"Yes, and by thunder! we'll send it," Cappy declared joyously. "Cable
him, Skinner, to fire that German crew so fast one might play checkers
on their coat tails as they go overside."

"I wish to heaven I could wireless him to put back to New York and
ship a new crew," Matt Peasley mourned. "There's just a possibility
that German crew of his may take over the ship on the high seas and
not put into Pernambuco at all!"

"We can only wait and pray," said Mr. Skinner piously.

Cappy Ricks slid out to the edge of his chair and, pop-eyed with
horror, gazed at his son-in-law over the rims of his spectacles.

"Matt," he declared, "you're as cheerful as a funeral. Here we have
this thing all settled, and you have to go to work and rip the silver
lining out of our cloud of contentment. And the worst of it is, by
golly, I think there's something in that theory of yours after all."

"We should always be prepared to meet the worst, Mr. Ricks," Mr.
Skinner admonished the president emeritus. "While piracy as a practice
practically perished prior to the--"

"Skinner! In the fiend's name, spare us this alliteration and humbug,"
Cappy fairly shrieked. "You're driving me crazy. If it isn't
platitude, it's your dog-gone habit of initialing things!" He placed
his old elbows on his knees and bowed his head in his hands. "If I'm
not the original Mr. Tight Wad!" he lamented. "But you must forgive
me, Matt. I got in the habit of thinking of expense when I was young,