“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
”Beg pardon, Miss!” interrupted the steward. ”It ’s against orders!”
”It ’s a damned outrage!” retorted Micky. ”Tell the Captain to go to hell! Hello, there, Mr. Chilvers!”
”Jim! Jim!” repeated the girl hysterically. ”Mr. Fitzpatrick is looking after me. Don’t worry. I ’m all right. Good night.”
”I ’ll do the best I can for both of you!” added Micky. ”Keep up your nerve!”
Then he turned to the steward.
”Now go and tell Ponsonby!” he cried wrathfully.
Micky, after bidding good night to Mr. Chilvers, climbed up the ladder to the wireless house with many conflicting emotions and lit a pipe. Poor Bennett! ”Not the ordinary sort of criminal,” the girl had said. The very words used by Graeme. ”Not the ordinary sort.” Was there any ”ordinary sort” of criminal, he wondered? If you only knew the truth would n’t you always find some reason for their having done what they did,—some extenuating circumstance,—some excuse? No one really wanted to do wrong, he felt sure.
”I wish I could help these people!” he225
