“You said something,” I told him.
“He’s marking up the sky all right, if he can only stick it out,” another fellow said. “Who’s down there with him?”
“Artie,” I said.
“They’ll stick it out, all right,” Westy Martin said; “it’s easier for Artie, he can stay near the window.”
“Bully for you, Wig, old boy!” somebody shouted, just as the E in SAFE shot up. And I knew what it meant—it meant that the words Roy is safe had been printed in great big black letters across the sky.
Then it came faster and faster and it seemed as if he must be turning that damper like a telegraph operator moves his key. “Don’t worry,” it said, “reports false,” “Roy Blakeley safe,” “Roy safe,” “Blakeley alive.” He said it all kinds of different ways.
Once Artie came up coughing and choking and watched a few seconds to see if the wind was blowing the smoke away as fast as the signs were made, because that was important.
“It’s lucky we have that wind,” he said, and then went down again in a hurry.
Pretty soon we could see some searchlights far away and I guess they were on the ships. But ours was different and nearer to Bridgeboro, and people would be sure to see it, only maybe they wouldn’t understand it and that’s what made me worry. I’m good on reading smudge signals, even though I never sent many and I never have to have the Handbook when I read the code, that’s one thing. And I didn’t pay much attention to all the talking and yelling, only kept my eyes up in the sky, watching that long smoky column. It beat any searchlight you ever saw. “Roy alive”—“Roy alive” it kept saying and sometimes “don’t worry.” I didn’t see how any fellow could manage a smudge and send it so fast and keep his spaces. The last word before it stopped was SAFE, or that’s what it was meant to be, only the short flash for E didn’t come. The fellows all began shouting when there wasn’t any more, and I heard Pee-wee shout downstairs, “Aren’t you going to put the name of the boat?”
“Do you want him to crack the sky open?” I heard a fellow say, and they all laughed.