"Lord bless you, Skinner, I can remember yet the day the Martha
Peasley came up the harbor, with her flag at half-mast--and poor old
Ethan was gone--whipped off the end of her main yard when she rolled!

"We were great chums, Ethan and I, Skinner; and I cried. Why--why,
damn it, sir, this boy Matt's people and mine are all buried in the
same cemetery back home. Yes, sir! And nearly all of 'em have the
same epitaph--'Lost at Sea'--and--you idiot, Skinner! What do you
mean, sir, by standing there with your infernal little smile on your
smug face? Out of my office, you jackanapes, and call the dogs off
this boy Matt. Why, there was never one of his breed that wasn't a man
and a seaman, every inch of him.

"All Hands And Feet thrash a Peasley! Huh! A joke! Why, Ethan was
six foot six at twenty, with an arm like a fathom of towing cable.
Catch me turning down one of our own boys! No, sir! Not by a damned
sight!"

In all his life Mr. Skinner had never seen Cappy Ricks so wrought up.
He fled at once to call off the dogs, while Cappy turned to his desk
and wrote this telegram:

San Francisco, California.
June 28, 19--.

Matt Peasley,
Care United States Marshal,
Hoquiam, Washington.