“Precisely, Mr. Longfellow. But I wouldn’t call it twelve knots an hour if I were you. Just say—twelve knots.”
The Reverend Samuel looked a little bewildered.
“Twelve knots. I see. Thank you so much. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the sea. May I—may I go now to the gentleman who sends the messages?”
“By all manner of means,” said Kelly, and Jim’s shoulders shook. “Give the operator your message, and you shall have the answer as soon as it arrives.”
Again murmuring his thanks, the missionary departed, and shortly afterward we saw him in earnest converse with the wireless operator. And that worthy, having read the message and scratched his head, stared a little dazedly at the Reverend Samuel Longfellow, obviously feeling some doubts as to his sanity. To be asked to dispatch to the world at large a message beginning “Dear Brother,” and finishing “Yours in the church” struck him as being something which a self-respecting wireless operator should not be asked to do.
“Poor little bird,” said the skipper thoughtfully, as the missionary went aft to join his companions, “I’m glad for his sake that he doesn’t know what the bulk of our cargo is this trip. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night for fear of being made to walk the plank by pirates.”
Jim looked up lazily.
“Why, what have you got on board, old man?”
The skipper lowered his voice.
“I haven’t shouted about it, Jim, and as a matter of fact I don’t think the crew know. Don’t pass it on, but we’ve got over half a million in gold below, to say nothing of a consignment of pearls worth certainly another quarter.”