Cappy’s prediction proved to be correct, for the following morning Hayes telephoned that the Mannheim people desired the steamers at Cappy’s figures, the charter parties, signed by Cappy, were forwarded to Seattle, and in due course were returned signed by the charterers; whereupon Cappy exercised his option, procured by Matt from Hudner, to charter the Unicorn for four years additional.

“What did Hudner have to say for himself?” Cappy queried when Matt returned from the latter’s office, after finally completing the deal.

“Not a word!  He looked volumes, though, sir.”

“Serves him right.  That man, sir, is a thorn in the side of the market.  However, since we’re making a daily profit on him we can afford to speak kindly of the unfortunate fellow, Matt; so sit down and we’ll figure out where we stand on the Unicorn.  She costs us three-twenty-five and we’ve chartered her at four hundred—­a daily profit of seventy-five dollars, of which you receive thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents.  That makes eleven hundred and twenty-five dollars monthly income for you, my boy; and, believe me, it isn’t to be sneezed at.  Meantime you and I, as partners, owe me a thousand dollars commission to that Seattle broker; so I’ll have Skinner make a journal entry and charge your account five hundred dollars.  There’s no need to pay it now, Matt.  Wait until the vessel earns it.”

“The vessel might sink on her first voyage and that would cancel the charter,” Matt replied; “so I guess I’ll be a sport and hold up my end.  You paid out the hard cash and took a chance, and so will I.”  And, with the words, Matt drew from his pocket the Black Butte Lumber Company’s check for a thousand dollars, indorsed it and passed it over to Cappy Ricks.  “We’re equal partners, sir,” he said, “and I pried that thousand out of Hudner on the side as a commission for chartering the Unicorn to you.  Half of it is yours and I owe you the other half; so there you are.”

Cappy Ricks threw up his hands in token of complete surrender.

“Scoundrel!” he cried.  “Damned young scoundrel!  You Yankee thief, haven’t you any conscience?” And he laid his old head on his desk and laughed his shrill, senile laugh, while tears of joy rolled down his rosy old cheeks.  “Oh-h-h-h, my!” he cackled.  “But wait until I get Hudner among my young friends at the Round Table up at the Commercial Club to-morrow!  To think of a young pup like you coming in and chasing an old dog like Hudner round the lot and taking his bone away from him!”

He turned to the general manager: 

“Oh, Skinner!  Skinner, my dear boy, this will be the death of me yet!  Remember that old maid stenographer Hudner stole away from us, Skinner?  Remember?  Oh, but isn’t he paying for her through the nose?  Isn’t he, Skinner?  Oh, dear!  Oh, dear, what a lot of fun there is in just living and raising hell with your neighbor—­particularly, Skinner, when he happens to be a competitor.”