THE EXCITED PASSENGER
"They'll turn you down if you have a German-silver watch in your pocket," commented Archer, as they descended another companionway; "or if you had the German measles. Didn't I tell you I'd get you through all right? You stick on the job, and they'll sign you up for transport service—then you'll see some fun."
"I got to thank you," said Tom.
"You notice I'm not afraid of any of them?" Archer boasted; "I know how to handle them—I've got them all eating out of my hand—all but the captain. We're like a big family here; that's on account of the danger and there not being many passengers. I understand," he whispered significantly, "that there's some soldiers on board—a few of Pershing's men, I guess."
The butcher's domain seemed to be a long way below decks. It had all the appurtenances of a regular store—chopping block, hangers, etc.—and the butcher himself was a genial soul, who took Tom in hand without any ceremony after the usual banter with the flippant young Archibald, who here took his departure, leaving Tom to his fate.
"Come up to five-ninety-two on the promenade deck and you can bunk with me—I'll fix it with the deck steward," said Archer; and he was as good as his word, for later Tom joined him in an airy stateroom, opening on the main deck, where they enjoyed a sumptuousness of accommodation quite unusual in the ordinary state of things, but made possible by the very small passenger list.
Indeed, Tom was soon to find that, while discipline was strict and uncompromising, as it always is at sea, there was a kind of spirit of fraternity among the ship's people, high and low, caused no doubt, as Archer had said, by their participation in a common peril and by the barnlike emptiness of the great vessel with freight piled on all the passenger decks and in the most inappropriate places. There was a suggestion of camping about all this makeshift which seemed to have gotten into the spirits of the ship's company and to have drawn them together.
"Now I'll take you down," said the butcher, "and show you the store-rooms and refrigerators—you'll be running up and down these steps a good part of the time."
They were no steps, but an iron ladder leading down from the butcher's apartment to a dark passage, where he turned on an electric light.
"Now, these three doors," he said, "are to the three store-rooms—one, two, three."
Tom followed him into one of the rooms. It was large and delightfully cool and immaculately clean. All around were rows of shelves with screen doors before them, and here were stored canned goods—thousands upon thousands of cans, Tom would have said.
"You won't touch anything in here," his superior told him. "None of this will be used before the return trip—maybe not then. Come in here."
Tom followed him through a passage from this room into another exactly like it. Along the passage were great ice box doors. "Cold storage," his superior observed. "You won't have to go in there much."
"Now here's where you'll get your stuff. It's all alphabetical; if you want tomatoes, go to T; if you want salmon—S. Just like a dictionary. If I send you down for thirty pounds of salmon, that doesn't mean thirty cans—see?"
"Yes, sir," said Tom.
"Make up your thirty pounds out of the biggest cans—a twenty and a ten. There's your opener," he added, pointing to a rather complicated mechanical can-opener fastened to the bulkhead. "Open everything before you bring it up."
"Yes, sir."
He led Tom from one place to another, initiating him in the use of the chopping machine, the slicing machine, etc. "You won't find things very heavy this trip," he said; "but next trip we'll be feeding five thousand, maybe. Now's the time to go to school and learn.—Here's the keys; you must always keep these places locked," he added, as he himself locked one of the doors for Tom. "They were just left open while they were being stocked. Now we'll go up."
That very night, when the great city was asleep and the busy wharves along the waterfront were, for the night's brief interval, dark and lonesome, two tug-boats, like a pair of sturdy little Davids, sidled up to the great steel Goliath and slowly she moved out into midstream and turned her towering prow toward where the Goddess of Liberty held aloft her beckoning light in the vast darkness.
And Tom Slade was off upon his adventures.
Indeed, the first one, though rather tame, had already occurred. He and Archer, having received intimations that the vessel might sail that night, had remained up to enjoy her stealthy nocturnal departure, and the fact that they did not know whether she would leave or not had only added zest and pleasant suspense to their vigil.
They were leaning over the rail watching the maneuvering of the tugs when suddenly a man, carrying a suitcase, came running along the deck.
"We're not sailing, are we?" he asked excitedly, as he passed.
"Looks that way," said Archer.
"Where's the gangway? Down that way?" the man asked, not waiting for an answer.
"He'll have a good big jump to the gangway," said Archer. "I guess he was asleep at the switch, hey? What d'you say if we go down—just for the fun of it?"
"Come ahead," said Tom.
At the opening where the gangway had been several men, including the excited passenger, were gathered. The rail had been drawn across the space, and the ship was already a dozen feet or so from the wharf. Tom and Archer paused in the background, wisely inconspicuous.
"Certainly you can't go ashore—how are you going to get ashore—jump?" asked an officer good-humoredly.
"You can have the gangway put up," insisted the man.
"You're talking nonsense," said the officer. "Can't you see we're out of reach and moving?"
"You'd only have to back her in a yard or two," said the man excitedly.
"What, the ship?" asked the officer, in good-natured surprise; and several other men laughed.
"There's no use my starting without my aparatus!" said the passenger, his anger mounting. "It will be here to-morrow morning; it is promised! I was informed the ship would not sail before to-morrow night. This is an outrage——"
"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer.
"There's no use my going without my belongings," the man persisted angrily. "I demand to be put ashore."
"That's impossible, sir."
"It is not impossible! This is an unspeakable outrage!"
"The wharf closed this afternoon; notice was posted, sir," said the officer patiently.
"I saw no notice!" thundered the man. "It's of no use for me to go without my belongings, I tell you! I cannot go! This is outrageous! I cannot go! I demand to be put ashore!"
By this time the vessel was in midstream, his "demands" becoming more impossible every moment and his tirade growing rather wearisome. At least that was what most of the by-standers seemed to think, for they sauntered away, laughing, and the two boys, seeing that nothing sensational was likely to happen, returned to the forward part of the ship.
"Do you think he was a German?" said Tom.
"No, sure he wasn't. Didn't you hear what good English he talked?"
"Yes, but he said aparatus," said Tom, "instead of saying it the regular way. And he was sorry he said it, too, because the next time he said belongings."
"You make me laugh," said Archer.
"There's another thing that makes me think he's a German," said Tom, indifferent to Archer's scepticism.
"What's that?"
"He wanted the ship brought back just on his account."