CHAPTER XXV—CLEARED
Frank Arden was so excited when he saw, caught by the binding ropes, on the great warship’s anchor, the mysterious box that might mean so much to him and his brother and uncle, that he would have sprung over the side of the Georgetown and caught at the anchor. Indeed, he made a motion in that direction, but a sailor nearby stopped him.
“Wait a bit, me lad,” he said. “I’m in charge of hoistin’ th’ mud-hook, an’ I’ll have it stopped if there’s somethin’ on it that ye want.”
He was a genial Irishman, and, as he said, he was there to pass the signals to the operator of the steam winch when the anchor had been hoisted high enough. In a quick manner, though he did not know all of the story of our heroes, he had grasped the situation. In another moment the anchor hung stationary over the side of the battleship.
It was near enough the deck for Frank to scramble over the side and down the great links of the chain. Some one passed him a rope with a hook on the end—he was so excited he did not know who it was—and he managed to catch the hook in the ropes wound about the box, and so haul it up.
How carefully he did it may well be imagined, for if the box had slipped from the anchor and again fallen into the sea, the chances of recovering it would have been very slight indeed.
Then, clasping close in his arm the tin case, dripping with water and slimy with seaweed, Frank clambered back on deck. Ned was waiting for him.
“Is it the same box?” Ned cried.
“I’m sure it is,” Frank answered. “Isn’t it the most wonderful thing in the world?”
“It certainly is,” agreed Ned.