On the promenade outside he met Sloan, the wireless operator, on his way to Captain Henshaw's cabin with a slip of paper in his hand. Sloan winked at him broadly.
"The good news has come, sir," he grinned. "Take a look at this!"
And McTee eagerly read the typewritten slip.
Beatrice is rallying. Doctors have decided effusion of blood was not hemorrhage. Opinion now very hopeful.
"Will that bring the old boy around for a while?" asked Sloan.
"He'll slip you a twenty on the strength of that and give you a drink as well," said McTee.
They reached the cabin and entered together to find that White Henshaw lay on the couch in the corner. His physical strength was apparently exhausted, and one long, lean arm dangled to the floor. At sight of the dreaded wireless operator with the message in his hand, his yellow face turned from yellow to pale ivory. He rose and supported himself with one hand against the wall, scowling as if he dared them to notice his weakness.
"Good news!" called Sloan cheerily, and extended the paper.
The captain snatched the paper, his eyes were positively wolfish while he devoured the message.
"Sloan—good lad," he stammered. "Stay by your instrument every minute, my boy. Before night we'll have word that she's past all danger."