<h2>II</h2>
<p>The President emeritus of the Ricks' interests was not destined
to uninterrupted cogitation, however. Within ten minutes his
private exchange operator called him to the telephone.</p>
<p>"What is it?" Cappy yelled into the transmitter.</p>
<p>"There is a young man in the general office. His name is Mr.
William E. Peck and he desires to see you personally."</p>
<p>Cappy sighed. "Very well," he replied. "Have him shown in."</p>
<p>Almost immediately the office boy ushered Mr. Peck into Cappy's
presence. The moment he was fairly inside the door the visitor
halted, came easily and naturally to "attention" and bowed
respectfully, while the cool glance of his keen blue eyes held
steadily the autocrat of the Blue Star Navigation Company.</p>
<p>"Mr. Ricks, Peck is my name, sir--William E. Peck. Thank you,
sir, for acceding to my request for an interview."</p>
<p>"Ahem! Hum-m-m!" Cappy looked belligerent. "Sit down, Mr.
Peck."</p>
<p>Mr. Peck sat down, but as he crossed to the chair beside Cappy's
desk, the old gentleman noticed that his visitor walked with a
slight limp, and that his left forearm had been amputated half way
to the elbow. To the observant Cappy, the American Legion button in
Mr. Peck's lapel told the story.</p>
<p>"Well, Mr. Peck," he queried gently, "what can I do for
you?"</p>
<p>"I've called for my job," the veteran replied briefly.</p>
<p>"By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet!" Cappy ejaculated, "you say that
like a man who doesn't expect to be refused."</p>
<p>"Quite right, sir. I do not anticipate a refusal."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>Mr. William E. Peck's engaging but somewhat plain features
rippled into the most compelling smile Cappy Ricks had ever seen.
"I am a salesman, Mr. Ricks," he replied. "I know that statement to
be true because I have demonstrated, over a period of five years,
that I can sell my share of anything that has a hockable value. I
have always found, however, that before proceeding to sell goods I
had to sell the manufacturer of those goods something,
to-wit--myself! I am about to sell myself to you."</p>
<p>"Son," said Cappy smilingly, "you win. You've sold me already.
When did they sell you a membership in the military forces of the
United States of America?"</p>
<p>"On the morning of April 7th, 1917, sir."</p>
<p>"That clinches our sale. I soldiered with the Knights of
Columbus at Camp Kearny myself, but when they refused to let me go
abroad with my division my heart was broken, so I went over the
hill."</p>
<p>That little touch of the language of the line appeared to warm
Mr. Peck's heart considerably, establishing at once a free masonry
between them.</p>
<p>"I was with the Portland Lumber Company, selling lumber in the
Middle West before the war," he explained. "Uncle Sam gave me my
sheepskin at Letter-man General Hospital last week, with half
disability on my ten thousand dollars' worth of government
insurance. Whittling my wing was a mere trifle, but my broken leg
was a long time mending, and now it's shorter than it really ought
to be. And I developed pneumonia with influenza and they found some
T.B. indications after that. I've been at the government
tuberculosis hospital at Fort Bayard, New Mexico, for a year.
