“Very good, sir,” responded Buck with a twinkle. “But you’ll trust me with this work?”
“Only when you are ordered to do it.”
“How about the propeller bearings?” went on Buck eagerly. “Don’t you reckon they need a little oil?”
“Look here,” replied Alan. “Get that notion out of your system at once. I wouldn’t even let Russell go out there. When the propellers need attention we’ll attend to them. The rear of those wheels isn’t anything but the tail of a tornado.”
Reaching the engine room again, Alan explained in detail to both boys what had already been done on the voyage, the ground covered and the speed. With renewed instructions he disappeared above.
For some minutes no sound came from the pilot room except, now and then, the slight jar of adjusting planes as the pilot shifted slightly with the wind. Buck, balancing himself at the starboard door—across which the guard rail had now been dropped—listened always for the monotonous but fascinating words of the pilot and observer as land marks were passed and the hour was compared and noted.
“Webster,” repeated Buck to the unmoving Bob at one time. “Three, fifteen, twelve o’clock,” Buck added, listening for more.
“Right,” repeated the vigilant engineer noting his own time.
“Thirty-four minutes from Norwalk,” went on Buck as he heard Roy make the announcement above.
“What was the speed?” asked Bob. “It’s three miles now,” he added as he examined his own register.