And so it proved. Half an hour after Jack had been laid on a lounge in the skipper’s cabin and restoratives had been administered by Dr. Flynn, he was feeling almost as hale and hearty as ever, although his terrible ordeal when he was flung back and forth pendulum-wise had left him with a racking headache.
The captain showered congratulations on him, but reminded him that never again must he risk his life in such a perilous way.
“The job could have waited till daylight, anyhow,” he said.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Jack, firmly but respectfully, “it could not. You know that I was in communication with a ship—the yacht Endymion—when the insulation wore away and my ‘juice’ began to leak?”
“No, I knew no such thing,” said the captain.
“Mr. Metcalf knew of it, sir.”
“In all the excitement caused by your exploit, young man, he must have forgotten to tell me.”
“That was probably the reason, sir. But the Endymion——” The captain broke in as if struck by some sudden thought.
“Jove, lad, the Endymion, you say?”
“Yes, sir, do you know her?”