Tom hesitated.
"I don't—I don't know if I should say, Aye, aye, sir—I hear some of 'em doin' that," said Tom awkwardly.
"You mean, yes, you can?" said the captain, with the faintest suggestion of a smile.
"Yes, I—as long as he's right there with me—yes, sir, I think I could."
"Well, then, you go down there now, and I'll notify the steward."
Tom half turned, then hesitated, clutching his sleeve tighter. "I—I got to thank you," said he.
The captain nodded. "All right; keep your mouth shut, do your best, don't make mistakes, and remember we're at war. And maybe we'll have to thank you," he added.
"It's—it's helping in the war, isn't it?" Tom asked.
The captain nodded. For a moment Tom had a wild notion of asking whether he might continue in the wireless room when the ship was taken over for regular transport service, but he did not dare.
Those who saw him as he went back along the deck saw only the stolid-looking, awkward young fellow in the stiff white jacket three sizes too large for him who had come to be a familiar figure about the ship. And they did not know that the heart of Tom Slade was beating again with hope and joy just as it had beat when he had listened to Mr. Temple and when he stood looking down from the office window into Barrel Alley. And if his hopes and triumphs should be dashed again, they would not know that either ...