"Conneaut. See here, you are not one of the men who were on that ship are you?" questioned the newspaper man.
"Thank you, sir. I will be going. Can you tell me what time I can get a train for Conneaut?" answered Rush, avoiding the question.
Steve felt that he would be called upon to make a report of his share in the disaster, and his good judgment told him that he should not make a first statement to any one outside the company.
The next train out did not leave until late in the afternoon, so Rush employed the time in going about the city. He visited all the places of interest, getting his luncheon at a large hotel on the hill. The hotel was named after a famous Indian Chief, but the prices asked for the luncheon made Steve gasp.
"My wages would keep me here about three days," he muttered.
Later the lad boarded a train and hurried toward his destination. He did not know whether he should find his ship in port or not, reasoning that the craft would have to proceed under reduced speed the rest of the way down on account of the smashed-in bow.
Shortly after dark the boy arrived. Inquiring his way to the ore docks, he hurried down toward the inlet. This was a narrow canal, leading up into the lower part of the town for some distance. Ships were packed in the inlet, side to side, like sardines in a box. Most of them were lying with anchor lights up; others with their running lights still lighted, showing that they had just arrived in port. On either side of the inlet loomed the dark trestles, from some of which the rattle and roar of unloading machinery arose in a deafening chorus.
"This is about all a man's life is worth to face," decided Steve, as he dodged a swiftly moving car that towered above him loaded with ore. Then he narrowly missed being ground under a traveling crane that was in operation unloading a ship.
"Can you tell me, sir, if the 'Wanderer' has arrived?" asked the boy of a yard policeman who approached the lad to find out what he was doing there.