Bert Wilson, Wireless Operator

by J. W. Duffield

“Bully for you, old man,” cried Dick. “We hear that you did yourself proud last night.”

“Yes,” chimed in Ralph. “I wouldn’t dare to tell you what Father says in a message I’ve just received, or you’d have a swelled head, sure.”

“Nonsense,” answered Bert. “I simply did what it was up to me to do. Good morning, Mr. Howland,” he said, as the young fellow seated at the key rose to greet him. “How are things going?”

“Just jogging along,” answered Howland. “I guess you cleaned up about everything before you turned in. We’re getting beyond the shore range, but I’ve been keeping in touch every hour with the Nippon. The captain figures that we’ll get together at about four this afternoon.”

The former operator of the Caledonian was a well set-up, clear-eyed young fellow, about the age of Bert and his chums, and a liking sprang up between them at once. With the recuperative power of youth he had almost entirely recovered from the events of the night before, although his singed hair and eyebrows bore eloquent testimony to the perils he had faced and so narrowly escaped. He had stuck to his post until the blistering heat had made life impossible in the wireless room, and then had done yeoman’s work in aiding the officers and crew to fight the fire and maintain order among the passengers. The boys listened with keenest interest, while he went over in graphic style his personal experiences.

“I can’t tell you how I felt when I got your message,” he said, as he turned to Bert. “I had about given up hope when your answer came. I rushed at once to the captain and he passed the word to the passengers and crew. It put new heart and life into them all, and it was the only thing that kept many from jumping into the sea when the flames got so horribly near. But they held on desperately, and when they saw your rockets I wish you could have heard the cry that went up. They knew then that it was only a matter of minutes before your boats would be under the stern. But it was fearfully close figuring,” he went on, soberly. “You saw yourself that fifteen minutes after the last boat pulled away the whole stern was a mass of flames.”

“Well,” said Bert, as he slipped on the receiver, and took charge of the key, “it’s lucky that I got your call just when I did. A little later and I’d have been off duty.”

“That reminds me,” broke in Ralph. “I sent a message to Father to-day about that, urging that you have an assistant to take charge when you are at meals or in bed. I suggested, too, that since Mr. Howland was here, he might be willing to go on with us and act as your assistant. He says he is agreeable if they want him to, and I expect a wireless from Father to the captain authorizing him to make the arrangement.”

“I hope he will,” said Bert, warmly. “Accidents have an awkward way of happening just when they ought not to, and when one thinks of the life and property at stake it certainly seems that somebody should be on the job all the time.”