It was a day of suspense. Ship's officers hurried back and forth with serious faces and looks of grave responsibility. Twice through the day the emergency drill was gone through, the boats occupied and vacated and the tackle tested, to the dismal voice of the megaphone on the bridge. And as night came on the more constant callings of the lookouts from their wind-swept perches and the answering call through the darkness had an ominous and portentous sound which shook even Tom's wonted stolidness and made him feel apprehensive and restless.
Not a light was there upon the ship as she plowed steadily upon her course, and little knots of people stood here and there in the darkness looking grotesquely ill-shapen in their cumbersome life-belts.
Along the deck, as he came back from supper, which had been served behind closed portholes and with but a single dim light, Tom met Mr. Conne sauntering along at his customary gait, with no sign of life-belt, but with his companionable cigar dimly visible in the darkness.
"H'lo, Tommy," said he cheerily.
Something, perhaps the tenseness which had gripped the spirits of all on board and affected even him, prompted him to pause for a moment's chat with Tom. He leaned against the rail in the black solitude, his easy manner in strange contrast to the portentous darkness and rising wind, and the general atmosphere of suspense.
"Where's your life-belt, Tommy?"
"I don't want to be bothered with one," said Tom. "I'll grab one if there's one handy when the time comes."
"Ain't you 'fraid old Uncle Neptune'll get you?"
"I've risked my life before this," said Tom; "I just as soon put one on, though," he added; "only I never thought about it."
"Hmmm," said Mr. Conne, looking at him sharply. "There was a fellow last trip put one on before we got outside Sandy Hook," he added.