“Oh—I am stupid!” she uttered, grasping her pencil and scribbling “Bonnie Dundee” wildly. A half-second earlier Miss Agnew gave vent to a shriek of intelligence, and wielded a distraught pencil. It was almost a neck-and-neck race—but Grantham was a nose ahead.
“You’ve won!” said Norah, laughing. “Well done!” They shook hands cheerfully; to stare in surprise, a moment later, when the doctor picked up his megaphone and announced in stentorian tones that the winners were Miss Linton and Mr. Meadows.
“But how?” queried Norah. All the spectators had left their places—they were the centre of a laughing group. Wally arrived, triumphant, and pumped her hand anew.
“That was my telegraphic partner!” laughed Grantham, in mock wrath. “I whistled ‘Rule Britannia’ like a nightingale, and all she wrote was this.” He held out a crumpled scrap of paper with “Brit” inscribed on it in hieroglyphic letters. “Naturally, the umpire wouldn’t accept it—so they disqualified me.”
“I’m awfully sorry!” Miss Agnew laughed. “I was overcome—and you whistled so very badly—and I was sure Wally meant to start.” She tilted a pretty nose. “I’m sure ‘Brit’ is good enough for that old tune, anyway.”
Jim Linton swung round suddenly.
“Is that the wireless?”
From overhead, as every merry voice hushed to silence, broke out the crisp, familiar crackle—the wireless, spitting its message over the sea. No one moved for a moment. Then came another sound—a long, heavy “Boom-m!” that ran echoing round the horizon. Women screamed, and ran for their babies. Men looked at each other dumbly. The quick spitting of the wireless went on—a tiny sound, following the crashing “Boom,” but even more full of meaning.
“Boom-m-m!” Another heavy crash; and the spell that had fallen on the laughing group of passengers broke suddenly, and there was a stampede round to the starboard side of the ship. Norah, running, found Jim’s hand on her shoulder.
“Steady, kiddie—keep back till we know what it is.”