“Are you the Tropic Queen?”
The sending of the call across the storm was uncertain and hesitating; not the work of a competent operator, but still understandable.
“Yes, this is the Tropic Queen.”
The answer that came made Jack thrill up and down his spine.
“This is the Endymion!”
Then came a pause that vibrated. Jack pounded his key furiously. The sending on the other craft was bad, and the waves that were beating against the aërials of the Tropic Queen were weak. Although rain does not necessarily hamper the power of the Hertzian billows, and all things being equal the transmission of messages is clearer at night, yet certain combinations may result in poor service.
The spark writhed and squealed and glared with a lambent blue flame as it leaped like a serpent of fire between the points.
But even above its loud, insistent voice calling into the tempest-ridden night could be heard the deep, quick breathing of Jarrold as he leaned forward to catch every move of the young operator’s fingers.
“This is the Endymion,” came again.
“Yes! Yes!” flashed back Jack.