“C. Q.” or, In the Wireless House
threw open the window and motioned his guests to take seats on the bunk. The man was obviously exhausted by his climb up the ladder, but the girl was all interest. The windows looking in every direction showed not a single sail or streak of black smoke on all the limitless horizon.
“You ’d think we were all alone, would n’t you?” said Micky, filling his pipe.
“Yes—are n’t we?” she replied innocently.
“Not one bit of it!” he answered. “We ’re in the middle of a regular drove of ships. He nodded westward. "Right over there are the Berlin and Cedric, and beyond them the Fulda and the Frederick II. Behind us are the Oregon and the Hohenlohe. About three hundred miles south of us is the Argentina, bound for Buenos Ayres, and the Karib for Colon. Just north is a big yacht, the Nevada, and the Frankfort, going eastward. I ’ve been talking to all of them. I know most of the operators, too. The chap on the Berlin is named Morrissy. We had an evening together at Algiers about a week ago. He owes me a shilling sixpence.”
The girl listened, wide-eyed.
33
