Fred Larkin pervaded, so to speak, the ship. Note-book in hand, he interviewed the officers, chaffed the Russian Jackies, darted in and out of the cabins, and ranged boldly through the hidden passages below. In process of time he reached the engine-room, smearing himself with oil on the way, from every steel rod he touched.
No sooner had he entered the room than he was pounced upon by one of the three or four engineers, naval and civil, who were busily watching the work of the great, pulsing heart of the vessel.
"Larkin! How are you, old fellow?" And his hands were grasped and wrung, over and over, regardless of oil.
"Holmes! Well, I didn't guess you were here! Shake again!"
It was Lieutenant-Commander Holmes, Assistant Engineer, who, with several subordinate officers, two of them from the Academy, had been detached by the Navy Department to watch the trip of the Retvizan and report upon it. They mingled freely with the Russian engineers, and compared notes with them as the trial progressed.
Norman Holmes explained this to the young reporter, who was an old and tried friend.
"Where is Rexdale stationed?"
"He's doing shore duty in Washington just now. Between you and me, Fred, I think he'll be a lieutenant-commander before long, and may command one of the smaller vessels on this station—a despatch-boat or something of the kind. I only wish I could be assigned to the same ship! You know Dave and I were chums in the Academy."
"I know. And the trifling circumstance of each marrying the other's sister hasn't tended to produce a coldness, I suppose! But isn't that an awfully quick promotion for Rexdale? The last I heard of him he was only a lieutenant."