Back Aa

Brighton Boys in the Radio Service, The

<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> <h3>The Fight in the Wireless Room</h3> "Oh my; oh, my!" wailed Slim weakly, his head hanging over the side of his bunk. "I never felt worse in all my life. I never felt half so sick." "Never mind," urged Joe, soothingly, "you'll soon be feeling better now." "Yes, he will," moaned Jerry, miserably, from the opposite bunk; "he will, but I won't." The wind howled, the big ship gave a forward and downward lurch, and Jerry would have slid from his bunk but for the quick action of Joe. "I think I'm going to die. I wish I would," gasped the red-headed boy when he was again laid out at full length. "I had the measles and the mumps at the same time once, but I never felt like this. Why don't they steer this old boat through the waves, instead of trying to jump her over them?" "There's a heavy sea running," explained Joe; "that's what makes the Everett ride so roughly." "Wish I was back at Brighton," Slim groaned dismally. Two hardy youths strolling along the deck, who hadn't been touched by the epidemic of seasickness, stopped to peer in at the porthole. They had mischief in their eyes, and as they caught sight of Slim's humorously pathetic countenance, one of them muttered in a low but distinct voice: "How'd you like to have some fried sausage, and some plum pudding, and some——" "Shut up!" bawled out Jerry with what strength he had left. With a loud laugh the two withdrew their heads and disappeared. At that moment the ship's physician, accompanied by Lieutenant Mackinson, arrived to give what further comfort he could to the seasick lads. "It is clearing," the lieutenant told them, while the doctor measured out a powder for each boy. "The wind has died down and the sea is becoming calm." "Oh, yes," the physician added, "in an hour or so you will be feeling better than you did before. Seasickness has a tonic effect, but it's rather a bitter dose." "Sure is," said Slim weakly. Nevertheless, it was just about an hour later that Jerry, feeling his nausea leave him almost as suddenly as it had appeared, raised himself on one elbow and looked across at his companion in misery. "How do you feel, Slim?" he inquired. "Almost human again," the stout lad replied. "Going to get up?" "Guess I can in a few minutes." "I'm going to try it now," said Jerry. "Seems as if the pilot of this ferry had learned to steer her a whole lot better than he did earlier in the day." "Yep," agreed Slim, sliding from his bunk. "Certainly was tough, wasn't it?" "I feel sort of weak in the legs yet," said Jerry, by way of answer. "Let's go up on deck and get some fresh air." "Stomach feels as empty as a vacant house; how's yours?" Slim inquired. "Nothing in it but the lining, and I guess most of that's pried loose. We've got to wait more than two hours for mess, too." "How about some fried sausage, and some plum pudding, and some——" Jerry laughed for the first time that day. "That fellow certainly did make me mad," he admitted. "Yeh, he made you mad," said Slim in a remorseful tone, "but he made me sick." On deck a hundred or more vigorous young men were exercising their muscles in various forms of athletic sport. Here a group crowded around a contest in broad jumping, eagerly echoing the distances made, and there the men of another throng loudly applauded their favorites in a stiff boxing bout, while on another part of the deck a pair of one-hundred-and-eighty-pound huskies were struggling in a friendly wrestling match. A bright sun shone upon a sparkling sea, and the air was just crisp enough to be invigorating. At that moment Joe came up to inquire how his two chums felt. "Fine," declared Jerry. "Like a two-year-old," added Slim. "That doctor was telling the truth. I believe I never felt better in my life," and he began flapping his arms up and down like a rooster flails the air with its wings. "A fat man's race three times around the ship!" a youth yelled, spying Slim's activities. "Hurrah!" cried the crowd. "Get them started." The jumpers, the wrestlers, and the boxers immediately suspended their respective contests to enjoy the innovation. Slim was trying to back away, protesting that he "couldn't run for a cent," when a familiar, smiling countenance intruded itself in the circle of good-natured faces with the suggestion: "Well, how about a plum pudding, then?" Slim and Jerry at once recognized him as the youth who had similarly suggested a plum pudding, also sausage, at a most inopportune time. "Have you got one?" Slim demanded, his spirit aroused. "Sure have," announced the other, "and I'll make it the stake." Another shout