“It’s the same old story,” muttered Roy to himself, after a time.
“I wonder if they will ever stop saying ‘You’re only a boy.’ That’s
what they said at Camp Brady. Yet the wireless patrol ran down the
dynamiters when the state police couldn’t find them. That’s what they
said here in New York when we were searching for the secret wireless.
Yet we found it, even if we were boys. That’s what Captain Lansford
says now. Shall I ever be old enough to escape it?”
Yet it was fortunate for Roy that he _was_ but nineteen. At nineteen
one possesses the resiliency of youth. One rebounds like a rubber ball.
It was so with Roy. A while longer he sat, his head buried in his
hands, his heart full of woe. Hardly could he keep the tears back. Then
the buoyancy of youth asserted itself.
“Only a boy,” he said presently, straightening up. “Isn’t there anybody
in the world who knows that sometimes boys have brains and courage and
common sense? What was David but a boy when he fought Goliath? What was
General Grant but a boy when he loaded the logs alone? Who fought the
Civil War but boys? I don’t care if I am a boy. I can read and send
wireless messages with the best of them, and there’s nothing conceited
in my saying so, for it’s a fact. Only a boy, eh? All right, I’ll show
them what a boy can do. Maybe that captain can run his ship without the
help of wireless, but I’ll bet that after he’s had the wireless service
for----”
Roy broke off suddenly and his face became very serious. “I almost
forgot,” he said to himself soberly, “that I have only three months to
serve on this ship. Just as soon as the next class is graduated from
the Marconi Institute, I’ll lose my job.”
Roy’s face was very long indeed. “Maybe I’ll never get another place,”
he said. “If I can’t make good on this ship, how can I ever get a job
on another boat?”
For a while Roy sat in deep thought. Then a wan smile flitted across
his face. “You’re doing just what Captain Hardy warned you not to do,”
he muttered to himself. “You’re brooding over trouble. If Captain Hardy
were here, he’d tell you to get busy and make good before you lose
your job. That’s what he would say. Well, I don’t know just what to
do, but I’ll make a beginning anyway. And that’ll be to get into my
uniform.”
Roy jumped to his feet, opened his case, and took out his shining
new uniform. Rapidly he put off his old suit and donned the new. A
mirror hung at one end of his room. In this Roy surveyed himself
with unqualified satisfaction. The trim, blue uniform fitted him
snugly, emphasizing the fact that he possessed unusually broad, square
shoulders and a slim waist. He stood up before the glass as straight
as a young pine. Any one with half an eye for physique could have
told that he was unusually powerful for a boy of his age and that he
gave promise of being a man of great strength. His quick turns, as he
surveyed himself, first on one side and then on the other, gave ample
evidence of his agility. Could Captain Lansford, who admired physical
prowess above almost every other quality, have seen Roy now, he might
have formed a more favorable opinion of his new wireless man.
The Scriptures tell us that as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.
The truth of that saying was illustrated now in Roy’s case. The pride
of his new position and his new uniform filled his soul. Gone was
the stoop in his shoulders. The expression of gloom had disappeared
from his countenance. In its place appeared the old look of cheerful
confidence and determination. Straightway Roy began to look about him.
The glow of satisfaction on his face deepened. His little house,
perched on the topmost deck like an eagle’s aerie, was snug and
comfortable beyond anticipation. To Roy it seemed almost palatial. The
portion that was partitioned off for his sleeping quarters contained
his bunk, a commodious closet, the fine mirror before which he now
stood, and all the other accommodations that would be found in a
first-class stateroom. The woodwork was beautifully finished. Generous
coils of steam-pipes gave promise of abundant warmth even when the
fiercest winter storms were blowing. Convenient electric fixtures
were provided for lighting. Altogether his quarters were so snug and
inviting that Roy momentarily forgot his troubles.
When he had ended his survey of his little sleeping room and stepped
into the wireless room proper, his heart fairly leaped with joy. On one
side of the little cabin was the operating table, with its array of
shining instruments. A leather-covered couch stood along the opposite
wall. There was a small rack for signal and code books, stationery,
etc., and a chair or two. But Roy gave scant attention to the
furnishings. He had eyes only for the beautiful, glittering instruments
on the operating table. The wireless outfit was complete. It included
every necessary instrument, and each was of the finest type, with the
latest improvements. Exultantly Roy fingered one after another. Never
had he dared hope to have such an outfit as was now his. Of course
it was not literally his, but nevertheless Roy felt all the joy of
ownership. For three months, at least, it would be his. No one else
might touch those shining instruments. Not even the captain, Roy fondly
believed, would dare to molest them. Like Alexander Selkirk, Roy was
monarch of all he surveyed.
But the mere handling of his instruments would never satisfy a boy like
Roy. He sat down at the table and eagerly clamped the receivers to his
ears. Skilfully he tuned his instrument, now to this wave-length, now
to that. Clear as bells on a frosty morning came the voices in the air,
and Roy’s eyes sparkled as he listened in.
