It was characteristic of Roy that he did not spend much time bewailing
his misfortune. “If the captain objects to my looks now,” thought he,
“how will he feel to-morrow, when that black eye becomes the real
thing! Gee! I’ve got to do something quick. Let me see. It ought to
be bathed in warm water and rubbed with butter or some other kind of
grease. I can get warm water here in my room, but I don’t know where to
get butter. Maybe the cook would give me some.”
Roy jumped to his feet and started down the ladder. “Gee whiz!” he
muttered. “I wonder where the cook is?” For the _Lycoming_ was still a
mystery to Roy.
He went down to a lower deck, then stood irresolute. Not a soul was in
sight, the ship was dimly lighted, and Roy did not know which way to
turn. Suddenly the door of the purser’s office was flung open and a
flood of yellow light streamed out. Roy stepped quickly to the door
and knocked against the jamb.
“Come in,” said a hearty voice, which Roy was certain he had heard
before.
Roy entered and found himself face to face with the man whose letter he
had rescued. He was so surprised that for an instant he couldn’t say a
word.
“Hello, youngster,” said the man, as he took a quick glance at Roy.
“Glad to see you. Come in. Just let me finish this manifest and I’ll
talk to you all night.” But when he took a second look at Roy, he
dropped the sheaf of papers he was examining and stepped forward.
“Now how the deuce did you get that?” he exclaimed, as he examined
Roy’s eye.
As Roy started to tell him he interrupted, “Never mind how you got it.
Let’s get it fixed first and talk about it afterward. Come with me,
youngster.”
He darted out of his office and into his stateroom, with Roy close
at his heels. Seemingly with one motion he set the hot water flowing
in his wash-bowl and drew from a closet a bottle of vaseline. Almost
before Roy knew what was happening, the man had him in a chair with a
stinging hot compress over his eye, and another ready for application
when the first one cooled. The man’s dexterity amazed Roy, who was
anything but clumsy himself. When the compresses had done their work,
the man began to rub the injured flesh about the bruised eye with
vaseline. Round and round his fingers went, softly but firmly pressing
the flesh, until Roy wondered if the man would ever stop. Finally the
massage ended and a poultice was quickly made and deftly applied.
“There,” said the man, stepping back and viewing his job critically.
“You’re fixed up as good as any ambulance surgeon could have fixed you.
Now let’s hear how you got that decoration.”
“First, let me thank you for your help,” said Roy gratefully. “I’ll
look bad enough as it is, but I’d have looked a thousand times worse
if you hadn’t helped me. I wouldn’t care so much if the captain hadn’t
seen me.”
“Did he, though? And what did he say?”
“He accused me of being drunk, and when I tried to explain how I came
by a black eye, he told me not to make it worse by lying.”
Roy’s companion chuckled. “What did you tell him?” he demanded.
“I told him he had no right to accuse me of either. He nearly took
my head off, and demanded to know if I questioned his authority on
his own ship. I told him I didn’t care whether he was captain of the
_Lycoming_ or President of the United States, I was neither drunk nor a
liar and that he had no right to accuse me of being either.”
Roy’s companion slapped his leg in huge delight. “Boy,” he said,
“you’re made with Captain Lansford. You couldn’t have done anything
that would please him more. He loves courage and there are mighty few
people who have enough of it to stand up to him.”
Roy looked rueful. “He’ll never forgive me,” he said. “You should have
heard him order me to my quarters.”
But Roy’s companion only chuckled. “Now tell me all about your eye,” he
said.
Roy told him how he came by it. Then he added, “I suppose you are
the purser, and I’m mighty glad. I don’t know how I can ever show my
gratitude for your kindness, but I thank you with all my heart. My name
is Roy Mercer.”
“Thank you, lad. Thank you,” said the purser. “It’s always a pleasure
to help a good boy like yourself. My name is Robbins, Frank Robbins,
and I _am_ the purser. I foresee that we shall be very good friends.”
