her being glass.

"This is your first trip?"

The sallow face was inclined, and the pallid lips moved dryly.

"I just came from the school. I'm pretty green. You see----"

"I see. We'd better let me take the first trick. I'll sit in till
midnight. After that there's very little doing. You may have to relay
a position report or so. Be sure and don't work on navy time. The
Chief will watch you closely for long-distance. The farther you work,
the better he'll like it. How's the air? Have you listened in?"

"Do you mean--static? I heard a little. Seemed pretty far away,
though."

Peter adjusted the nickeled straps about his head and pressed the
rubber disks tight to his ears. He tilted his head slightly. A
distant but harsh rasping, as of countless needle-points grating on
glass, occurred in the head phones. This was caused by charges of
electricity in the air, known to wireless men as "static." Percolating
through the scratching was a clear, bell-like note. The San Pedro
station was having something to say to a destroyer off the coast.

With delicate fingers Peter raised the tuning-knob a few points. Dale,
the junior operator, hands clutched behind him, stared with the fearful
adoration of an apprentice. He seemed to be making a mental notation
of every move that Peter made, for future reference.

"Ah--do you mind if I ask a few questions? You see, I'm kind of green."

"Go ahead!" Peter said cordially.

"Where do I eat? With the crew? I hear that lots of these ships make
you eat with the crew."

"No. In the main dining-saloon. Mr. Blanchard, the purser, will take
care of you. See him at six thirty."

A deep monstrous shudder, arising to a clamor, half roar, half shriek,
issued from the boilers of the _Vandalia_.

"It's rather interesting to watch us pull out," said Peter when the
noise had ceased. "But be careful. There's no rail around this deck."

He was on his hands and knees at the motor-generator with a pad of
sandpaper between his fingers when the tremulous voice of the junior
operator sounded in the doorway. "Mr. Moore, there's some excitement
on the dock."

Peter followed the narrow shoulders to the starboard side and looked
down. The _Vandalia_ was warping out from the pierhead with a sobbing
tug at her stern. He noted that the head-lines were still fast. A
straggling line of passengers' friends, wives, husbands, and
sweethearts was moving slowly toward the end of