“I’m past that age,” assured Guy.
“How old are you—seventeen?”
“No—sixteen, goin’ on seventeen, you know.”
“Yes,” laughed Gunseyt. “I don’t want to flatter your son to such an extent as to spoil him, Mrs. Burton,” he continued, addressing Guy’s mother; “But he’s bright enough to be twenty.”
“He takes after his mother,” she returned smartly.
“I wish I’d taken the southern route,” said Gunseyt, changing the subject again. “I don’t like being cooped up inside all the time.”
“Same here,” agreed Guy. “The only advantage of this route is the saving of a little time.”
“They tell me we’re getting in the neighborhood of icebergs,” the “radio passenger” continued.
“The wireless operator told me we ought to see some icebergs by tomorrow morning,” the boy said. “He’s been getting messages from other ships going east all afternoon, and they told him there was lots of ice west of us.”
“I hope we don’t strike an iceberg as the Titanic did,” Mrs. Burton remarked.