“It’s about the Hermosa.  Skinner, that dog-barking navigator you put in that schooner while I was on my vacation has balled us up for fair.  I’ll be the laughing-stock of the street.”

Parenthetically it may be stated that the Blue Star Navigation Company’s schooner, Hermosa, had cleared from Astoria for Valparaiso with a cargo of railroad ties, and, for some reason which the captain could not explain but which Cappy Ricks could, the unfortunate man had become lost at sea, finally ending his voyage on a reef on one of the Samoan Islands.  The Hermosa had been listed as missing and her owners had been on the point of receiving a check for the insurance on the vessel and her cargo when an Australian steamer brought news of her predicament in Samoa.  Her captain sent word that she was resting easily and that he would get her off.  Subsequently, Cappy learned that his dog-barking skipper had discharged his cargo of railroad ties on barges, in order to lighten the vessel and float her off with the aid of a launch.  Unfortunately, however, he discovered a huge hole in her garboard, and before he could patch it an extra high tide lifted the vessel over the reef and sunk her forty fathoms deep in a place where nobody could ever get at her again.

“Yes, sir,” Cappy complained.  “I’ll be the laughing-stock of the street.  Here’s a letter from the insurance people, inclosing a check for a total loss on the vessel, but they repudiate payment of the insurance on the cargo.”

“Why?” demanded the amazed Skinner.  “They insured those ties for delivery at Callao.  They can’t get out of it.”

“I’ll bet they can,” Cappy shrilled.  “I’ve just called up the Board of Underwriters and they say the cargo hasn’t been lost.  They say nothing is lost if you know where it is, and the ties are on the beach in Samoa awaiting our pleasure.  Skinner, call up our attorneys at once and tell them to enter suit.”

“I was just about to call them up on another matter,” Mr. Skinner replied.  “As secretary of the Blue Star Navigation Company I have just been served with a summons in another suit, entered against the Quickstep.”

“What in the fiend’s name is the matter with that infernal Quickstep?  This is the third suit we’ve had in two years.  Skinner, what is wrong with that steam schooner?”

“She must be hoodooed, Mr. Ricks.”

“Another seaman injured by being hit with a cargo block or having a piece of eight-by-eight drop on his foot, I suppose.”

“Not this time, Mr. Ricks.  One Halvor Jacobsen has sued the Quickstep and owners for five thousand dollars for injuries alleged to have been inflicted upon him by the captain.”

“So that Captain Kjellin has been fighting again, eh?  Skinner, that man is too handy with his fists, I tell you.  He’s another one of your favorites, by the way.  I only put that fellow in the Quickstep to please you.”

“We haven’t a better man in our employ,” Mr. Skinner asserted stoutly.  “He carries larger cargoes and makes faster time than any steam-schooner captain in our vessels of similar carrying capacity.  He’s a dividend producer, Mr. Ricks, and he is very efficient.”