“But it’s a darling place,” Connie said, becoming a trifle excited. “Just like a ship inside. Or a club house!”
The girls had tiptoed from the hallway to a main living room.
There were no rugs on the floor or curtains at the porthole windows. The furniture was all built into the walls. At one end of the long room there were two double-deck bunks.
“Someone must live here!” cried Connie. “At least that lower bunk has been slept in. See, the blanket is mussed!”
A desk had been built into the opposite wall. Connie went over to inspect it.
Almost at once she came upon a dusty old Bible. She turned slowly through the yellowing pages. Toward the back of the huge book, her exploring fingers encountered a photograph.
“It’s a picture of a young man,” she informed Vevi. “There’s writing on the back of it.”
Vevi quickly crossed the room to see what Connie had found. Taking the picture to the window where a little light filtered through, they were able to make out the writing. Connie read it aloud.
“Jerry R. Tarwell, 19, lost at sea, Dec. 25, 1934.”
“Why, that was on Christmas Day,” Vevi said, staring at the picture. “He’s nice looking.”