WHEN THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB BOYS "WENT DAFFY"
All this had been spoken in whispers. Both Mr. Seaton and Tom Halstead
were keenly aware of the presence of the prisoner in the starboard
stateroom.
"You don't seem as overjoyed as I thought you might be," observed
Powell Seaton, in a tone of disappointment.
"I'm going through for you, sir, and I'll deliver the papers into the
proper hands, if I live," replied Tom Halstead.
"And you're not afraid of the big chances of danger that you may be
running?" persisted his employer.
"Why, I believe every human being has times when he's afraid," Skipper
Tom replied, honestly. "But I shan't be any more afraid than you've
seen me once or twice since this cruise began."
"Then I'll bet on your success," rejoined Mr. Seaton, holding out his
hand, which the young motor boat captain grasped.
"Suppose we go on deck where we can talk a little more safely, sir,"
whispered Tom.
They made their way above and forward.
"Any further word, Dawson?" inquired the charter-man.
"I haven't signaled since I brought up that last message," Joe
replied.
"Oh, of course not," retorted Powell Seaton. "It was an idiotic
question for me to ask, but I'm so excited, boys, that I don't pretend
to know altogether what I'm talking about."
Captain Halstead bent forward to look at the compass. He found Hank
Butts steering as straight as the needle itself pointed.
"What on earth can I do to pass the time of waiting?" wondered Mr.
Seaton, feverishly.
"Eat," laughed Tom. "You haven't had a meal since I don't know when.
Give me the wheel, Hank, and see what you can fix up for Mr. Seaton in
the way of food."
Yet, poking along at that slow rate of speed, cutting through the fog
but not able to see a boat's length ahead, proved an ordeal that
tested the patience of all.
After awhile Joe returned to the sending table, in order to get in
touch with the "Glide" and make sure that the two vessels were still
approaching each other head-on.
"It's wonderful--wonderful, this wireless telegraph that keeps all the
great ships and many of the small ones in constant communication,"
declared Powell Seaton, coming up on deck after having finished his
meal. "Yet it seems odd, doesn't it, to think of even freight boats
carrying a wireless installation?"
"Not when you stop to consider the value of the freight steamships,
and the value of their cargoes," rejoined Tom Halstead. "If a ship at
sea gets into any trouble, where in older times she would have been
lost, now all she has to do is to signal to other vessels within two
or three hundred miles, and relief is sent on its way to the ship that
needs it. In the case of a freight steamer the wireless aboard means
greater safety for the crew and often saves the owners the cost of
ship and cargo. The Standard Oil people were among the first to think
of the wireless for cargo-carrying boats. They installed the wireless
on their tank steamers, and it wasn't long before the owners of other
freight vessels realized the value of such an installation. Now, every
freight boat that amounts to much has the wireless aboard."
"You speak of the wireless being used at a distance of two or three
hundred miles," pursued the charter-man. "Dawson can't send the
electric wave that far, can he?"
"No, sir; because our signal mast is shorter than that on a big
steamship. The length of our aerials is less. Still, we can handle a
message for a pretty good distance."
"What distance, Halstead?"
"Why, our ideal distance is about sixty miles; we can make it seventy
easily, and, under the best conditions, we can drive a message, so
that it can be understood, for about ninety miles. But that doesn't
really hold us down to even ninety miles. If there's a wireless ship
within our radius we can ask her to relay for us. With a few ships
spread out at proper intervals we could easily wire direct from the
'Restless' to the coast of England."
"Joe," called Tom to his chum as the latter came on deck between
wireless performances, "do you notice that the fog is lightening off
to weatherward?"
"Yes; the fog is heaviest off to westward, and we've been working out
of that."
"By the time we reach the 'Glide' I believe we're going to have some
open weather around us."
"It will be fine if we do," nodded young Dawson. "It's nasty work
going up alongside of a big ship when you can't see fifty feet away."
As they watched and waited, while the "Restless" stole slowly along,
the fog about them became steadily lighter, though off to the westward
it remained a thick, dense bank.
"Say, it'd be great to have four or five miles of clear sea around us,
so that we could see whether the seventy-foot boat has kept to
anything like our course," declared Hank.
At last the "Restless" came to within twenty minutes' hailing distance
of the "Glide," as the young motor boat skipper figured it. Then, a
few minutes later, a deep-toned fog-horn came to them faintly. As the
minutes passed, now, this blast became heavier and nearer.
