HE PONDERS AND DECIDES BETWEEN TWO NEAR RELATIONS
When Tom at length did speak his own voice sounded strange to him; but he said what he had to say with a simple straightforwardness which in ordinary circumstances would have carried conviction.
“If you’d let me say something,” he said, trying to keep his throat clear, “I’d like to tell you——”
“It’s the best thing, sonny,” said the man in the sailor suit; “you needn’t be afraid of squealing. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” said Tom, “but it wasn’t squealing I was thinking about. I ain’t a-scared, if that’s what you think.”
He avoided looking at his brother, who tried to catch his eye, and the men, perhaps seeing this and thinking it might be fruitful to let him say what he would in his own way, relaxed a trifle toward him.
“While you were searching,” Tom went on, hesitating, but still showing something of his old stolid manner, “I wasn’t a-scared, but I was thinking—I had to think about something—before I could decide what I ought to do.”
“All right, sonny,” said the man in the sailor clothes. “I’m glad you know what’s best for you. Out with it. You’ve got a key to that porthole, eh? Now where is it?”
“You had a flashlight and threw it out, didn’t you?” added the officer. “Come now.”
Tom looked from one to the other. His brother began to speak but was peremptorily silenced.
“It ain’t knowin’ what’s good for me,” Tom managed to say, “’cause as soon as I—as soon as I—made up my mind about that—then right away I knew what I ought to do——”
He gulped and looked straight at the officer so as not to meet his brother’s threatening look.
“I had to decide it myself—’cause—’cause Mr. Ellsworth—a man I know—ain’t here. Maybe a feller’s own family come first and I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t—tell on ’em—if—if they stole—or something like that,” he blurted out, twisting his fingers together. “And—and—I didn’t forget neither—I didn’t,” he added, turning and looking his brother straight in the face, “I didn’t—I——”
He broke down completely and the men stared at him, waiting.
“Anyway—anyway—I got to remember——” He broke off.
“Well, what became of the light?” the officer urged rather coldly.
“And when you saw me standing on the—deck—last night—I was thinking about Uncle Sam——” He gulped and hesitated, then went on, “and—and—that’s what made me think about Uncle Sam being a relation too—kind of—and I got to decide between my brother and my uncle—like.” He gulped again and shook his head with a kind of desperate resolution. “There—there it is,” he almost shouted, pointing at the scattered sandwich and the mess plate in the wash basin. “You—picked it up twice,” he added with a kind of reckless triumph, “and you didn’t know it.”
“What?” said the captain, with a puzzled look at his companions, as if he were a little doubtful of Tom’s sanity.
“There it is,” Tom repeated, controlling himself better now that the truth was out. “He held it—up there—so’s the light would shine in the glass. There ain’t anything except that. It’s—it’s the same idea as a periscope. He said it in a letter that I gave Mr. Conne—and—and I found out what he meant. I—I didn’t know he was——”
Trying desperately to master his feeling he broke down and big tears rolled down his cheeks. “I couldn’t help it,” he said to his brother. “It ain’t ’cause I don’t remember—but—I had to decide—and I got to stand by Uncle Sam!”
“If you didn’t know about this,” said the captain, watching him keenly, “how did you suspect it? You’d better try to control yourself and tell everything. This is a very serious matter.”
“You see that piece of cotton waste that you kicked?” said Tom, turning upon the disguised government agent. “You can see it’s fresh and hasn’t got any oil on it. You can see from the flat place on it how it was used to polish the dish. I ain’t——” he gulped. “I ain’t going to talk about my brother—but I got to tell about the papers he’s got somewhere. The same person that said it was like a periscope said something about having plans of a motor. I got to tell that, and I ain’t going to say any more about him. So now he can’t do any more harm. And—and I want you to please go away,” he burst forth, “because I—I got to tell him about how our mother died—’cause maybe he didn’t—get the letter.”