“I hope so,” said Roy. “It won’t be my fault if we aren’t. Won’t you
come up and see my wireless room? And, by the way, I’ve got some
crullers my mother gave me. You must try them.”
“God bless the lad!” ejaculated the purser. “Crullers--the kind that
mother used to make--the real thing--and he wants to share them. To be
sure, I’ll come. But let me finish that manifest first. Work before
play is the motto on this ship.”
“I’d bet on that,” thought Roy, “if Captain Lansford had anything to do
with it.”
The purser went to his office and Roy to the wireless house. But what
a different lad he was from the Roy who had left it so short a time
before. He had found a friend in need; and a friend in need is a friend
indeed. Now his eyes were aglow and his heart beat merrily. He looked
at his shining instruments as a mother views her child. Sitting down at
the operating table, he adjusted his receivers to his head and threw
over the switch.
A babel of sound smote his ears. It was after nine o’clock, and at
that hour of the night the air in Manhattan was as noisy as Broadway
during the rush hour. Everybody was talking at once, including no end
of irresponsible amateurs, many of whom could send but not read. When
they jammed, no one could tell them what trouble they were making
for everybody else. Roy could hear big stations and little talking
to one another through hundreds of miles of space. Stations far to
the northward were talking directly over Roy’s head, as it were, with
stations as far to the southward. Inland operators were conversing
with shore stations, and ocean liners were exchanging messages with
operators on land. It was as noisy as a five o’clock tea.
Though it was all familiar to Roy, it was as interesting to him as if
he were hearing it for the first time. High above the multitude of
buzzing sounds rose the shrill whine of the Brooklyn Navy Yard’s rotary
spark-gap. Always Roy delighted to listen to the clean, clear work of
the Navy Yard operators. Now he tuned sharply and listened.
“NAK--NAK--NAK--NAH,” called the navy operator. (Annapolis-Brooklyn
Navy Yard calling.)
“NAH--III--GA,” came the reply almost at once. (Navy Yard. I’m here. Go
ahead.)
Roy made a wry face as he took down the message that followed. It was
in cipher and he could not read it.
But there was plenty that he could read. The radio station on the
Metropolitan tower was shrilly shouting its news to the world. The
navy station at Fire Island was talking with a destroyer at sea. Cape
May was trying to get some ship far out in the Atlantic. The _New York
Herald_ was talking with a ship coming into Boston. Far out at sea
the White Star liner _Majestic_ was inquiring whether the Giants or
Cincinnati had won the day’s ball game. The Hotel Waldorf was sending a
message for a guest to Philadelphia.
Suddenly Roy started violently. His own call was sounding through the
air: “WNA--WNA--WNA--WNG.”
It was the _Tioga_ calling her sister ship _Lycoming_.
“WNG--III--GA,” flashed back Roy the instant the call ended.
“Hello,” came the answer. “This is Patterson. Who are you?”
“This is Mercer,” answered Roy.
“Glad to know you,” flashed back the operator on the _Tioga_. “Where
you from?”
“This is my first job,” said Roy.
“Well, you’re right on the job and you send well.”
“Thanks,” answered Roy. “Come see me. When do you expect to get in?”
“Tuesday evening. Take a message for Lansford.”
Roy took down the message and said good-night to Patterson. He made a
grimace at the thought of again facing “the old dragon,” as he mentally
styled his superior. But before he could lay aside his receivers he
heard Arlington preparing to send out the ten o’clock time signal and
the day’s weather news.
“I’ll just take the weather-report,” he thought, as he set his watch,
“and give it to Captain Lansford along with this message.”
Then the weather signals sounded. Rapidly Roy jotted them down: “USWB-T
02813--DB 04221--H 03622--C 03042--K 00223--P 03347.” (Wind off
Atlantic Coast--north of Sandy Hook moderate northerly winds with fair
weather--Hatteras to Florida Straits moderate northerly and easterly
winds. Moderate showers Tuesday east Gulf Coast. Fresh to moderately
strong winds over north portion with rain--moderate northeast and east
winds over south portion.)
