Roy laughed. “A little while ago,” he replied, “I thought I would soon be a fish. When the Merrimack signaled a second time and there was only two seconds’ difference between her radio and her whistle, I thought it was all up with us. I signaled her to reverse and raced out to you on the bridge. You know the rest.”
“Mr. Mercer,” said the first mate, as he rose to go, “I’m going to tell the captain every word of this. He has never thought very much of wireless, because he always said, ‘What good is it? It won’t tell you where you are, or where the other fellow is. And when you’re in a fog those are the only things a skipper wants to know.’ But it seems that in the right hands it will answer both questions.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” said Roy, trying to change the subject. “Have a bite to eat. Sam just brought me this stuff. The coffee’s piping hot. You must be tired to death. You’ve been on the bridge more than twelve hours straight.”
“Thanks,” said the mate. “A cup of hot coffee and a sandwich would taste good, if it won’t be robbing you.”
They sat and talked for half an hour, munching sandwiches as they conversed. When Mr. Young finally went to his own quarters, Roy felt as though they had been friends for years. Their brief comradeship in danger had made their friendship real. Roy felt this so keenly that as his big visitor rose to go, he said, “I wish you would call me Roy when we’re alone, and not Mr. Mercer. You know I’m not used to being called Mister yet and I’d rather not have my friends use that handle when they talk to me.”
“All right, Roy. Good-night and my hearty thanks for your help to-day.”
CHAPTER XIV
A TRIP TO THE OIL FIELDS
Without further incident of note, the Lycoming ran on down the Atlantic coast, passed through the Florida Straits, and bore straight across the Gulf to her destination. When she was safely docked and the process of unloading well under way, the big mate one day mounted the ladder to the wireless house.