CHAPTER XXX.
THURMAN PLOTS.
It was two nights before the Columbia, on her homeward voyage, entered New York harbor. On the trip across she had once more had the big British greyhound of the seas for a rival. But this time there was a different tale to tell. The Columbia was coming home, as Billy Raynor put it, "with a broom at the main-mast head."
All day the wireless snapped out congratulations from the shore. Jack was kept busy transmitting shore greetings and messages from returning voyagers who had chosen the finest ship under the stars and stripes on which to return to the United States. Patriotism ran riot as every bulletin showed the Columbia reeling over two or three knots more an hour than her rival. One enthusiastic millionaire offered a twenty-dollar gold piece to every fireman, and five dollars each to all the other members of the crew, if the Columbia beat her fleet rival by a five-hour margin. The money was as good as won.
Thurman sat in the wireless room. His head was in his hands and he was thinking deeply. Should he or should he not send that message to Washington which, he was sure, would cause Jack's arrest the instant the ship docked. He had struggled with his conscience for some time. But then the thought of the reward and the fancied grudge he owed Jack overtopped every other consideration. He seized the key and began calling the big naval station.
It was not long before he got a reply, for when not talking to warships the land stations of the department use normal wave-lengths.
"Who is this?" came the question from the government man.
"It's X. Y. Z," rapped out Thurman.
This was the signature he had appended to his other messages.
"The thunder you say," spelled out the other; "we thought we'd never hear from you again."