“Thank you, sir. Consider the matter settled. Will you come ashore with me, sir, and dine, or would you prefer to have supper aboard?”
“I beg of you to be excused from going ashore, captain. I have much to do to-night. The launch which brought me alongside has a knocked-down wireless plant aboard, and I am anxious to have it set up on your good ship Narcissus—a task I shall have to oversee personally. I shall probably work all night.”
“Praise be!” Michael J. Murphy answered heartily. “We'll have some interest in life now. We can get all the war news, going and coming, can't we? Have you brought along an operator?”
“I am an operator,” the supercargo answered. “By the by, can you fix me up with a wireless room?”
“There are two staterooms and a bath in the owners' suite which you will occupy. You can take your choice.”
“Good. I shall want to sleep close to my instrument.”
He opened the bag, counted out five one-thousand-dollar gold certificates of the United States of America and handed them to the captain.
“The grand old rag,” Michael J. murmured. “How many rascals fight under the flag of old King Spondulics!”
“I believe you have an Irish chief engineer,” von Staden continued. “While I understand his sympathies are with us, still it seems only right to compensate—”
“Suit yourself, Mr. von Staden.”