On the deck he met Mr. Conne.
"Well, I see the captain beat me to it," said he. "I was thinking of working you into secret service work, but never mind, there's time enough."
"Maybe I won't satisfy them; sometimes I make mistakes," said Tom. "I made a mistake when I went into the wrong store-room, if it comes to that. They always called me Bull-head, the fellers in the troop did."
Mr. Conne cocked his head sideways, screwed his cigar over to the extreme corner of his mouth, and looked at Tom with a humorous scrutiny.
"Did they?" said he. "All right, Tommy, Uncle Sam and I mean to keep our eyes on you, just the same."
So at last the cup of joy was full again—and that same night it overflowed. For as Tom Slade sat at the wireless table, while his new companion slept in his berth near by, there jumped before his eyes a blue, dazzling spark which told him that some one, somewhere, had something to say to him across the water and through the black, silent night.
Quickly he adjusted the receivers on his ears and waited. The clamorous buzzing sound caused the other operator to open his eyes and raise his sleepy head to his elbow.
Dash, dash, dash—dash, dot, dot, dot.
"What is it?" said the operator sleepily.
"Official business abbreviation," said Tom. "I'll take it—lie down."