Nothing seemed to please him. He did not like his life on the Iroquois. He said his job was a miserable one, and when Henry asked why it was distasteful, he replied that being a radio man wasn’t bad in itself if only a fellow had decent companions to work with. Nobody, he said, could be expected to like his work if he had a boss like the chief electrician.
“Why don’t you like the chief electrician?” Henry asked the lad.
“He’s a slave driver. He’s nothing but a crank,” and the lad swore viciously.
“Why do you think he is a crank?” asked Henry.
“He’s too particular,’ and again he swore. “And he won’t let anybody touch his blamed old key but himself. You might think he owned it.”
“But just think,” urged Henry. “This outfit is worth ten thousand dollars. If it’s harmed, he is responsible for the damage.”
“Who'd hurt his old wireless? And, anyway, why should he care? It’s Uncle Sam’s, ain’t it?”
Henry was shocked at the lad’s attitude. He wanted to tell him that if Mr. Sharp considered his assistants fully competent to operate the wireless, he would doubtless gladly let them do their full share of the work. But he knew that would lead to a disagreeable argument, if not indeed to