A burst of cheering broke from the passengers. One girl fainted; men turned and wrung each other’s hands. Captain and Mrs. Field did not stir for a moment; then they rose, moved by the same instinct, and disappeared within the ship. Mrs. Field staggered as they went and her husband’s free arm caught her to him. Tommy had never stirred—his little face lay against his father’s cheek.
David Linton put his hand on his boy’s shoulder, speechless. Norah had laid her head on the rail, and her shoulders were shaking. Wally patted them hard.
“Buck up, old girl!” he said.
Flags had shot up on the Perseus, in courteous answer to the Germans. Mr. Dixon, appearing, was overwhelmed with congratulations and questions.
“It’s a British cruiser, right enough, and our friend the enemy has got to show a clean pair of heels,” he said. “We’re only keeping her back—her speed is knots ahead of ours. We’ll know more when we get the wireless going again—Grey is hard at work on the spare outfit already. We’ll hold on as we are for the present, to give the British ship any information we can.”
“There is no further danger?” queried the old lady with the khaki muffler.
“No, ma’am—none at all, that I know of.”
“What a good thing!” said she, placidly. She knitted on, without any pause.
“The captain sends you all his thanks,” Dixon continued, gazing at her in bewilderment and awe. “He says you can shed life-belts and, as the Germans put it, dismiss—it’s ‘as you were,’ in fact. There will be another breakfast in an hour’s time—I don’t fancy any one ate much of the first one. We’ll let you know any news we can,” and he hurried back to the bridge.
Already the German ship had forged far ahead of the Perseus.