“Buck,” called out Alan, “stow that package away safely. It’s a valuable bundle.”
As Ned drew himself stiffly into the pilot room and Alan was about to follow up the ladder Buck called to him.
“There’s two bundles. One of ’em is nearly loose.” Alan dropped back and stepped into the engine room. For the first time he examined the carefully wrapped parcel that had nearly cost Ned his life. Lashed to the stout cords tied around the big bundle was a small, oblong pasteboard box—now crushed and flat.
“Looks to me as if this is what caused the trouble,” commented Alan as he cut the strings holding the small package and saw a deep mark across the box’s top where the arm of the crane had undoubtedly cut into the extra package. As the broken box fell apart, a bunch of crushed and torn roses fell to the floor. The box bore the name of a well known New York florist who caters to the steamship trade. Among the fragrant fragments was a waterproof envelope in which Alan found a card. It bore his sister’s name, “Miss Mary Hope.” And, written in a small hand above this, the words: “To the crew of the Ocean Flyer with my earnest wishes for a safe voyage.”
In spite of the smile on Alan’s face there was a little thickness in his voice when he tried to make a joke of the affair to Bob and Buck.
“I guess she really meant ’em for Ned and you,” said Bob, “but I’m goin’ to take her at her word. She’s been thinkin’ of this for a long time. It kind o’ sets me back. But it’s like her. She’s a dandy, Alan.”
There was a sudden sound at the speaking tube.
“Hurry along, Alan. Roy’s got to get at his work. Tell Buck to rig up something for me to sit on. Get a move on you!”
“In a minute,” replied Alan, chuckling. “We’ve just found a box of flowers tied to the big package.”
“Flowers?”