“We don’t need it,” sang out Abe. “It was hard enough to rebuild, but it’s served its turn. Take us aboard without it.”
“All right,” came the hail, and a little later Tom and his companions, so strangely wrecked and rescued at sea, were on the big deck of the Alexandria.
She proved to be a large merchant ship, carrying no passengers, and the crew crowded around the refugees to hear their story.
“Water first—water,” pleaded Mr. Skeel, who, now that he was safe, seemed to resume some of his former arrogant airs. “I must have a fresh drink of water.”
“And I guess this little chap needs some as well as you,” spoke the mate, with a shrewd guess as to the true character of the former Latin instructor. “Come below and we’ll look after all of you.”
A little later, water and warm soup having been cautiously administered, Tom was telling the story of the shipwreck.
“Do you think it possible that any of the passengers or crew of the Silver Star were saved?” he asked.
“Quite possible, though we haven’t heard of it,” answered Captain Buchanan of the Alexandria. “If they got away in a lifeboat it’s very likely that they were picked up. They were in the zone of ship travel, according to what you tell me, but you and the others drifted out of it on the derelict, and you’ve been out of it ever since. It’s lucky you put the small boat into use or you might have been there yet. And now what do you want me to do with you?”
“I’d like to go on to Honolulu,” said Mr. Skeel, as if he was the first one to be considered. “I have business there.”