"Yep, getting a reply."
For a few moments all remained silent, unable to do more than watch Fred as he alternately listened and then tapped off mysterious dots and dashes on the radio. Finally he relieved the tension. He removed the earpieces for a moment to address himself to Don.
"What's T-K-R?" he asked.
"Why, tanker," Don answered immediately.
Fred cast his eye at the chart, stepped over to regard it more carefully, then turned his gaze to a penciled memorandum he had made. Without another word he again adjusted the earpieces, took hold of the sending key and began a veritable chatter with the mysterious and unseen tanker which he had picked up somewhere on the wide expanse of the Atlantic.
"Righto!" he ejaculated finally, aloud, again removing the apparatus. "Jack," he said, addressing himself to that rather worried individual, "I wasn't such a bad guesser this morning, after all, was I? Well, I've landed the tanker, all right, and according to Don's reckonings and her information our paths cross."
"Great!"
"But she can't spare much petrol."
"Well, you—" Andy got no further.
"Probably fifty gallons," Fred finished.