“I submit, with all due respect, that what I did with that freight money I collected in Panama is none of your confounded business.  I chartered a vessel from you and she was loaded with a cargo.  The only interest you can possibly have in that cargo lies in the fact that the Pacific Stevedoring Company stowed it in the vessel and hasn’t been paid some forty-five hundred dollars for so stowing it, and eventually, of course, you’ll have to foot the bill as owner of the vessel.  That vessel and cargo were thrown back on my hands, not on yours; so why should you ask questions about my business?  You’ve got your nerve with you!”

“But you’ll have to render an accounting to Morrow & Company,” Cappy charged.

“I’ll not.  They gave me a check that was returned branded ’Not sufficient funds;’ they didn’t keep their charter with me, and if I hadn’t been a fly young fellow their failure would have ruined me, and then a lot they’d care about it!  If I spoke to them about it they’d say:  ’Well, these things will happen in business.  We’re sorry; but what can we do about it?’ No, Mr. Ricks; I’m in the clear with Morrow & Company, and their creditors will be lucky if I do not present my claim for ten thousand dollars because of that worthless check I hold.  When I collected from the Panama Railroad Company for the freight on that southbound cargo I paid myself all Morrow & Company owed me, and the rest is velvet if I choose to keep it.  If I do not choose to keep it the only honorable course for me to pursue will be to send a statement and my check for the balance to the receiver for Morrow & Company.”

“What!” demanded Mr. Skinner.  “And leave the Blue Star Navigation Company to pay the crew?”

“Yes—­and the fuel bill, and the butcher and the baker and the candlestick maker, and the stevedoring firm, and the whole infernal, sorry mess!”

Cappy Ricks motioned to Mr. Skinner to be silent; then he rose and placed his hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“Matt,” he said kindly, “look me in the eyes and see if you can have the crust to tell me that, with all that freight money in your possession, you do not intend to apply the residue to the payments of these claims against the Tillicum.”

Matt bent low and peered fiercely into Cappy’s face, for all the world like a belligerent rooster.

“Once more, my dear Mr. Ricks,” he said impressively, I desire to inform you that, so far as the steamer Tillicum is concerned, I venerate you as a human Christmas tree.  I’m the villain in this sketch and proud of it.  You’re stabbed to the hilt!  Why should I be expected to pay the debts of your steamer?”

“But you used all the materials placed aboard her for your own use and benefit.”

“That, Mr. Ricks, constitutes my profit,” Matt retorted pleasantly.  “She had fuel oil aboard when she was turned back on me sufficient to last her to Panama and return—­she had engine supplies, gear, beef in the refrigerator, provisions in the storeroom, and clean laundry in the linen lockers; in fact, I never went to sea in command of a ship that was better found.”