"Rubbish!" the Chief snorted.
The Panama Line man waved a pale hand behind him for absolute silence.
"Want a shore station for a while?"
"Intend to rest up and then look around," Moore answered.
"You'll be back. Mark my word. The sea and the wireless house is a winning combination. The old cities—new faces—freedom——"
"I'm tired."
"Pah! You've only begun. When does the Vandalia clear for China?"
"Thursday night."
"I'll hold your berth open till Thursday noon. Hoping you'd break in a new operator. Queer chap. Glass eye. 'Member—Thursday noon."
The frosted door went inward abruptly. The intense blue eyes in the pale face of the man who had resigned closed half way upon encountering the blushing eavesdropper. The Panama Line operator moved uncertainly toward a vacant chair. Unaware of the curious stares addressed at him Moore went to the outer door. A wave of exquisite nervousness rippled through the silence of the static-room as the door clicked.