‘No, I don’t remember any gall,’ replied Sam with some asperity; ‘and wot’s more, if that clutch ain’t ready pretty damn soon, you’ll be spoke to.’
‘Way down in Tennessee——’ continued the worker, ignoring the insult, in a masterly manner.
Through the door in the engine-room bulkhead came the Chief E.R.A. to hurl an insult at a tardy message-bearer, but the hoot of the telegraph sent him diving back to his lair almost immediately.
‘Stop ’er,’ cried the L.T.O., working the switches to the accompaniment of a hiss and crackle of blue sparks.
‘Engines!’ came Raymond’s voice from above. ‘Three hundred revs.!’
‘Engines!’ shouted Furness, the L.T.O., into the engine-room. ‘Three ’undred!’
‘The ‘Chief’ waved a reply, and with a snip of switches the motors started again. Then the engine clutches came home and the Diesels began to heave with a fizz bump, fizz bump, fizz, fizz, fizz, as the needles of the ammeters came back from discharging, past zero and on to charging.
Once more Hoskins waved a grimy hand and the motor workers broke their switches. She was away on her engines at ten knots now, her exhaust, which had started in oily puffs, rapidly thinning astern to a white semi-transparent vapour.
Into the battery-room at this juncture came the ‘Sub’ of the boat, an ingenuous youth of nineteen, bearing upon his youthful shoulders as second in command all the anxieties and troubles of the world.
‘All right, Furness?’ he asked.