However, what's left of me is certified to be sound. I've got five
inches chest expansion and I feel fine."</p>
<p>"Not at all blue or discouraged?" Cappy hazarded.</p>
<p>"Oh, I got off easy, Mr. Ricks. I have my head left--and my
right arm. I can think and I can write, and even if one of my
wheels is flat, I can hike longer and faster after an order than
most. Got a job for me, Mr. Ricks?"</p>
<p>"No, I haven't, Mr. Peck. I'm out of it, you know. Retired ten
years ago. This office is merely a headquarters for social
frivolity--a place to get my mail and mill over the gossip of the
street. Our Mr. Skinner is the chap you should see."</p>
<p>"I have seen Mr. Skinner, sir," the erstwhile warrior replied,
"but he wasn't very sympathetic. I think he jumped to the
conclusion that I was attempting to trade him my empty sleeve. He
informed me that there wasn't sufficient business to keep his
present staff of salesmen busy, so then I told him I'd take
anything, from stenographer up. I'm the champion one-handed typist
of the United States Army. I can tally lumber and bill it. I can
keep books and answer the telephone."</p>
<p>"No encouragement, eh?"</p>
<p>"No, sir."</p>
<p>"Well, now, son," Cappy informed his cheerful visitor
confidentially, "you take my tip and see my son-in-law, Captain
Peasley. He's high, low and jack-in-the-game in the shipping end of
our business."</p>
<p>"I have also interviewed Captain Peasley. He was very kind. He
said he felt that he owed me a job, but business is so bad he
couldn't make a place for me. He told me he is now carrying a dozen
ex-service men merely because he hasn't the heart to let them go. I
believe him."</p>
<p>"Well, my dear boy--my dear young friend! Why do you come to
me?"</p>
<p>"Because," Mr. Peck replied smilingly, "I want you to go over
their heads and give me a job. I don't care a hoot what it is,
provided I can do it. If I can do it, I'll do it better than it was
ever done before, and if I can't do that I'll quit to save you the
embarrassment of firing me. I'm not an object of charity, but I'm
scarcely the man I used to be and I'm four years behind the
procession and have to catch up. I have the best of
references--"</p>
<p>"I see you have," Cappy cut in blandly, and pressed the
push-button on his desk. Mr. Skinner entered. He glanced
disapprovingly at William E. Peck and then turned inquiring eyes
toward Cappy Ricks.</p>
<p>"Skinner, dear boy," Cappy purred amiably, "I've been thinking
over the proposition to send Andrews out to the Shanghai office,
and I've come to this conclusion. We'll have to take a chance. At
the present time that office is in charge of a stenographer, and
we've got to get a manager on the job without further loss of time.
So I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll send Andrews out on the next
boat, but inform him that his position is temporary. Then if he
doesn't make good out there we can take him back into this office,
where he is a most valuable man. Meanwhile--ahem! hum-m-m!
Harumph!--meanwhile, you'd oblige me greatly, Skinner, my dear boy,
if you would consent to take this young man into your office and
give him a good work-out to see the stuff he's made of. As a favor
to me, Skinner, my dear boy, as a favor to me."</p>
<p>Mr. Skinner, in the language of the sporting world, was down for
the count--and knew it. Young Mr. Peck knew it too, and smiled
graciously upon the general manager, for young Mr. Peck had been in
the army, where one of the first great lessons to be assimilated is
this: that the commanding general's request is always tantamount to
an order.</p>
<p>"Very well, sir," Mr. Skinner replied coldly. "Have you arranged
the compensation to be given Mr. Peck?"</p>
<p>Cappy threw up a deprecating hand. "That detail is entirely up
to you, Skinner. Far be it from me to interfere in the internal
administration of your department. Naturally you will pay Mr. Peck
what he is worth and not a cent more." He turned to the triumphant
Peck. "Now, you listen to me, young feller. If you think you're
slipping gracefully into a good thing, disabuse your mind of that
impression right now. You'll step right up to the plate, my son,
and you'll hit the ball fairly on the nose, and you'll do it early
and often. The first time you tip a foul, you'll be warned. The
second time you do it you'll get a month's lay-off to think it
over, and the third time you'll be out--for keeps. Do I make myself
clear?"</p>
<p>"You do, sir," Mr. Peck declared happily. "All I ask is fighting
room and I'll hack my way into Mr. Skinner's heart. Thank you, Mr.
Skinner, for consenting to take me on. I appreciate your action
very, very much and shall endeavor to be worthy of your
confidence."</p>
<p>"Young scoundrel! In-fer-nal young scoundrel!" Cappy murmured to
himself. "He has a sense of humor, thank God! Ah, poor old
narrow-gauge Skinner! If that fellow ever gets a new or
unconventional thought in his stodgy head, it'll kill him
overnight. He's hopping mad right now, because he can't say a word
in his own defense, but if he doesn't make hell look like a summer
holiday for Mr. Bill Peck, I'm due to be mercifully chloroformed.
Good Lord, how empty life would be if I couldn't butt in and raise
a little riot every once in so often."</p>
<p>Young Mr. Peck had risen and was standing at attention. "When do
I report for duty, sir?" he queried of Mr. Skinner.</p>
<p>"Whenever you're ready," Skinner retorted with a wintry smile.
