“Have a drink, mate,” he said.
The mate’s mouth fell open and his head snapped back and a long, whistling snore broke from his throat.
With a grin of triumph, Cookie got to his feet. He walked over to Sandy and stuck out his hand.
“Shake, pal,” he whispered.
With eyes shining with gratitude, Sandy Steele clasped his little friend’s hand. He realized, now, that Cookie must know everything—else why all that nonsense to find out where the key to the radio shack was located. For that ship-to-shore telephone was Sandy Steele’s only hope!
“Wait ten more minutes,” Cookie whispered. “Wait until he’s so sound asleep we can get that key away from him without waking him.”
Sandy nodded. He sat on his bunk for a time, watching the first pale light of dawn growing steadily brighter outside, and as the day brightened, his spirits soared with it. At last, his chance had come!
Cookie arose and moved softly to the snoring mate. He put his mouth to his ear, and said in a loud voice, “Have another drink, mate.”
Mr. Briggs’s answer was a sputtering snore.
Cookie slapped him sharply on the cheek and cried, “Wake up, mate.” Mr. Briggs slept on as though made of stone.