leeve tighter. "I--I got
to thank you," said he.

The captain nodded. "All right; keep your mouth shut, do your best,
don't make mistakes, and remember we're at war. And maybe we'll have to
thank you," he added.

"It's--it's helping in the war, isn't it?" Tom asked.

The captain nodded. For a moment Tom had a wild notion of asking whether
he might continue in the wireless room when the ship was taken over for
regular transport service, but he did not dare.

Those who saw him as he went back along the deck saw only the
stolid-looking, awkward young fellow in the stiff white jacket three
sizes too large for him who had come to be a familiar figure about the
ship. And they did not know that the heart of Tom Slade was beating
again with hope and joy just as it had beat when he had listened to Mr.
Temple and when he stood looking down from the office window into Barrel
Alley. And if his hopes and triumphs should be dashed again, they would
not know that either ...

On the deck he met Mr. Conne.

"Well, I see the captain beat me to it," said he. "I was thinking of
working you into secret service work, but never mind, there's time
enough."

"Maybe I won't satisfy them; sometimes I make mistakes," said Tom. "I
made a mistake when I went into the wrong store-room, if it comes to
that. They always called me Bull-head, the fellers in the troop did."

Mr. Conne cocked his head sideways, screwed his cigar over to the
extreme corner of his mouth, and looked at Tom with a humorous scrutiny.

"Did they?" said he. "All right, Tommy, Uncle Sam and I mean to keep our
eyes on you, just the same."

So at last the cup of joy was full again--and that same night it
overflowed. For as Tom Slade sat at the wireless table, while his new
companion slept in his berth near by, there jumped before his eyes a
blue, dazzling spark which told him that some one, somewhere, had
something to say to him across the water and through the black, silent
night.

Quickly he adjusted the receivers on his ears and waited. The clamorous
buzzing sound caused the other operator to open his eyes and raise his
sleepy head to his elbow.

Dash, dash, dash--dash, dot, dot, dot.

"What is it?" said the operator sleepily.

"Official business abbreviation," said Tom. "I'll take it--lie down."

It was no more than right that he should take it.

Hold Adolf von Stebel using passport Curry if on board. Tall,
black mustache. Wanted for plotting and a