"I've only a few minutes left with you, Joe, old chum," declared
Captain Tom, with a half-sigh. "You'll take great, good care of the
dear old craft, I know, while I'm gone."
"As soon as Mr. Seaton is done with the boat I'll tie her up until you
get back--that's what I'll do," grunted Dawson. "No sailing without a
skipper for me."
"You needn't look so bad about it, Cap," grinned Hepton. "I wish it
was me, cut out for a long trip to Rio and back. Maybe I wouldn't jump
at such a chance. Some folks are born lucky!"
Too-woo-oo!
The oncoming steamship's deep fog-horn sounded loud and sullen, now.
Tom Halstead, still at the wheel, was peering constantly forward for
the first glimpse of the freighter, for the fog had lightened much by
this time.
"There she is!" hailed keen-eyed Joe, on the lookout for this sight.
"You can just make out her bow poking up through the fog. She must be
a thousand feet off yet."
With two boats approaching each other, this distance was, of course,
quickly covered. Finding that he could see the other craft at such a
distance, Skipper Tom threw on a little more speed, making a wide turn
and so coming up alongside on a parallel course.
"Take the wheel, Hank," directed the young skipper, seizing the
megaphone and stepping to the port rail.
"'Glide,' ahoy!" bawled Halstead through the megaphone.
"'Restless,' ahoy!" came back from the freighter's bridge.
"Lie to and let us come alongside, won't you? We want to put a
passenger aboard."
"Passenger? Where for?"
"Rio, of course. That's where you're bound, isn't it?"
"You'll have to be mighty quick about it," came the emphatic answer.
"We can't afford stops on our way."
"We may want to delay you a few minutes," began Tom.
"Few minutes, nothing!" came the gruff retort. "We can't be held up in
that fashion."
"We can pay for all the trouble we put you to," retorted Halstead.
Powell Seaton produced and waved a bulky wad of banknotes.
"Oh, if you want to pay extra, above the fare, it'll be a little
different," came, in mollified tones, from the bridge. The captain of
the "Glide" was now much more accommodating. The fare received from a
passenger put aboard in mid-sea would go to the owners of the
freighter. But any extra money, paid for "trouble," would be so much
in the pocket of the "Glide's" sailing-master.
Several new faces appeared at the rail of the freighter, as that big
craft slowed down and one of her mates superintended the work of
lowering the side gangway.
"Hullo, lobster-smack!" roared one derisive voice above the
freighter's rail.
"Say," called another voice, jeeringly, "it may be all right to go
lobster-fishing, but it's no sort of good business to leave one of
your catch of lobsters in command of even a smack like that!"
Tom Halstead reddened angrily. One of his fists clenched unconsciously
as he shot a wrathful look upward at the rail.
"Say, you mentally-dented pilot of a fourth-rate peanut roaster of a
boat, do you go by craft you know without ever giving a hail?"
demanded a mocking voice, that of the first derisive speaker.
Standing at the rail of the "Restless," Tom Halstead almost dropped
the megaphone overboard from the sheer stagger of joy that caught
him.
"Hey, you Ab! You worthless Ab Perkins!" roared the young motor boat
skipper, in huge delight. "And you, Dick Davis!"
The two who stood at the "Glide's" rail overhead, and who had called
down so mockingly, stood in uniform caps and coats identical with
those worn by Halstead and his mates aboard the motor boat. They wore
them with right, too, for Perkins and Davis were two of the most
famous of the many youngsters who now composed the Motor Boat Club of
the Kennebec.
"Hey! What's this?" roared the usually quiet Joe Dawson, his face
wreathed in smiles. He almost danced a jig.
Hank Butts had never before seen either Davis or Perkins, but he knew
about them, all right. He knew that uniform, too, the same that he
wore.
"Now, then--altogether!" yelled Hank. "Give it with a roar, boys!"
Powell Seaton stared in bewildered amazement. So did officers, crew
and others at the "Glide's" rail and on her bridge.
For five lusty young Americans, all wearing the same uniform, all
bronzed deeply with the tan that comes of the gale and the sun, all
keen-eyed, quick and sure as tars ever are, roared in mighty chorus:
"M-B-C-K! M-B-C-K! Motor Boat Club! WOW!"