Mr. Conne gave him a shrewd sideways glance, his cigar pointing upward like a piece of field artillery.
"But I hope I can work on this ship when she's a regular transport, and keep working on her till I'm eighteen."
"You haven't answered my question yet."
"I don't know which I'd rather be," said Tom.
"Hmmm," said Mr. Conne.
At the after-companionway he picked up a deck steward and asked him to point out Dr. Curry, if he was about.
"What do you suppose became of the other operator?" Tom asked, a little anxiously.
"I don't know," said Mr. Conne. "We'll have to find some one who does know," he added significantly, and Tom wondered what he meant.
"Do you think he's guilty of anything?" he asked.
"Don't know. You've knocked my theories all endways, young fellow," Mr. Conne said pleasantly; and then he added, smiling, "You say he was a scout; I'm getting to have a pretty good opinion of scouts."