"I guess that's about the size of it," Frank admitted.
All during the day excitement aboard the Essex, and all other vessels patrolling the North Sea, for that matter, was at fever heat. While every man knew that there was little likelihood of receiving news until long after dark, each one nevertheless lived in hopes.
Nevertheless, patrol work was still being done carefully. It had become an axiom of a British sailor that a German was not to be trusted—that when he appeared the least dangerous, it was time to watch him more carefully. Consequently, in spite of the impending armistice, the vigilance of the British fleet was not relaxed.
Six o'clock came, and seven; and still there had been no word from the scene of the armistice conference. At eight o'clock Frank said:
"I don't know what we are sitting up for. Something must have gone wrong again. If the armistice had been signed we would know something of it by this time."
"Hold your horses," said Jack. "I'm just as anxious as you are, but there is no use getting excited about it."
"Well," said Frank, "if we haven't heard something by nine o'clock, I'm going to turn in."
But at nine o'clock no word had been received.
"I know we shall hear nothing to-night," said Frank, rising, "so I'm going to tumble into my bunk."
"Help yourself," said Jack, looking up from a book he was reading. "I'll wait a little longer."