WITH the first dash of rain Micky had scuttled for the wireless house. Less than three hundred and fifty miles from New York he knew well the dangers of a collision with another liner or a coastwise schooner. Earlier in the afternoon he had been talking to one of the land stations and to several other steamers round about him. Morrissy on the Berlin had said they were going to make quarantine that night,—that the pilot had come aboard and that there was to be a tremendous ball game at the American League grounds between the Giants and Philadelphia for the world’s Championship, betting somewhat in favor of the Athletics. He had also picked up the Saxonia, who had given her location at three o’clock as some two hundred and seventy-five miles off Fire Island. The two boats
