“That’s so!” agreed Martin.
Nelson looked from one to the other anxiously. “Do you think—it could be?” he whispered.
“I wouldn’t hope too hard,” muttered Martin.
Nelson stared thoughtfully at his grimy hands and then over toward where the Antietam lay, the smoke lessening about her torn deck. Finally: “I guess I’ll go and—and make sure,” he murmured.
“Right-o!” said Tip cheerfully. “Like me to go along, old man?”
Nelson shook his head, smiling faintly. “No, because it mayn’t be, and—and then I—I guess I don’t want anyone around!”
At the after companion he halted. He had no right to go where he was going without orders. And what should he say? Perhaps he had better wait....
But he went on. In the wardroom passage he paused again. Through a partly open door ahead came faint voices, for the ship with its idle engines was very still. He listened, his heart beating hard and chokingly. That was the captain talking now: “... After what you’ve been through, Captain ... make you comfortable ... find some clothes....” Then another voice came to the listener, a deeper voice, speaking slowly, wearily....
Nelson went forward like one in a dream. The door of the captain’s cabin stood half open. On the threshold he stopped and raised his hand in salute, and the captain, glancing up, saw him.
“Well, my man?” he demanded sharply.