went up as a second group pushed before Slim another youth who, so far as size, shape and avoirdupois was concerned, might have been his twin brother. They looked at each other and both burst into a hearty laugh. "Hello, Skinny," said the stranger. "Howdy, Delicate?" Slim came back at him, quick as a flash. "Want to race?" "Don't particularly want to race," responded the other lad, "but I'm awfully fond of plum pudding." "And sausage?" "Is there going to be a sausage in it, too?" asked the stranger, evidencing increasing interest. "Only yourself," Slim announced, laughing and jumping back quickly to avoid any belligerency his joke might inspire in the other. But he took the joke as good-naturedly as he did the howls of delight from the crowd, and the two peeled off their coats and discarded their hats as a couple of youths marked off the starting and finishing line, while others "cleared the deck for action." "This will be the tape," said a tall lean fellow, as he tied one end of a string to the rail, at a point just above the starting line. "After you have passed here the second time we'll stretch this out, and the first one to touch it will be the winner." "Right," said the fat boys together, leaning over in true sprinter fashion so far as their stomachs would permit them to stoop. One of the one-hundred-and-eighty-pound wrestlers winked to his comrades and hurried down into the lower part of the ship on some mysterious errand. "One, two, three—Go!" shouted the self-constituted referee. And Slim and Delicate went! True, neither of them got what sportsmen would call "a flying start," but they got away, nevertheless, and with all the grace and speed of—two loaded hay wagons. "Whoopee!" yelled one in the crowd. "Look at 'em go! You can't see 'em for dust!" "Two dollars on the knock-kneed guy," shouted another. Slim turned his head for the fraction of a second to learn whether this insult had been directed at him, and his opponent gained a lead of a foot. "Go it, you deerhounds," shrilled an Irish tenor in the crowd. "Work your feet, not your arms." "The elephant leads; come on, you whale!" shouted another. By this time the runners had made the curve at the bow of the boat and were coming up the starboard side, toward the stern. On the nearest armed convoy an officer was taking in the contest through a pair of marine glasses, and apparently enjoying it immensely. "Hooray! Hooray!" yelled the crowd of onlookers as Slim spurted and the pair rounded the stern and came down to the tape at the end of their first lap, neck and neck. Both were puffing like porpoises. "Hey, Sausage, you've got a flat tire," cried a youth as they passed. And from another: "Your engine's knocking, Skinny. Reduce your spark." So the good-natured raillery continued while the two fat boys drove doggedly on, now at considerably reduced speed, but still side by side, each determined to capture that plum pudding. They had passed the tape a second time, snorting louder and in shorter gasps than before, and with the biting repartee still assailing their ears, when the man who had disappeared into the hold of the ship came into sight again, carrying a large can. "Quick!" he warned those about him. "Right here—before they see." And he proceeded to divulge the contents of the can as a heavy grease, almost the color of the deck, which he began to smear heavily thereon over the entire surface that the runners would have to cover, from a distance fifteen feet away from the tape. "They're on their way," whispered a voice, and the crowd parted to give the two the proper space in which to finish the race. There was an air of great expectancy among the onlookers. The lads were still struggling along neck and neck, but Slim's leg work was so timed as to make him the first to strike the grease. He slid, tried to regain his balance, skidded into his competitor, who also was floundering for a foothold, and then, progressing to a spot where the grease was thicker, both feet went out from under him and he went down, kicking Delicate's foundations from under him, also. The crowd yelled with laughter, and the breath went out of poor Slim with a terrible snort, as Delicate came down squarely upon Slim's stomach. And thus, the most ludicrous sight imaginable, they went sliding under the tape. "All bets are off," shouted the other man who had been boxing; "they broke before the finish." Side by side, too breathless to articulate, the two fat youths lay there gasping for breath, while those gathered about them made mock gestures of "first aid to the injured." Nobody had been hurt, however, and the victims of the prank took it in the way it had been