flush in the planking underfoot to let the sunlight into the interior of the ship. Aloft twinkled the ship’s sailing lights. Beyond the rails all was inky darkness, and it was a darkness that seemed almost to be alive. Out of it came sounds such as Henry had never heard before—the swish and sweep of swaying waters, the crashing of crested waves, the interminable roar of endless leagues of rolling billows.
Henry was amazed to find how the ship was moving up and down. He tried to imitate the wireless men, who skipped quickly around the after end of the wireless shack, but a lurch of the ship sent him flying across the deck. He brought up with a jolt at the leeward rail. With a chuckle he turned about and made for the door of the operator’s stateroom which the electrician was now holding open for him. A broad band of light illumined his way.
As Henry stepped through the doorway, he could see quite well what a snug little place this stateroom was. Three bunks, one above the other, occupied most of one side of the compartment. There were also a tall wardrobe, a washbowl with mirror above it, and a table with several chairs. On this table were a number of books and magazines. A young man sat at the table, his elbows on the edge of it, his chin propped on his hands, so deeply engrossed in a book he was