quickly, doubtfully. But the other’s face was solemn, without guile. Mr. Talliaferro went on again. “Well, wish me luck,” he said.
“Sure. The admiral expects every man to do his duty, you know,” Fairchild replied solemnly, following Mr. Talliaferro’s dapper figure up the stairs.
......
Major Ayers and the Semitic man awaited them. There were no ladies. Nobody at all, in fact. The deck was deserted.
“Are you sure?” Fairchild insisted. “Have you looked good? I kind of wanted to dance some. Come on, let’s look again.”
At the door of the wheelhouse they came upon the helmsman. He wore only an undershirt above his trousers and he was gazing into the sky. “Fine night,” Fairchild greeted him.
“Fine now,” the helmsman agreed. “Bad weather off there, though.” He extended his arm toward the southwest. “Lake may be running pretty high by morning. Were on a lee shore, too.” He stared again into the sky.
“Ah, I guess not,” Fairchild replied with large optimism. “Hardly on a clear night like this, do you reckon?”
The helmsman stared into the sky, making no answer. They passed on. “I forgot to tell you the ladies had retired,” Mr. Talliaferro remarked.
“That’s funny,” Fairchild said. “I wonder if they thought we were not coming back?”
“Perhaps they were afraid we were,” the Semitic man suggested.
“Huh,” said Fairchild. . . . “What time is it, anyway?”
It was twelve o’clock, and the sky toward the zenith was hazed over, obscuring the stars. But the moon was still un-
