Both Sandy and Jerry had charged up to the old man’s assistance immediately after Sandy had made his splendid throw. Now, they helped him regain his feet.
“Why, I guess I am all right, boys,” the man said, giving just the smallest shudder as he dusted himself off. “But one more second, and I guess I wouldn’t be.” He looked sharply at Sandy.
“Was it you who threw that rock?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, son, it must have been a great throw. Worthy of old Christy Mathewson himself. But better than that, boy, you saved my life. And I’m much obliged.” He held out his hand. “What’s your name, son?”
“Steele, sir. Sandy Steele. This is my friend Jerry James.”
“Pleased to meet you, boys. My name is John Kennedy.” He adjusted his coat lapels and turned to look out at the loading docks again. “See that boat out there? That’s one of mine. The James Kennedy. Named after my father, boys. He founded the family shipping line.” A shadow passed over the man’s normally ruddy and pleasant features. “I guess I was too busy watching the James Kennedy loading to notice that confounded bucket was getting set to whack my head off.” Mr. Kennedy shot them a sly look. “Like to go aboard her?”
“Would we!”
“I’ll say!”
Smiling, Mr. Kennedy led the way toward the long narrow ore freighter. Loading operations had been completed by the time they reached the dock, so they were allowed to proceed with little danger. They walked in awe beneath the now silent ore chutes, conscious as never before of their great size. Then, when they had come abreast of the James Kennedy’s wheelhouse and superstructure in the after part of the ship, their host said genially, “All right now, boys—hop to it. Down the ramp there and wait for me.”