Cappy settled back wearily in his chair and favored his youthful
partner with a glance of tolerant amusement.

"Matt," he announced, "those are the qualifications we look for
in an engineer, and it's been my experience that the Irish and the
Scotch make the best marine engineers in the world. But when you've
been in the shipping game as long as I have, young man, you'll
know better than to pick two Irishmen as departmental chiefs in the
same ship! I did it--once. There was a red-headed scoundrel named
Dennis O'Leary who went from A.B. to master in the _Florence
Ricks_. That fellow was a bulldog. He made up his mind he was
going to be master of the _Florence_ and I couldn't stop him.
Good man--damned good! And there was a black Irishman, John Rooney,
in the _Amelia Ricks_. Had ambitions just like O'Leary.
He went from oiler to first assistant in the _Amelia_. Fine
man--damned fine! So fine, in fact, that when the chief of the
_Florence_ died I shifted Rooney to her immediately. And what
was the result? Why, riot, of course. Matt, the Irish will fight
anybody and anything, but they'll fight quicker, with less excuse
and greater delight, among themselves, than any other nationality!
The _Florence Ricks_ carried a million feet of lumber, but
she wasn't big enough for Rooney and O'Leary, so I fired them both,
not being desirous of playing favorites. Naturally, each blamed
the other for the loss of his job, and without a word having been
spoken they went out on the dock and fought the bloodiest draw I
have ever seen on the San Francisco waterfront. After they had been
patched up at the Harbor Hospital, both came and cussed me and
told me I was an ingrate, so I hired them both back again, put them
in different ships, slipped each of them a good, cheerful Russian
Finn, and saved funeral expenses. That's what I got, Matt, for not