Chapter 2

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.

The president emeritus of the Ricks' interests was not left to think without interruption, however. Within ten minutes, his private telephone operator called him to the phone.

"What is it?" Cappy yelled into the transmitter.

"What is it?" Cappy yelled into the phone.

"There is a young man in the general office. His name is Mr. William E. Peck and he desires to see you personally."

"There is a young man in the general office. His name is Mr. William E. Peck, and he wants to see you personally."

Cappy sighed. "Very well," he replied. "Have him shown in."

Cappy sighed. "All right," he replied. "Show him in."

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.

Almost immediately, the office boy showed Mr. Peck into Cappy's office. As soon as he was inside, Peck stopped, came easily and naturally to "attention," and bowed respectfully. His sharp blue eyes held a cool, steady gaze on the autocrat of the Blue Star Navigation Company.

"Mr. Ricks, Peck is my name, sir--William E. Peck. Thank you, sir, for acceding to my request for an interview."

"Mr. Ricks, my name is Peck, sir. William E. Peck. Thank you, sir, for agreeing to meet with me."

"Ahem! Hum-m-m!" Cappy looked belligerent. "Sit down, Mr. Peck."

"Ahem! Hmm!" Cappy looked ready for a fight. "Sit down, Mr. Peck."

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.

Mr. Peck sat down. But as he crossed to the chair beside Cappy's desk, the old gentleman noticed his slight limp. He also noticed that Peck's left forearm had been amputated halfway to the elbow. To the observant Cappy, the American Legion button on Mr. Peck's lapel told the story.

"Well, Mr. Peck," he queried gently, "what can I do for you?"

"Well, Mr. Peck," he asked gently, "what can I do for you?"

"I've called for my job," the veteran replied briefly.

"I'm here for my job," the veteran replied briefly.

"By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet!" Cappy ejaculated, "you say that like a man who doesn't expect to be refused."

"By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet!" Cappy exclaimed. "You say that like a man who doesn't expect to be refused."

"Quite right, sir. I do not anticipate a refusal."

"That's right, sir. I don't expect a refusal."

"Why?"

"Why?"

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."

Mr. William E. Peck’s pleasant but somewhat plain face broke into the most irresistible smile Cappy Ricks had ever seen. "I am a salesman, Mr. Ricks," he replied. "I know that’s true because I’ve proved it over five years. I can sell my share of anything worth pawning. But I’ve always found that before I can sell goods, I have to sell the manufacturer on something: myself! I’m about to sell myself to you."

"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?"

"Son," Cappy said with a smile, "you win. You've already sold me. When did they sell you a membership in the United States military?"

"On the morning of April 7th, 1917, sir."

"On the morning of April 7, 1917, sir."

"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."

“That seals the sale. I served with the Knights of Columbus at Camp Kearny myself. But they refused to let me go overseas with my division, and I was heartbroken. So I went AWOL.”

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.

That small bit of trade jargon seemed to warm Mr. Peck's heart considerably. It immediately created a bond between them.

"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."

"I worked for the Portland Lumber Company, selling lumber in the Midwest before the war," he explained. "Uncle Sam discharged me from Letterman General Hospital last week. He rated me half disabled under my $10,000 government insurance policy. Losing my arm was a mere trifle, but my broken leg took a long time to heal. Now it's shorter than it should be. I also developed pneumonia along with influenza, and afterward they found signs of tuberculosis. I've spent a year at the government tuberculosis hospital at Fort Bayard, New Mexico. Still, what's left of me has been certified sound. My chest expands five inches, and I feel fine."

"Not at all blue or discouraged?" Cappy hazarded.

"Not at all sad or discouraged?" Cappy ventured.

"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?"

"Oh, I got off easy, Mr. Ricks. I still have my head and my right arm. I can think and write. Even if one of my wheels is flat, I can chase an order longer and faster than most. Got a job for me, Mr. Ricks?"

"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."

"No, I haven't, Mr. Peck. I'm out of the business, you know. I retired ten years ago. This office is just a place for socializing, getting my mail, and discussing business gossip. Our Mr. Skinner is the man you should see."

"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."

"I've seen Mr. Skinner, sir," the former soldier replied, "but he wasn't very sympathetic. I think he assumed I was trying to use my missing arm to get a job. He told me there wasn't enough business to keep his current sales staff busy. So I told him I'd take anything, starting with a stenographer's job. I'm the champion one-handed typist of the United States Army. I can count lumber and prepare bills for it. I can keep the books and answer the phone."

"No encouragement, eh?"

"No encouragement, huh?"

"No, sir."

"No, sir."

"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."

"Well, son," Cappy said confidentially to his cheerful visitor, "take my advice and see my son-in-law, Captain Peasley. He's in charge of every part of our shipping business."

"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."

“I also spoke with Captain Peasley. He was very kind. He said he felt he owed me a job, but business was too bad for him to make room for me. He told me he was keeping a dozen former servicemen on the payroll because he couldn’t bear to let them go. I believe him.”