Mr. Peck glanced at a cheap wrist watch. "It's twelve o'clock now,"
he soliloquized aloud. "I'll pop out, wrap myself around some
rations and report on the job at one P.M. I might just as well
knock out half a day's pay." He glanced at Cappy Ricks and
quoted:</p>
<blockquote>"Count that day lost whose low descending sun<br/>
Finds prices shot to glory and business done for fun."</blockquote>
<p>Unable to maintain his composure in the face of such levity
during office hours, Mr. Skinner withdrew, still wrapped in his
sub-Antarctic dignity. As the door closed behind him, Mr. Peck's
eyebrows went up in a manner indicative of apprehension.</p>
<p>"I'm off to a bad start, Mr. Ricks," he opined.</p>
<p>"You only asked for a start," Cappy piped back at him. "I didn't
guarantee you a <i>good</i> start, and I wouldn't because I can't.
I can only drive Skinner and Matt Peasley so far--and no farther.
There's always a point at which I quit--er--ah--William."</p>
<p>"More familiarly known as Bill Peck, sir."</p>
<p>"Very well, Bill." Cappy slid out to the edge of his chair and
peered at Bill Peck balefully over the top of his spectacles. "I'll
have my eye on you, young feller," he shrilled. "I freely
acknowledge our indebtedness to you, but the day you get the notion
in your head that this office is an old soldiers' home--" He paused
thoughtfully. "I wonder what Skinner <i>will</i> pay you?" he
mused. "Oh, well," he continued, whatever it is, take it and say
nothing and when the moment is propitious--and provided you've
earned it--I'll intercede with the danged old relic and get you a
raise."</p>
<p>"Thank you very much, sir. You are most kind. Good-day,
sir."</p>
<p>And Bill Peck picked up his hat and limped out of The Presence.
Scarcely had the door closed behind him than Mr. Skinner re-entered
Cappy Ricks' lair. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cappy silenced
him with an imperious finger.</p>
<p>"Not a peep out of you, Skinner, my dear boy," he chirped
amiably. "I know exactly what you're going to say and I admit your
right to say it, but--as--ahem! Harumph-h-h!--now, Skinner, listen
to reason. How the devil could you have the heart to reject that
crippled ex-soldier? There he stood, on one sound leg, with his
sleeve tucked into his coat pocket and on his homely face the grin
of an unwhipped, unbeatable man. But you--blast your cold,
unfeeling soul, Skinner!--looked him in the eye and turned him down
like a drunkard turns down near-beer. Skinner, how <i>could</i> you
do it?"</p>
<p>Undaunted by Cappy's admonitory finger, Mr. Skinner struck a
distinctly defiant attitude.</p>
<p>"There is no sentiment in business," he replied angrily. "A week
ago last Thursday the local posts of the American Legion commenced
their organized drive for jobs for their crippled and unemployed
comrades, and within three days you've sawed off two hundred and
nine such jobs on the various corporations that you control. The
gang you shipped up to the mill in Washington has already applied
for a charter for a new post to be known as Cappy Ricks Post No.
534. And you had experienced men discharged to make room for these
ex-soldiers."</p>
<p>"You bet I did," Cappy yelled triumphantly. "It's always Old
Home Week in every logging camp and saw-mill in the Northwest for
I.W.W.'s and revolutionary communists. I'm sick of their
unauthorized strikes and sabotage, and by the Holy Pink-Toed
Prophet, Cappy Ricks Post. No. 534, American Legion, is the only
sort of back-fire I can think of to put the Wobblies on the
run."</p>
<p>"Every office and ship and retail yard could be run by a
first-sergeant," Skinner complained. "I'm thinking of having
reveille and retreat and bugle calls and Saturday morning
inspections. I tell you, sir, the Ricks interests have absorbed all
the old soldiers possible and at the present moment those interests
are overflowing with glory. What we want are workers, not talkers.
These ex-soldiers spend too much time fighting their battles over
again."</p>
<p>"Well, Comrade Peck is the last one I'll ask you to absorb,
Skinner," Cappy promised contritely. "Ever read Kipling's Barrack
Room Ballads, Skinner?"</p>
<p>"I have no time to read," Mr. Skinner protested.</p>
<p>"Go up town this minute and buy a copy and read one ballad
entitled 'Tommy,'" Cappy barked. "For the good of your immortal
soul," he added.</p>
<p>"Well, Comrade Peck doesn't make a hit with me, Mr. Ricks. He
applied to me for a job and I gave him his answer. Then he went to
Captain Matt and was refused, so, just to demonstrate his bad
taste, he went over our heads and induced you to pitchfork him into
a job. He'll curse the day he was inspired to do that."</p>
<p>"Skinner! Skinner! Look me in the eye! Do you know why I asked
you to take on Bill Peck?"</p>
<p>"I do. Because you're too tender-hearted for your own good."</p>
<p>"You unimaginative dunderhead! You jibbering jackdaw! How could
I reject a boy who simply would not be rejected? Why, I'll bet a
ripe peach that Bill Peck was one of the doggondest finest soldiers
you ever saw. He carries his objective. He sized you up just like
that, Skinner. He declined to permit you to block him. Skinner,
that Peck person has been opposed by experts. Yes, sir--experts!
