Matt gazed sorrowfully at the rug.  Too well he realized that Cappy had the whip hand and was fully capable of cracking the whip; so presently he said: 

“Well, I’ve met bedbugs before, Mr. Ricks.  I’ll go aboard in the morning.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Matt.  And another thing:  I like you, Matt, but not well enough for a son-in-law.  Remember, my boy, you’re only a sailor on a steam schooner now—­so it won’t be necessary for you to look aloft.  You understand, do you not?  You want to remember your position, my boy.”

Matt turned and bent upon Cappy a slow, smoldering gaze.  Cappy almost quivered.  Then slowly the rage died out in Matt Peasley’s fine eyes and a lilting, boyish grin spread over his face, for he was one of those rare human beings who can smile, no matter what the prospect, once he has definitely committed himself to a definite course of action.  Only the years of discipline and his innate respect for gray hairs kept him from bluntly informing Cappy Ricks that he might forthwith proceed to chase himself!  Instead he said quietly: 

“Very well, sir.  Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” snapped Cappy.

At the door Matt paused an instant, for he was young and he could not retire without firing a shot.  He fired it now with his eyes—­a glance of cool disdain and defiance that would have been worth a dollar of anybody’s money to see.  Cappy had to do something to keep from laughing.

“Out, you rebel!” he yelled.  The door closed with a crash, and Cappy Ricks took down the telephone receiver and called up his daughter.

“Florry,” he said gently, “I want to tell you something.”

“Fire away, Pop!” she challenged.

“It’s about that fellow Peasley,” Cappy replied coldly.  “I wish you wouldn’t have that big, awkward dub calling at the house, Florry.  He’ll fall over the furniture the first thing you know, and do some damage.  I think a lot of him as a sailor, but that’s about as far as my affection extends; and if you insist on having him call at the house, my dear, my authority over him as an employee will suffer and I’ll be forced to fire the fellow.  Of course I realize what a pleasant boy he is; but then you don’t know sailors like I do.  They’re a low lot at heart, Florry, and this fellow Peasley is no exception to the general rule.”

Cappy paused to test the effect of this broadside.  There was a little gasp from the other end of the wire; then a click as his daughter hung up, too outraged to reply.

Cappy’s kindly eyes twinkled merrily as he replaced the receiver on the hook.

“What a skookum son-in-law to take up the business when I let go!” he murmured happily.  “Oh, Matt, I’m so blamed sorry for you; but it’s just got to be done.  If you’re going to build up the Blue Star Navigation Company after the Panama Canal is opened for business, you’ve got to know shipping; and to know it from center to circumference.  It isn’t sufficient that you be master of sail and steam, any ocean, any tonnage.  You’ve got to learn the business from the rules as promulgated by little old Alden P. Ricks, the slave driver.  There’s hope for you, sonny.  You have already learned to obey.”