“Turn your wheel a few points to port and bear down on her.”
Johnson gave the necessary order and the great ship veered around.
“Hello!” cried Spinner, on deck. “Here’s a steamer. I found her. She’s mine.”
Then there was a rush to the side of the ship. “A steamer in sight!” was the cry, and all books and magazines at once lost interest. Even the placid, dignified Englishman who was so uncommunicative, rose from his chair and sent his servant for his binocular. Children were held up and told to be careful, while they tried to see the dim line of smoke so far ahead.
“Talk about lane routes at sea,” cried young Spinner, the knowing. “Bosh, I say. See! we’re going directly for her. Think what it might be in a fog! Lane routes! Pure luck, I call it.”
“Will we signal to her, Mr. Spinner?” gently asked the young lady from Boston.
“Oh, certainly,” answered young Spinner. “See there’s our signal flying from the masthead now. That shows them what line we belong to.”
“Dear me, how interesting,” said the young lady. “You have crossed many times, I suppose, Mr. Spinner.”
“Oh, I know my way about,” answered the modest Spinner.
The captain kept the glasses glued to his eyes. Suddenly he almost let them drop.