"Yes; that Secret Service hunt is going to be very interesting."
"It won't be very interesting for you, whoever you are, when they get you," thundered the mighty Florida. "It's bad business monkeying with Uncle Sam."
"Maybe they won't get me," suggested Jack's spark.
"Oh, yes, they will," came from Washington, "and you'll find it doesn't pay to be as sassy as you've been."
"M-M-M," sent out Jack mischievously.
The three letters mean, in telegraphers' and wireless men's language, "laughter."
Washington's dignity took fire at this gross insult. They must have sizzled as from the national capital an angry message shot out to the other ships to talk in code. Jack's fun was over, but he had thoroughly enjoyed all the excitement he had stirred up. As he laid down the receivers Raynor came in.
"You look tickled to death over something," he exclaimed. "What's up?"
Jack sprang to his feet. His eyes were shining. He clasped Raynor's hand and wrung it pump-handle fashion. Raynor looked at the usually quiet, rather self-contained lad, in blank astonishment.
"What's happened—somebody wirelessed you that you're heir to a million?" he demanded.