“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
you just do as I tell you. We ’ve got to talk, that ’s sure. Of course I can’t go to your state-room, but you come on up to the wireless house and take a nip of brandy and tell me all about it.”
“Ought I?” she stammered. “You ’re the only person who ’s been kind to me on the whole boat. Since this morning I have n’t left my state-room, but when I thought we were going to be sunk I ran out.”
Micky preceded his guest up the ladder and placed a chair for her by the steam pipes. Then he poured out a tiny sip of brandy and handed it to her.
“Do you good,” he said, smiling.
She drank the brandy obediently, and wiped her eyes.
“Oh,” she said, “you don’t know what it is to have one person kind to you when you ’re in trouble. And we are in trouble! Of course—why, you ’re the person that knows most about it,—for it must have come by wireless.”
Micky nodded grimly.
“Yes,” he said, “it came that way. But it would n’t have made any difference. They ’d have caught him in New York.”
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