line talking to the Dorothea of the United Fruit, and the battleship Iowa is cutting in. All talking weather.”
It was true. From ship to ship, borne on soundless waves, the news was being eagerly discussed.
“Big storm on the way,” announced the Tennyson.
“We should worry,” came flippantly through the ether from the Dorothea.
“You little fellows better take in your sky-sails and furl your funnels; you’ll be blown about like chicken feathers in a gale of wind,” came majestically from Uncle Sam’s big warship.
Then the air was filled with a clamor for more news from the Neptune Beach operator.
“You fellows give me a pain,” he flashed out, depressing and releasing his key snappily. “I’ve sent out all I can. Don’t you think I know my job?”
“Let us know at once when you get anything more,” came commandingly from the battleship.
“Oh, you Iowa, boss of the job, aren’t you?” remarked the flippant Dorothea.
“M-M-M!” (laughter) in the wireless man’s code came from all the others, Jack included. The air was vibrant with silent chuckles.
“Say, you fellows, what is going on?” came a fresh voice. Oh, yes, every wireless operator has a “voice.” No two men in the world send alike.
“Hello, who are you?” snapped out Neptune Beach.
“British King, of the King Line, Liverpool for Philadelphia. Let us in on this, will you? What you got?”
“Big storm. Affect all vessels within three hundred miles of Hatteras. This is Neptune Beach.”
“Thanks, old chap. Won’t bother us, don’t you know,” came back from the British King, whose operator was English. “Kind regards to you fellows. Hope you don’t get too jolly well bunged up if it hits you.”
“Thanks, Johnny Bull,” from the Dorothea. “I reckon we can stand anything your old steam tea-kettle can.”
The wireless chat ceased. Sam hastened forward to the sacred precincts of the captain’s cabin, while Jack went below to his belated dinner. As he went he noticed that the sea was beginning to heave as the dusk settled down, and the ship was plunging heavily. The wind, too, was rising. The social hall was brilliantly lighted. From within came strains of music from the ship’s orchestra. Through the ports, as he passed along to the saloon companionway, Jack could see men and women in evening clothes, and could catch snatches of gay conversation and laughter.
“Humph,” he thought, “if you’d just heard what I have, a whole lot of you would be getting the doctor to fix you up seasick remedies.”
In the meantime Sam, cap in hand, presented the message to the captain. The great man took it and read it attentively.
“This isn’t a surprise to me,” said Captain McDonald, “the glass has been falling since mid-afternoon. Stand by your instruments, lad, and let me know everything of importance that you catch.”
“Very well, sir.” Sam, who stood in great awe of the captain, touched his cap and hastened back. He adjusted his “ear muffs,” but could catch no floating message. The air was silent. He sent a call for Neptune Beach, but the operator there told him indignantly not to plague him with questions.
“I’ll send out anything new when I get it,” he said. “Gimme a chance to eat. I’m no weather prophet, anyhow. I only relay reports from the government sharps, and they’re wrong half the time. Crack!”
Sam could sense the big spark that crashed across the instruments at Neptune Beach as the indignant and hungry operator there, harassed by half a dozen ships for more news, smashed down his sending key.
CHAPTER III – A STRANGE REQUEST
When Jack came on deck again, he thought to himself that it was entirely likely that the warning sent through space from Neptune Beach would be verified to the full by midnight. The merriment in the saloon appeared to be much subdued. The crowd had thinned out perceptibly and hardly anybody was dancing.
The ship was rolling and plunging like a porpoise in great swells that ran alongside like mountains of green water. Although it was dark by this time, the gleam of the lights from the brilliantly illuminated decks and saloon showed the white tops of the billows racing by.
Just as Jack passed the door leading from the social hall to the deck, a masculine figure emerged. At the same instant, with a shuddering, sidelong motion, the Tropic Queen slid down the side of a big sea. The man who had just come on deck lost his balance and went staggering toward the rail. The young wireless man caught and steadied him.
In the light that streamed from the door that the man had neglected to close, Jack saw that he was a thickset personage of about forty, black-haired and blue-chinned, with an aggressive cast of countenance.
“What the dickens – ” he began angrily, and then broke off short.
“Oh! It’s you, is it? The wireless man?”
“The same,” assented Jack.
“Well, this is luck. I was on my way up to your station. On the boat deck, I believe it is. This will save me trouble.”
The man’s manner was patronizing and offensive. Jack felt his pride bridling, but fought the feeling back.
“What can I do for you, Mr. – Mr. – ”
“Jarrold’s the name; James Jarrold of New York. Have you had any messages from a yacht – the Endymion– for me?”
“Why, no, Mr. Jarrold,” replied Jack wonderingly. “Is she anywhere about these waters?”
“If she isn’t, she ought to be. How late do you stay on watch?”
“Till midnight. Then my assistant relieves me till eight bells of the morning watch.”
Mr. Jarrold suddenly changed the subject as they stood at the rail on the plunging, heaving deck. Somebody had closed the door that he had left open in his abrupt exit, and Jack could not see his face.
“We’re going to have bad weather to-night?” he asked.
“So it appears. A warning has been sent out to that effect, and the sea is getting up every moment.”
Mr. Jarrold of New York made a surprising answer to this bit of information.
“So much the better,” he half muttered. “You are, of course, on duty every second till midnight?”
“Yes, I’m on the job till my assistant relieves me,” responded the young wireless chief of the Tropic Queen.
“Do you want to make some money?”
“Well, that all depends,” began Jack doubtfully. “You see, I – ”
He paused for words. He didn’t want to offend this man Jarrold, who, after all, was a first-cabin passenger, while he was only a wireless operator. Yet somehow the man’s manner had conveyed to Jack’s mind that there was something in his proposal that implied dishonesty to his employers. Except vaguely, however, he could not have explained why he felt that way. He only knew that it was so.
Jarrold appeared to read his thoughts.
“You think that I am asking you to undertake something outside your line of duty?”
“Why, yes. I – must confess I don’t quite understand.”
“Then I shall try to make myself clear.”
“That will be good of you.”
The man’s next words almost took Jack off his feet.
“When you hear from the Endymion, let me know at once. That is all I ask you.”
“Then you are expecting to hear from the yacht to-night?” asked Jack wonderingly. It was an unfathomable puzzle to him that this somewhat sinister-looking