By this time he had forgotten all about his rebuff by Captain Lansford.
He was himself again, alert, quick, curious as to all about him,
intently interested in every new phase of life. And life aboard ship
was distinctly new to Roy. The voices in the air he had listened to a
thousand times. To him they were an old story. But a great, ocean-line
steamship was still a delightful mystery to Roy. He wanted to know more
about it.
Laying his receivers on the table, he sprang to his feet, put on his
new cap, with its gold braid and its letters wrought in gold, and
left the cozy little wireless house. Hardly had he reached the ladder
when his eye was caught by the activities on the pier. Though Roy had
spent many weeks in New York, he had had small opportunity to see the
shipping close at hand. So the scene on the pier below was as novel to
Roy as though he had never been near a seaport.
Streaming in and out of the steamer’s hold was a double line of
stevedores, each pushing before him a strong barrel truck. Those
entering were trundling great boxes or bales. Those emerging pushed
only their empty trucks. Boxes, bales, packages and parcels of every
conceivable size and shape followed one another into the hold in
endless procession, while as endlessly stevedores came empty-handed out
of the ship. The steady procession of freight handlers reminded Roy of
a double line of ants, some laden, others with nothing to carry. Many
a time Roy had watched ants bearing spoils to their nests. Often he
had marveled at their strength, as they dragged along objects greater
in size than themselves. But never had he marveled at the ants as he
now wondered at these brawny stevedores. Enormous boxes, twice or
thrice their own bulk, and weighing, Roy felt sure, several hundred
pounds apiece, they handled like so many bags of feathers, trundling
them swiftly over the uneven plank flooring of the pier, shooting down
the gangplank with them, often to the apparent imminent peril of their
fellows. Yet never a collision occurred, and never a crate was spilled
or upset.
When Roy grew tired of watching the freight handlers, he turned away
from the ship’s rail and descended to the pier. For the first time
in his life he had a really good look at the inside of a great pier
shed. Jutting straight out from the shore, the long, narrow pier,
built on pilings and tightly roofed over and walled in, extended an
unbelievable distance into the river. With quick appreciation of its
real length, Roy saw that one could run a hundred yards straightaway on
the pier without covering half its length. In width it might have been
seventy-five to one hundred feet. This great warehouse--for in effect
it was that--was piled high with mountainous heaps of freight, and a
seemingly endless procession of drays and motor-trucks was constantly
adding to the store. From these huge piles the stevedores were bringing
the freight they were rushing into the hold of the _Lycoming_.
It was a stirring sight to see the trucks constantly arriving and
departing, some piles of freight growing bigger and bigger with every
incoming load, while others as constantly dwindled in size. The former
piles, Roy soon found, were accumulating for other ships, while the
decreasing stacks had been brought on previous days for the _Lycoming_.
Roy gained thus his first inkling of what was meant by the term
commerce. Never before had he seen such huge stacks of goods assembled
in one place. It seemed to Roy as though all the wares of all the
merchants in Central City would hardly make so great a pile if boxed
and stacked together. Yet all these materials were sufficient only to
fill two or three steamships of moderate size. When Roy thought of the
miles and miles of piers along New York’s water-front, and realized
that each pier probably contained fully as many manufactured products
as the _Lycoming_’s pier, it seemed beyond belief. Then he thought of
the labor necessary to handle all these mountains of goods. On his own
pier dozens of men were at work. Motor-trucks and horse-drawn drays
came and went ceaselessly, hour after hour. It was awesome to think
about.
“And this,” said Roy to himself, “is only one of scores and scores of
piers. And New York is only one of America’s seaports. Then there are
all the railway stations and freight depots. My goodness! Think how
many hands it must take to move all the stuff----”
Roy stopped in sheer inability to comprehend the vista of American
industry he had opened for himself.
“Well,” he muttered after a time, “I see one thing. The whole country
is united in a great business. If any part of that business stops it
affects all the rest. Suppose all the boats along this river couldn’t
make their trips on time. The piers would fill up so they would hold
no more. That would throw the truckmen out of work. Shipments from the
mills would have to stop. Railroad crews would lose their jobs and the
mills would shut down. That would be an awful calamity.”
The idea was so appalling that Roy paused to ponder over it. “I see
one thing clearly enough,” he said to himself at last. “Everybody
everywhere has to do his part if the whole business is to run right.
Our job is to sail the _Lycoming_ safely and right on the minute. Maybe
I won’t be with her long, but as long as I am with her I’m going to do
my best to keep her safe and right on the dot. That’s my job all right.”
It was. And if Roy had been a bit older, he would have known that it
was exactly the way to make good with Captain Lansford in particular
and the world in general. Without realizing it, Roy had set forth the
fundamental rule of success--to do with your might what your hands find
to do.
When Roy had tired of watching the toiling stevedores, he strolled up
the pier and out to the street.