“And the Laurania was just off shore,” spoke up the captain. “She’s a millionaire’s yacht and they carry quite a crew.” He clapped his hand on Nicky’s shoulder and it was easy to tell just how thick or thin the boy’s old shirt was.
“Well, anyhow,” Babs began again, “Washington has answered our letter and maybe you’ll get a medal.”
“A medal!” grinned Nicky. “What good is a medal?”
“Not much, son,” agreed the captain, strange to say. “But then, it’s a mighty good thing to have friends at Washington. There’s all-powerful people there,” and Nicky’s shoulder again responded under Captain Quiller’s fatherly pat. It whacked.
“Oh, I know!” gasped Babs. “I know—something.”
“What? Don’t choke on it. What is it?” asked Cara.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t say it right out, but you know, we’re all your friends, don’t you Nicky?” she began cautiously.
“Sure.” Nicky wasted no sentiment.
“Then, Captain Quiller, why couldn’t we ask to get Nicky’s father out? He never did a thing wrong.”
“Betchure life he didn’t,” proclaimed the small son, loudly and emphatically.