intended. Delicate, whose real name was Remington Bowman, proved to be as good a sportsman as Slim, and they went down the deck arm in arm when the mess call was sounded. And it was evidence of the good fellowship of the owner of the plum pudding that he did share it with both of them directly after the meal was over. "You fellows earned it," he said. And they agreed that they had. <hr style='width: 45%;' /> That evening it was Joe's turn to do watch in the wireless room with Lieutenant Mackinson until eleven o'clock, at about which time the young officer retired to his bunk just off the operating room, and Slim came on, to work until three a. m., when he was relieved by Jerry, who stayed until seven o'clock, at which time the lieutenant again assumed charge until relieved by Joe. It was a standing order, however—at least until the younger men became more experienced with the wireless—that Lieutenant Mackinson immediately should be apprised of the sending or receiving of any messages. This first evening out the lieutenant complained of a headache, and, acquiescing in Joe's urging, had gone upon deck to get the air. Perhaps fifteen minutes had elapsed when Joe thought he heard someone prowling about stealthily in the battery room. His first thought was that the lieutenant had returned to make certain that everything was all right, but a moment's consideration convinced him otherwise. Whoever was in the adjoining room was making every effort to keep his presence there from becoming known! It gave Joe a queer sort of feeling. What should he do? To seek the lieutenant and bring him back might require several minutes. Meanwhile the intruder might accomplish his object—whatever it was—and disappear. He decided to act upon his own initiative. Tiptoeing across the room, he turned off the electric switch, which threw the wireless room into utter darkness except for the meagre moonlight filtering through an open porthole. Then, just as silently, he re-crossed the room to the door leading to the battery room; slowly and without a sound he turned the knob and opened the door to a sufficient width to permit him to peer in. That room also was in darkness, with only one porthole open. Cautiously the intruder seemed to be feeling about for something connected with the batteries. Listening intently for a moment, to get the exact location of the other man, Joe flung open the door and made a flying leap in the other's direction. The man was leaning over, and Joe landed squarely upon his back. With a muffled exclamation of surprise the man jerked himself forward and Joe went hurtling over his head, his arms, however, still clasped tightly about the other man's neck. Joe knew in an instant that he was in combat with a man larger and more powerful than himself, but his own youth and suppleness were in his favor. Throwing all his strength into the movement, he twisted about and at the same time jumped, so that he managed to wrap his legs about the other man's waist. With another lithe movement he was again upon his back and reaching for his antagonist's throat, at the same time squeezing with all the strength of his powerful young limbs upon the other's ribs. Back and forth across the narrow confines of the little room they staggered, now one having a temporary advantage, and again the other. Just as Joe was managing to fasten his fingers in at the throat, and the other was hammering terrible elbow blows into his stomach, the bigger man stumbled. As he fell he turned, and his full weight came down upon the lad, almost crushing him. Joe was not done for yet, however. With the strength of desperation he held on to the other fellow's shirt. He felt something hard and metallic under it, and in a new grasp included that in his fist. Again the struggle began. Unable to break Joe's grip, the intruder tried to sink his teeth into the lad's wrist. Failing in this, he gave an evidence of his strength by rising, dragging Joe upward with him. There was an instant of terrible whirling about the room, and then the man landed a smashing blow on Joe's jaw. Still gripping the man's shirt, and the unknown metallic thing beneath it, the lad reeled. The shirt ripped, there was another sharp snap, and the boy fell backward, dazed. He heard the man run swiftly, almost noiselessly toward the stern of the ship; brilliant and many-colored lights flashed before his eyes—and he knew no more. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-3.jpg" alt="There was an Instant of Terrible Whirling about the Room." title="" /> There was an Instant of Terrible Whirling about the Room.</div> <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.