“Tired at twenty-three?” said Cappy gently.

Matt flushed a little.

“Well, it does appear to me kind of foolish for a man with an income of more than eleven hundred dollars a month to be going to sea as second mate of a dirty little steam schooner at seventy-five dollars a month.”

“Well, I can hardly blame you,” said Cappy gently.  “I suppose I’d feel the same way about it myself if I stood in your shoes.”

“I’m sure you would,” Matt replied.

Fell a silence, broken presently by Cappy’s: 

“Huh!  Ahem!  Harump!” Then:  “When I came in from my club last night, Matt, I believe Florry had a caller.”

“Yes, sir,” said Matt; “I was there.”

“Huh!  I got a squint at you.  Am I mistaken in assuming that you were wearing a dress suit?”

“No, sir.”

“Whadja mean by wasting your savings on a dress suit?” Cappy exploded.  “Whadja mean by courting my Florry, eh?  Tell me that!  Give you an inch and you’ll take an ell!  Infernal young scoundrel!”

“Well,” said Matt humbly, “I intended to speak to you about Miss Florry.  Of course now that I’m going to live ashore—­”

“What can a big lubber like you do ashore?” Cappy shrilled.

“Why, I might get a job with some shipping firm—­”

“You needn’t count on a job ashore with the Blue Star Navigation Company,” Cappy railed.  “You needn’t think—­”

“Have I your permission to call on Miss Florry again?” Matt asked humbly.

“No!” thundered Cappy.  “You’re as nervy as they make ’em!  No, sir!  You’ll go to sea in the Gualala to-morrow morning—­d’ye hear?  That’s what you’ll do!”

But Matt Peasley shook his head.

“I’m through with the sea,” he said firmly.  “I have an income of eleven hundred dollars a month—­”

“0h, is that so?” Cappy sneered.  “Well, for the sake of argument, we’ll admit you have the income.  We don’t know how long you’ll have it; but we’ll credit your account on the books while we’re able to collect it from the charterers, and I guess we’ll collect it while the Unicorn is afloat.  But having an income and being able to spend it, my boy, are two different things; so in order to set your mind at ease, let me tell you something:  I’m not going to give you a cent out of that charter deal—­”

Matt Peasley sprang up, his big body aquiver with rage.

“You’d double-cross me!” he roared.  “Mr. Ricks, if you weren’t—­” He paused.

“Shut up!” snapped Cappy, undaunted.  “I know what you’re going to say.  If I wasn’t an old man I’d let you make a jolly jackanapes of yourself.  Now listen to me!  I said I wasn’t going to let you have a cent out of that charter deal—­and I mean it.  If you couldn’t say Boo! from now until the day you finger a dollar of that income you’d be as dumb as an oyster by the time I hand you the check.  What do you know about money?” he piped shrilly.  “You big, overgrown baby!  Yah!  You’ve had a little taste of business and turned a neat deal, and now you think you’re a wonder, don’t you?  Like everybody else, you’ll keep on thinking it until some smart fellow takes it all away from you again; so, in order to cure you, I’m not going to let you have it!”