"She did not quite understand, but he shut me up before I could tell her that he was one of the finest ship-masters that ever cracked on sail in a gale of wind. Won't we see you again before we sail, Davy? I am sending a box of apple pies by express. I made them with my own fair hands, and one of them is specially for the bos'n, with his initials on the crust. Mr. Becket says I ought to have put on, 'FOR A DUTCH HUMBUG.'"
Davy duly delivered the pie and Mr. Becket's message, and was thanked for the one and cuffed over the head for the other.
The Roanoke was almost ready for sea a few days later, when a telegram came aboard for David. He opened the envelope with stumbling fingers, fearing something might have happened to his "dearest folks." The message was from Mr. Cochran, however, and said no more than:
"There may be good news for us. Cannot tell yet. Try to come at once."
David showed the message to the chief officer, who advised him to take it to Captain Thrasher. That august personage said at once:
"Jump right along with you. Give Mr. Cochran my best regards, and tell him to send you back as soon as he can."
On the train bound for New York David tried to fathom the meaning of the uncertain tidings. Either Arthur had been saved or he had not, but apparently the father was waiting for more information. When David jumped from the car in the Jersey City station, he was surprised to see Mr. Cochran waiting for him, with every sign of impatient haste.
"Come along, youngster," he called at the top of his voice. "I have a tug with steam up right here by the ferry dock."
He grasped David's arm and they charged pell-mell through the crowd. Mr. Cochran had no breath to spare until they had scrambled from the string-piece of the pier to the deck of a sea-going tug, whose escape valve was roaring in a cloud of steam. Orders were shouted, a bell clanged, another jingled, and the tug was racing down the North River toward the Bay.