Cahalan, of the many voyages, had been reading of the latest marine near-disaster and the part played therein by the ship's wireless man; but refused to be impressed.
"The slush the papers print sometimes!" he snorted. "Here's this now about this SOS fellow—all these papers trying to make out what a wonder he was, as if it took a wizard to keep pumping out three letters till somebody heard you. And a hero, too!"
"Why not—he stood by his key, didn't he?"
"Sure he did. And if you and me were wash-women we'd probably stand by our wash-tubs, wouldn't we? If there was no more danger keeping on washing than standing around doing nothing, we surely would, wouldn't we? But nobody'd think of calling us heroes for it, would they? That SOS man now—if he didn't want to stand by his key he could 've jumped overboard—it was only a thousand miles to shore. So he stood by his key and eased his mind by having something to do, which, of course, makes him a hero."
"It's a great thing just the same, the wireless."
"Sure it is and needs no fake booming, but I like to see a little brains mixed with it. There was a fellow named Furlong—I ran across him first in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, where our battle-fleet was rondayvouing for winter drill. I had a month's pay on a fight coming off in London and was wishing I knew how it came out without waiting a week or ten days for the New York papers, when Faulkner, the captain's yeoman, says: 'Why don't you ask Furlong, the wireless operator? He'll find out for you.'
"But how can he?" says I.
"You people in the deck division," says Faulkner, "you're living in the past. You fellows want to come out of your sailin'-ship dreams and steam around and see what's doin' in the world. Furlong'll pick it off from the Cape Cod station when they're gettin' it from across for the newspapers."
"From here—from off the ship?" I asks. "Why, I thought the record for picking up or sending from a ship was six or seven hundred miles."
"Maybe it is," says Faulkner, "but Furlong's specialty is breaking records."