As Sandy’s feet struck the slightly grimy steel deck, he noticed that the crewmen were busily covering up the load of ore that had just been deposited in the vessel’s holds. For a moment, he watched them. Then he gave a start.
The man who was directing them was the same short, powerfully built man that they had seen coming out of John Steele’s field-testing shack a little earlier.
“Oh, ho,” said Mr. Kennedy, observing Sandy’s gesture. “So you know Captain West, eh?”
“Not exactly, sir. But I do remember seeing him coming out of my father’s field station only a few minutes ago.”
“Your father’s field sta—” Mr. Kennedy struck his hands together sharply. “Why, of course! How could I have missed the resemblance! You’re John Steele’s son, aren’t you?” Sandy nodded proudly, and Mr. Kennedy rambled on, beaming: “Nothing like having your life saved by your friend’s son. Sort of keeps it in the family. And I certainly must tell John Steele what a fine boy he has! Ah, that’s it—down that ladder there. Smells like we’re just in time, boys.”
Still chuckling, Mr. Kennedy gingerly followed Sandy and Jerry as they clambered down a narrow, steep, iron stairway that led into a cabin fitted with a long table having benches on either side. A few of the crewmen in faded blue shirts and dungarees were already seated, eating. They smiled at the two youths.
“This is the galley, boys,” Mr. Kennedy said. “Ah, here’s Cookie.”
Sandy and Jerry burst out laughing as the little man shuffled into the galley, and then, seeing them, threw up his hands in mock horror and made a dive as though to save the platters of food on the table from destruction.
“S.O.S.,” he wailed, “S.O.S. Save Our Suppers!”
“All right, Cookie,” Mr. Kennedy chuckled. “That’ll be enough. How about rustling up a feed for my two young friends? This lad here,” he started to say, looking at Sandy. But then, seeing Sandy blush, he went on: “This lad here has just done the Kennedy Shipping Line a great favor. Show him how we treat our friends, Cookie.”