II
Micky stumbles upon a peculiar passenger and explains the mysteries of the wireless to a young lady.
THE atmosphere of the second-cabin saloon was somewhat clearer than that of the first, and Micky’s appetite was of the best.
“Good afternoon, everybody!” he cried genially, as he slipped into his place at the head of the table nearest the door. “Fetch me some soup, Dobson.”
An intermittent chorus in Italian, English, and French greeted his arrival. There were seven at the table, one chair being vacant.
“Goot vetter we’re having!” nodded a German brewer from Hoboken.
“Fine!” said Micky. “I was talking to the Berlin this morning, two hundred miles to the westward, and they said it was like a mill-pond. And the Cedric—same distance ahead of her—reports the same thing.”
“I ’m so glad!” answered a wan English25