"Well, my dear boy--my dear young friend! Why do you come to me?"

"Well, my dear boy, my dear young friend! Why have you come to me?"

"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--"

"Because," Mr. Peck replied with a smile, "I want you to go over their heads and give me a job. I don't care what the job is, as long as I can do it. If I can do it, I'll do it better than anyone ever has. If I can't do it better, I'll quit to save you the embarrassment of firing me. I'm not a charity case, but I'm hardly the man I used to be. I'm four years behind everyone else and have to catch up. I have excellent references..."

"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.

"I see you have," Cappy interrupted calmly, pressing the button on his desk. Mr. Skinner entered. He glanced at William E. Peck with disapproval, then looked questioningly at Cappy Ricks.

"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."

"Skinner, dear boy," Cappy said warmly, "I've been thinking about sending Andrews to the Shanghai office, and I've reached a conclusion. We'll have to take a chance. Right now, a stenographer is in charge there, and we need a manager on the job without further delay. So here's what we'll do. We'll send Andrews on the next boat, but tell him the position is temporary. If he doesn't succeed there, we can bring him back to this office, where he's a very valuable man. Meanwhile, ahem! Hum-m-m! Harumph! Meanwhile, Skinner, my dear boy, I'd be very grateful if you'd take this young man into your office. Give him a thorough test and see what he's made of. As a favor to me, Skinner, my dear boy, as a favor to me."

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.

In sports terms, Mr. Skinner was down for the count, and he knew it. Young Mr. Peck knew it too and smiled graciously at the general manager. Peck had been in the army, where one of the first great lessons is that a commanding general's request is always an order.

"Very well, sir," Mr. Skinner replied coldly. "Have you arranged the compensation to be given Mr. Peck?"

"All right, sir," Mr. Skinner replied coldly. "Have you decided how much to pay Mr. Peck?"

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?"

Cappy raised a hand as if to dismiss the matter. "That detail is entirely up to you, Skinner. I wouldn't dream of interfering with how you run your department. Naturally, you'll pay Mr. Peck what he's worth and not a cent more." He turned to the triumphant Peck. "Now, listen to me, young fellow. If you think you're walking into an easy job, forget that right now. You'll step up to the plate, my boy, and hit the ball squarely. And you'll do it early and often. The first time you hit a foul, you'll get a warning. The second time, you'll get a month off to think about it. The third time, you'll be out for good. Do I make myself clear?"

"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."

"You do, sir," Mr. Peck said happily. "All I ask is room to fight, and I'll hack my way into Mr. Skinner's heart. Thank you, Mr. Skinner, for agreeing to hire me. I appreciate it very, very much, and I'll do my best to be worthy of your confidence."

"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."

"Young scoundrel! Infernal young scoundrel!" Cappy murmured to himself. "He has a sense of humor, thank God! Ah, poor old narrow-minded Skinner! If that fellow ever gets a new or unconventional thought in his dull head, it'll kill him overnight. He's furious right now because he can't say a word in his own defense. But if he doesn't make life hell for Mr. Bill Peck, I deserve to be put out of my misery. Good Lord, how empty life would be if I couldn't interfere and stir up a little trouble now and then."

Young Mr. Peck had risen and was standing at attention. "When do I report for duty, sir?" he queried of Mr. Skinner.

Young Mr. Peck stood up at attention. "When do I report for duty, sir?" he asked Mr. Skinner.

"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:

"Whenever you're ready," Skinner replied with a cold smile. Mr. Peck glanced at a cheap wristwatch. "It's twelve o'clock now," he said to himself. "I'll go out, grab some food, and report for work at one P.M. I might as well earn half a day's pay." He glanced at Cappy Ricks and quoted:

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.

Mr. Skinner could not stay composed in the face of such silliness during office hours. He left, still wrapped in his sub-Antarctic dignity. As the door closed behind him, Mr. Peck raised his eyebrows apprehensively.

"I'm off to a bad start, Mr. Ricks," he opined.

"I'm off to a bad start, Mr. Ricks," he said.

"You only asked for a start," Cappy piped back at him. "I didn't guarantee you a good 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."

"You only asked for a start," Cappy shot back. "I didn't promise you a good start, and I wouldn't because I can't. I can only push Skinner and Matt Peasley so far, no farther. There's always a point where I stop, er, ah, William."

"More familiarly known as Bill Peck, sir."

"Better known as Bill Peck, sir."

"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 will 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."

"All right, Bill." Cappy slid to the edge of his chair and glared at Bill Peck over his glasses. "I'll be watching you, young fellow," he said shrilly. "I freely admit we owe you a debt. But the day you start thinking this office is a home for old soldiers..." He paused thoughtfully. "I wonder what Skinner will pay you?" he mused. "Oh, well," he continued, "whatever it is, take it and say nothing. When the time is right, and provided you've earned it, I'll speak to the darned old relic and get you a raise."