Rapidly Roy deciphered the code and wrote down the despatch, as
follows: Nantucket--barometer 30.28, wind north, gentle breeze.
Delaware Breakwater--barometer 30.42, wind northeast, light air.
Cape Hatteras--barometer 30.36, wind northeast, light breeze.
Key West--barometer 30.02, wind northeast, gentle breeze.
Pensacola--barometer 30.33, wind southeast, moderate gale.
Carefully Roy wrote out the message from the _Tioga_, and signed it
with the _Tioga_ captain’s name, making sure that every word was
written plainly and spelled correctly. “I won’t give him a chance to
criticize me,” he muttered.
Then, after a moment’s consideration, he wrote: “The United States
Weather Bureau reports the following weather conditions.” And he copied
down the deciphered message and signed his name: “Mercer.”
It was the first time Roy had ever signed his name as a professional
operator and he thrilled with pride as he looked at the neatly penned
message with his own signature at the bottom.
But immediately the smile of satisfaction was succeeded by a sour look.
At that instant his door opened and the purser walked in.
“Why so glum?” he demanded. “Worrying about your shiner?”
“No,” said Roy. “I was thinking how much fun it will be to take this
message to Captain Lansford.”
“Now see here, lad,” exploded the purser. “You’re not going to take it.
Don’t forget you’re not a cabin-boy, but remember that you rank with
the officers. And, anyway, it will be just as well to keep away from
the captain for a time. He’s used to having everybody kotow to him.
Just show him you are independent. He won’t think any the worse of you
for it.”
“Come to think of it,” said Roy, “his orders were to go to the wireless
house and not to bother him.”
“Just push this button when you want a steward,” said the purser,
putting his finger on a push-button in the wall that Roy had not
previously noticed.
In a few moments a gray-haired negro appeared at the door.
“Sam,” said the purser, “this is Mr. Mercer, our new wireless man. He’s
a particular friend of mine and I want you to look after him as a favor
to me. Besides, you want to gain his friendship yourself. You can never
tell when you may need his help. He talks to other ships and to folks
ashore, with these instruments here. If we get into trouble at sea he
can summon help, even if we are five hundred miles out in the ocean.”
The darky’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “I done heerd o’ dis yere
wireless telefagry, Massa Robbins,” he said, “but I ain’t never seen
none before. Can he really call help like dat?”
“Indeed he can, Sam, and if we need a policeman, he can get one quick.”
The steward looked at Roy with awe. Roy rose and shook hands with him.
“I hope you are going to be my friend, Sam,” he said cordially.
“’Deed I is, Mr. Mercer. ’Deed I is, suh,” and he bowed himself out
with Roy’s message for the captain.
Roy grinned at the purser. “Sounds funny to have him call me Mr.
Mercer,” he said. “I suppose he’ll get over it when he knows me better.”
“You’ll never be anything but Mr. Mercer on shipboard,” explained the
purser. “As wireless man, you are entitled to be called Mr. Mercer, and
we are particular about such things. But I’m going to call you Roy when
we’re alone, if you don’t mind.”
With a smile Roy laid aside his wireless instruments and produced his
package of crullers.
“We must have something to drink with these,” said the purser, and he
pressed the button again.
Roy looked at him inquiringly.
“I never touch anything stronger than coffee,” said the purser, “and if
you take my advice, you won’t, either.”
“I never touched a drop of liquor in my life,” said Roy, “and I’m not
going to now.”
“I thought not,” said the purser. “That’s one reason I mean to be your
friend. Boys who drink aren’t worth bothering with.”
Presently Sam answered the bell and brought them a pot of steaming
hot coffee. For a long time Roy and the purser sat talking; they ate
crullers and drank coffee. When Mr. Robbins said good-night, Roy was
very happy indeed. He felt that he had gained a real friend, who would
help him in difficulty. And, though he did not know it, there were many
difficulties ahead of him.