What kind of a job are you going to give him, Skinner, my dear
boy?"</p>
<p>"Andrews' job, of course."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, I forgot. Skinner, dear boy, haven't we got about half
a million feet of skunk spruce to saw off on somebody?" Mr. Skinner
nodded and Cappy continued with all the naïve eagerness of one
who has just made a marvelous discovery, which he is confident will
revolutionize science. "Give him that stinking stuff to peddle,
Skinner, and if you can dig up a couple of dozen carloads of red
fir or bull pine in transit, or some short or odd-length stock, or
some larch ceiling or flooring, or some hemlock random stock--in
fact, anything the trade doesn't want as a gift--you get me, don't
you, Skinner?"</p>
<p>Mr. Skinner smiled his swordfish smile. "And if he fails to make
good--<i>au revoir</i>, eh?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I suppose so, although I hate to think about it. On the
other hand, if he makes good he's to have Andrews' salary. We must
be fair, Skinner. Whatever our faults we must always be fair." He
rose and patted the general manager's lean shoulder. "There, there,
Skinner, my boy. Forgive me if I've been a
trifle--ah--ahem!--precipitate and--er--harumph-h-h! Skinner, if
you put a prohibitive price on that skunk fir, by the Holy
Pink-toed Prophet, I'll fire you! Be fair, boy, be fair. No dirty
work, Skinner. Remember, Comrade Peck has half of his left forearm
buried in France."</p>
<hr />
<h2>III</h2>
<p>At twelve-thirty, as Cappy was hurrying up California Street to
luncheon at the Commercial Club, he met Bill Peck limping down the
sidewalk. The ex-soldier stopped him and handed him a card.</p>
<p>"What do you think of that, sir?" he queried. "Isn't it a neat
business card?"</p>
<p>Cappy read:</p>
<blockquote class="card">
RICKS LUMBER &
LOGGING COMPANY<br/>
Lumber
and its products<br/>
248
California St.<br/>
San
Francisco.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Represented by</i><br/>
William E. Peck<br/>
<i>If you can drive nails in it--we have
it!</i></blockquote>
<p>Cappy Ricks ran a speculative thumb over Comrade Peck's business
card. It was engraved. And copper plates or steel dies are not made
in half an hour!</p>
<p>"By the Twelve Ragged Apostles!" This was Cappy's most terrible
oath and he never employed it unless rocked to his very
foundations. "Bill, as one bandit to another--come clean. When did
you first make up your mind to go to work for us?"</p>
<p>"A week ago," Comrade Peck replied blandly.</p>
<p>"And what was your grade when Kaiser Bill went A.W.O.L.?"</p>
<p>"I was a buck."</p>
<p>"I don't believe you. Didn't anybody ever offer you something
better?"</p>
<p>"Frequently. However, if I had accepted I would have had to
resign the nicest job I ever had. There wasn't much money in it,
but it was filled with excitement and interesting experiments. I
used to disguise myself as a Christmas tree or a box car and pick
off German sharp-shooters. I was known as Peck's Bad Boy. I was
often tempted to quit, but whenever I'd reflect on the number of
American lives I was saving daily, a commission was just a scrap of
paper to me."</p>
<p>"If you'd ever started in any other branch of the service you'd
have run John J. Pershing down to lance corporal. Bill, listen!
