“Gee whiz! Look at the gallery now!” cried Charlie, staring up at the line of faces along the deck rails of the steamer. “Say! there’s Dad—and Mother! And there’s Uncle Arthur! See them up there, next to the top deck! They’re waving to us! Hi, Dad! Hello, Mother! Hello, Uncle Arthur!”
“Swell,” was Bill’s preoccupied comment. “I’m glad you’ve found your people, kid. But get into the rear cockpit now, and pipe down a bit, please. This is a ticklish job and unless you keep quiet so I can do a bit of talking to those guys on the ship, it’s likely to turn into a first class accident instead of a reunion.”
Charlie, only slightly abashed, subsided in his seat, but he kept on waving frantically to his parents.
Then a chief petty officer, who stood by the rail just below the arm of the hoist, raised a megaphone to his lips.
“Avast below!” he roared, showing a strong foreign accent. “Is that sling secure, sir?”
“All secure!” called back Bill. “But be sure your men keep the slack out of our wing lines when you hoist us. I don’t want the plane to start swinging.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Are you quite ready, sir?”
“All ready.”
“Stand by to be hoisted, sir.”
The officer raised a hand. There came a creaking of the sling as the hoist hook caught up the slack, then very slowly the plane rose out of the water on her upward journey.