THE COMING STORM
As Curlie's feet carried him forward on the deck of the _Kittlewake_,
his eyes beheld the ghost which rose from the hatch taking on a familiar
form. A white middy blouse, short white skirt and a white tarn, worn by
a slender girl, moved forward to meet him. As the form came into the
square of light cast by a cabin window, his lips framed her name:
"Gladys Ardmore!"
"Why, yes," she smiled, "didn't you expect me? I told you I thought I'd
go."
"And I said you should not." Her coolness angered him.
"You forget that this is my father's boat. A man's daughter should
always be a welcome guest on his boat."
"But--but that's not it," he hesitated. "This is not a pleasure trip.
We are going five hundred miles straight to sea in a boat intended for
shore travel. It's likely to storm." He sniffed the air and held his
cheek to the breeze that was already breaking the water into little
choppy waves. "It is going to be dangerous."
"But you are going," she said soberly, "to the assistance of my brother.
I have a better right than you to risk my life to save my own brother. I
can be of assistance to you. Truly, I can. I can be the galley cook."
"You a cook?" He looked his surprise.
"Certainly. Do you think a rich man's daughter can do nothing but play
tennis and pour tea? Those times are gone, if indeed they ever existed.
I am as able to do things as is your sister, if you have one."
"But," said Curlie suddenly, "I am going from a sense of duty. Having
set out to have your brother arrested I mean to do it."
For a full moment she stared at him stupefied. Then she said slowly,
through set, white lips: "You wouldn't do that?"
"Why shouldn't I?" His tone was more gentle. "He has broken the laws of
the air. Time and again he sent messages on 600, a radio wave length
reserved to coast and ship service alone. He has hindered sea traffic
and once narrowly escaped being the death of brave men at sea."
"Oh," she breathed, sinking down upon a coil of cable, "I--didn't know
it was as bad as that. And I--I--knew all about it. I--I--"
She did not finish but sat there staring at him. At last she spoke
again. Her tone was strained and husky with emotion.
"You--you'll want to arrest me too when you know the truth."
"You'll not be dragged into it unless you insist."
"But I do insist!" She sprang to her feet. Her nails digging into her
clenched fists, she faced him. Her eyes were bright and terrible.
"Do you think," she fairly screamed, "that I would be part of a thing
that was wrong, whether I knew it or not at the time, and then when
trouble came from it, do you think that I would sneak out of it and
allow someone else to suffer for it? Do you think I'd sneak out of it
because anyone would let me--because I am a girl?"
Completely at a loss to know what to do upon this turn of events, Curlie
stood there staring back at the girl.
She at last sank back upon her seat. Curlie took three turns around the
deck. At last he approached her with a steady step.
"Miss Ardmore," he said, taking off his cap, "I apologize. I--I really
didn't know that a girl could be that kind of a real sport."
Before she could answer he hurried on: "For the time being we can let
the matter we were just speaking of rest. Matters far more important
than the vindicating of the law, important as that always is, are before
us. Your brother and his friend, unless I am mistaken, are in grave
danger. We may be able to save them; we may not. We can but try and this
trial requires all our wisdom and strength.
"More than that," he again held his face to the stiffening gale, "we
ourselves are in considerable danger. Whether this 'cockleshell,' as the
skipper calls her, can weather a severe storm on the open sea, is a
question. That question is to be answered within a few hours. We're in
for a blow. We're too far on our way to retreat if we wished to. We must
weather it. You can be of assistance to us as you suggest, and more than
that, you can help us by being brave, fearless and hopeful. May we count
on you?"
There was a cold, brave smile on the girl's face as she answered:
"You know my father. He has never yet been beaten. I am his child."
Then suddenly, casting all reserve aside, she gripped his arm and
bestowing a warm smile upon him said almost in a whisper:
"Curlie Carson, I like you. You're real, the realest person I ever
knew." Then turning swiftly about, she danced along the deck, to
disappear down the hatch to the forecastle.
"Huh!" said Curlie, after a moment's thought, "I never could make out
what girls are like. But one thing I'm sure of: that one will drown or
starve or freeze when necessity demands it, without a murmur. You can
count on her!"
Throwing a swift glance to where a thick bank of clouds was painting the
night sky the color of blue-black ink, he hurried below to consult with
the skipper about the weather. They were, he concluded, some three
hundred and fifty miles out to sea. If this storm meant grave dangers to
them, what must it mean to two boys in a seaplane skimming through the
air over the sea? He shivered at the thought.
Fifteen minutes later, Curlie was in the small wireless cabin of the
_Kittlewake_. With a receiver clamped over his head, with a motor
purring at his feet and with the hum of wires and coils all about him,
he felt more at ease and at home than he had been for many hours.
His talk with the skipper had confirmed his fears; they were in for a
blow.
"A nor'-easter, sir," he had affirmed, "an' one you'll remember for many
a day. Oh! we'll weather 'er, sir; somehow we'll 'ave to weather 'er.
With the millionaire heiress aboard we'll 'ave to, worse luck for it.
We'll 'ammer down the 'atches an' let 'er ride if we 'ave to but it's a
jolly 'ard shaking habout we'll get, sir. But she's a 'arty,
clean-hulled little boat, she is, an' she'll ride 'er some'ow."
After receiving this information, Curlie had gone directly to the
wireless cabin. He was more anxious than he was willing to admit for the
safety of his two charges, the millionaire's children; for Curlie did
think of them as his charges. He was used to taking burdens on his own
shoulders. It had always been his way.
Just now he was listening in on 600, ready to pick up any message which
might come from the boys on the seaplane. That the _Stormy Petrel_ was a
doomed aircraft he had not the least doubt. The only question which
remained in his mind was whether the _Kittlewake_ or some other craft
would reach her in time to save the two reckless boys.
Now and again as he listened he picked up a message from shore. The
center of the storm, which was fast approaching, was to the east, off
shore. Messages coming from the storm's direction would be greatly
disturbed by static. But to the west the air was still clear.
Now he heard a ship off Long Island Sound speaking for a pilot; now some
shore station at Boston assigned to some ship a harbor space; and now
some powerful broadcasting station sent out to all the world a warning
against the rising storm.
Tiring of all this, for a time he tuned his instrument to 200.
"Be interesting to see how far short wave lengths and high power will
carry," was his mental comment.
Now he caught a faint echo of a song; now a note of laughter; and now
the serious tones of some man speaking with his homefolks.
But what was this? He fancied he caught a familiar whisper. Adjusting
his wires, adding all the amplifying power his instruments possessed, he
listened eagerly; then, to his astonishment heard his own nickname
spoken.
"Hello, Curlie," came to him distinctly. Then, "Are you there? You
remember that big bad man, the one who used heaps of power on 1200?
Well, he's gone north--very far north. You'd want to follow him, Curlie,
if you knew what I know. The radiophone is going to do great things for
the north, Curlie. But men like him will spoil it all. Remember this,
Curlie: If you do go, be careful. Careful. He's a bad man and the stakes
are big!" The whisper ceased. The silence that followed it was ghostly.
"And that," Curlie whispered softly, "came all the way from my dear old
home town. She thought I was still in the secret tower room. Fine chance
of my following that fellow up north. But when I get back I'll
investigate. There may be something big there, just as she says there
is. Yes, I'll look into it when I get back--if I do get back."
He shivered as he caught the howl of the wind in the rigging. Then,
tuning his instrument back to 600, he listened once more for some
message from the seaplane, the _Stormy Petrel_.