"Thank you very much, sir. You are most kind. Good-day, sir."

"Thank you very much, sir. That's very kind of you. Goodbye, sir."

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.

Bill Peck picked up his hat and limped out of The Presence. The door had barely closed behind him when Mr. Skinner returned to Cappy Ricks' lair. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cappy silenced him with a commanding gesture.

"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 could you do it?"

"Not a word, Skinner, my dear boy," he said cheerfully. "I know exactly what you're going to say, and I admit you have every right to say it. But, well, ahem! Harumph! Now, Skinner, be reasonable. How could you possibly have the heart to reject that disabled former soldier? There he stood on one good leg, his sleeve tucked into his coat pocket. And on his plain face was the grin of a man who could not be beaten. But you, damn your cold, unfeeling soul, Skinner! You looked him in the eye and turned him down like a drunk turns down nonalcoholic beer. Skinner, how could you do it?"

Undaunted by Cappy's admonitory finger, Mr. Skinner struck a distinctly defiant attitude.

Undaunted by Cappy's warning finger, Mr. Skinner took a clearly defiant stance.

"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."

"There is no sentiment in business," he replied angrily. "A week ago last Thursday, local American Legion posts began an organized campaign to find jobs for their disabled and unemployed comrades. Within three days, you had secured 209 such jobs at the various corporations you control. The men you sent to the mill in Washington have already applied for a charter for a new post. It will be known as Cappy Ricks Post No. 534. And you had experienced men fired to make room for these former soldiers."

"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."

"You bet I did," Cappy shouted triumphantly. "Every logging camp and sawmill in the Northwest is always a welcoming home for I.W.W. members 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 counterattack I can think of to put the Wobblies on the run."

"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."

"Every office, ship, and retail yard could be run by a first sergeant," Skinner complained. "I'm thinking of having reveille, retreat, bugle calls, and Saturday morning inspections. I tell you, sir, the Ricks interests have taken in all the old soldiers they can. Right now, the Ricks interests are overflowing with glory. What we need are workers, not talkers. These former soldiers spend too much time fighting their battles all over again."

"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?"

"Well, Comrade Peck is the last person I'll ask you to take on, Skinner," Cappy promised apologetically. "Have you ever read Kipling's Barrack Room Ballads, Skinner?"

"I have no time to read," Mr. Skinner protested.

“I don't have time to read,” Mr. Skinner protested.

"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.

"Go uptown right now, buy a copy, and read a ballad called 'Tommy,'" Cappy barked. "For the good of your immortal soul," he added.

"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."

"Well, I don't like Comrade Peck, Mr. Ricks. He asked me for a job, and I gave him my answer. Then he went to Captain Matt, who also turned him down. So, just to show his bad taste, he went over our heads and persuaded you to force us to hire him. He'll curse the day he thought of doing that."

"Skinner! Skinner! Look me in the eye! Do you know why I asked you to take on Bill Peck?"

"Skinner! Skinner! Look me in the eye! Do you know why I asked you to take on Bill Peck?"

"I do. Because you're too tender-hearted for your own good."

"I do. Because you're too kindhearted for your own good."

"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?"

"You unimaginative idiot! You chattering fool! How could I reject a boy who simply refused to be rejected? I'd bet a ripe peach that Bill Peck was one of the finest soldiers you ever saw. He achieves his objective. He sized you up in an instant, Skinner. He refused to let you stand in his way. Skinner, that Peck fellow has faced opposition from experts. Yes, sir, experts! What kind of job are you going to give him, Skinner, my dear boy?"

"Andrews' job, of course."

"Andrews' job, of course."

"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?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Skinner, dear boy, don't we have about half a million feet of skunk spruce to unload on somebody?" Mr. Skinner nodded. Cappy continued with the innocent eagerness of someone who had just made a marvelous discovery. He was sure his discovery would revolutionize science. "Give him that stinking stuff to sell, Skinner. And see if you can find a couple dozen carloads of red fir or bull pine already in transit. Or find some short or odd-length stock, some larch ceiling or flooring, or some hemlock stock of random lengths. In fact, find anything the trade wouldn't take as a gift. You get me, don't you, Skinner?"

Mr. Skinner smiled his swordfish smile. "And if he fails to make good--au revoir, eh?"

Mr. Skinner smiled his swordfish smile. "And if he doesn't succeed, goodbye, right?"

"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."

"Yes, I suppose so, although I hate to think about it. On the other hand, if he succeeds, he'll get Andrews' salary. We must be fair, Skinner. Whatever our faults, we must always be fair." He stood up and patted the general manager's lean shoulder. "There, there, Skinner, my boy. Forgive me if I've been a little, ah, ahem, hasty and, er, harumph! Skinner, if you put an exorbitant price on that skunk fir, by the Holy Pink-toed Prophet, I'll fire you! Be fair, boy, be fair. No dirty tricks, Skinner. Remember, Comrade Peck has half of his left forearm buried in France."