He continued in the same strain for some time, vowing vengeance on all skippers who should henceforth attempt to deceive him in any manner whatsoever. Trent had much ado to keep from laughing, but as he was of a smaller stature than Lawless he deemed it safer to maintain a serious aspect.
But worse was to follow. Other ships had picked up the Trojon's message, and their captains took advantage of this to send ironic messages of congratulation to the luckless commander of the Knat. For some time the wireless operator was kept busy receiving and transcribing such messages as:
"Well done, Knat!"
"Is it true that you've been promoted?"
"What is the difference between a bushel of wheat and a contact-mine, and if not why not?"
At last Lawless could stand it no longer and, almost foaming at the mouth, hurried to the operator's room.
"Look here!" he shouted, "if you take down any more of those infernal messages I'll have you put in irons. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," answered the operator meekly.
The Lieutenant savagely stamped down the little iron ladder and gazed wrathfully around to see if any of the men had the suspicion of a grin on his face. But the men's countenances were almost preternaturally serious as they busied themselves with little odd jobs about the deck.
"What's the matter with the men, bos'n?" he growled. "They look like a company of funeral mutes."