Unicorn for sixty days, if you are forced to keep her off the market that long.  If this thing develops into a waiting game—­”

“I’ll wear the other side out,” Cappy finished for him.  “Listen to me, Skinner!  How’s the shingle market in the Southwest?”

“The market is steady at three dollars and fifty cents, f.o.b.  Missouri River common points.”

Cappy scratched his ear and cogitated.

“The Unicorn will carry eighteen million shingles,” he murmured.  “The going water freight from Grays Harbor to San Francisco is how much?”

“Thirty-five cents a thousand,” Mr. Skinner replied promptly.

“Therefore, if we used one of our own vessels to freight eighteen million shingles it would cost us—­”

“Six thousand three hundred dollars,” prompted Mr. Skinner.

“Fortunately for us, however, we do not use one of our own vessels.  We use that fellow Hudner’s and we get her for three hundred and twenty-five dollars a day.  She can sail from here to Grays Harbor, take on her cargo, get back to San Francisco and discharge it in twelve days.  What’s twelve times three hundred and twenty-five?”