Have you ever had any experience selling skunk spruce?"</p>
<p>Comrade Peck was plainly puzzled. He shook his head. "What sort
of stock is it?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Humboldt County, California, spruce, and it's coarse and
stringy and wet and heavy and smells just like a skunk directly
after using. I'm afraid Skinner's going to start you at the
bottom--and skunk spruce is it.</p>
<p>"Can you drive nails in it, Mr. Ricks?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
<p>"Does anybody ever buy skunk spruce, sir?"</p>
<p>"Oh, occasionally one of our bright young men digs up a half-wit
who's willing to try anything once. Otherwise, of course, we would
not continue to manufacture it. Fortunately, Bill, we have very
little of it, but whenever our woods boss runs across a good tree
he hasn't the heart to leave it standing, and as a result, we
always have enough skunk spruce on hand to keep our salesmen
humble."</p>
<p>"I can sell anything--at a price," Comrade Peck replied
unconcernedly, and continued on his way back to the office.</p>
<hr />
<h2>IV</h2>
<p>For two months Cappy Ricks saw nothing of Bill Peck. That
enterprising veteran had been sent out into the Utah, Arizona, New
Mexico and Texas territory the moment he had familiarized himself
with the numerous details regarding freight rates, weights and the
mills he represented, all things which a salesman should be
familiar with before he starts out on the road. From Salt Lake City
he wired an order for two carloads of larch rustic and in Ogden he
managed to inveigle a retail yard with which Mr. Skinner had been
trying to do business for years, into sampling a carload of skunk
spruce boards, random lengths and grades, at a dollar above the
price given him by Skinner. In Arizona he worked up some new
business in mining timbers, but it was not until he got into the
heart of Texas that Comrade Peck really commenced to demonstrate
his selling ability. Standard oil derricks were his specialty and
he shot the orders in so fast that Mr. Skinner was forced to wire
him for mercy and instruct him to devote his talent to the disposal
of cedar shingles and siding, Douglas fir and redwood. Eventually
he completed his circle and worked his way home, via Los Angeles,
pausing however, in the San Joaquin Valley to sell two more
carloads of skunk spruce. When this order was wired in, Mr. Skinner
came to Cappy Ricks with the telegram.</p>
<p>"Well, I must admit Comrade Peck can sell lumber," he announced
grudgingly. "He has secured five new accounts and here is an order
for two more carloads of skunk spruce. I'll have to raise his
salary about the first of the year.</p>
<p>"My dear Skinner, why the devil wait until the first of the
year? Your pernicious habit of deferring the inevitable parting
with money has cost us the services of more than one good man. You
know you have to raise Comrade Peck's salary sooner or later, so
why not do it now and smile like a dentifrice advertisement while
you're doing it? Comrade Peck will feel a whole lot better as a
result, and who knows? He may conclude you're a human being, after
all, and learn to love you?"</p>
<p>"Very well, sir. I'll give him the same salary Andrews was
getting before Peck took over his territory."</p>
<p>"Skinner, you make it impossible for me to refrain from showing
you who's boss around here. He's better than Andrews, isn't
he?"</p>
<p>"I think he is, sir."</p>
<p>"Well then, for the love of a square deal, pay him more and pay
it to him from the first day he went to work. Get out. You make me
nervous. By the way, how is Andrews getting along in his Shanghai
job?"</p>
<p>"He's helping the cable company pay its income tax. Cables about
three times a week on matters he should decide for himself. Matt
Peasley is disgusted with him."</p>
<p>"Ah! Well, I'm not disappointed. And I suppose Matt will be in
here before long to remind me that I was the bright boy who picked
Andrews for the job. Well, I did, but I call upon you to remember.
Skinner, when I'm assailed, that Andrews' appointment was
temporary."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir, it was."</p>
<p>"Well, I suppose I'll have to cast about for his successor and
beat Matt out of his cheap 'I told you so' triumph. I think Comrade
Peck has some of the earmarks of a good manager for our Shanghai
office, but I'll have to test him a little further." He looked up
humorously at Mr. Skinner. "Skinner, my dear boy," he continued,
"I'm going to have him deliver a blue vase."</p>
<p>Mr. Skinner's cold features actually glowed. "Well, tip the
chief of police and the proprietor of the store off this time and
save yourself some money," he warned Cappy. He walked to the window
and looked down into California Street. He continued to smile.</p>
<p>"Yes," Cappy continued dreamily, "I think I shall give him the
thirty-third degree. You'll agree with me, Skinner, that if he
delivers the blue vase he'll be worth ten thousand dollars a year
as our Oriental manager?"</p>
<p>"I'll say he will," Mr. Skinner replied slangily.</p>
<p>"Very well, then. Arrange matters, Skinner, so that he will be
available for me at one o'clock, a week from Sunday. I'll attend to
the other details."</p>
<p>Mr. Skinner nodded. He was still chuckling when he departed for
his own office.</p>
<hr />
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />