The Wireless Officer Part 15

Calling silent maledictions upon the head of the tartar, Peter escorted the girl to the head of the bridge-ladder, extorting a promise that she would pay another visit to the wireless-cabin when the ship got within radiographic range.

"Or earlier if you like," he added.

He watched her disappear from sight and slowly made his way back to the cabin. Somehow the home-letter proceeded slowly and disjointedly. He was thinking of the jolly little girl who took such an interest in wireless.

Poor Peter! If he had only known how he had tired her almost to the verge of boredom.

Ten minutes after Miss Baird's departure Mostyn "got busy". Away to the starboard a vessel was calling CQ. The note was very faint and considerably hampered by atmospherics.

He was still endeavouring to tune in to the correct wave-length when he was interrupted by a vigorous punch between the shoulder-blades. Over his shoulder he saw that the interrupter was Mrs. Shallop.

Peter was rather more than annoyed by the interruption. He was angry.

There was no denying that he possessed a temper, but he had usually the happy knack of keeping his feelings well under control. In the present circ.u.mstances he felt inclined to expostulate vehemently.

For one thing, he had a rooted dislike for the woman. For another, she had no right to be on the bridge, unless for the purpose of sending off a message or by the skipper's permission. Neither reason held just then. The wireless-cabin was closed for private transmission; she had not obtained the Old Man's sanction to be on the bridge.

The fact that Miss Baird had been on that spot only a few minutes previously hardly entered into Mostyn's calculations. Unconsciously he had allowed himself to be influenced by personal considerations, and he had forgotten that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander.

With a deprecatory gesture of his left hand Mostyn attempted to convey the impression that he was busy. His attention had to be concentrated on the CQ message if he were to understand its import. It was difficult enough, without his being hampered by external interruptions.

One would have thought a hint sufficient. Not a bit of it! Mrs.

Shallop was one of those hidebound, overbearing individuals who expected immediate and subservient attention.

"Why did you refuse to send off my message?" she demanded, in her loud, grating voice. "You put Miss Baird off with a trivial excuse, but that won't work with me, young man. Isn't my money as good as anyone else's? Don't you know that I'm the daughter of a naval----"

Mostyn removed the telephones and stood up. There was an ominous glint in his eyes. His forbearance was nearing the breaking-point.

"I can only refer you to the notice-board on the promenade-deck," he said. "That and the intimation that pa.s.sengers are forbidden on the bridge except with the Captain's permission. If you have any cause for complaint, please report to Captain Bullock. I must ask you to leave the wireless-cabin at once."

Mrs. Shallop recoiled as if she had received a blow on the face. She had expected no opposition. The quiet, decisive, and deliberate tones of the young Wireless Officer had completely taken the wind out of her sails.

Without a word she turned and made straight for the Old Man's cabin, bursting in like a tornado.

Captain Bullock was being shaved by his servant. The sudden and unexpected entrance of the tartar caused Wilkins's attention to wander, with the result that a crimson streak discoloured the lather on the skipper's chin.

Captain Bullock had, according to his usual custom, decided to remove his beard when approaching the Cape, and the operation was well advanced when Mrs. Shallop intruded at a very inopportune moment.

She failed to recognize the skipper shorn of his beard and with his face plastered with soap.

"Where's the Old Man?" she demanded heatedly.

What was the exact nature of Captain Bullock's reply Mostyn was unable to hear. With his mouth full of soap and his chin bleeding profusely the Old Man's articulation was a trifle confused; but he certainly did let himself go, with the result that the interrupter, in spite of her oft-reiterated claim to be a lady, was unceremoniously requested to remove herself to a region considerably warmer than the skipper's cabin, the temperature of which was registering 130 in the shade.

Chuckling to himself, Peter saw the discomfited Mrs. Shallop descend the bridge-ladder with more haste than dignity; then he tried, but in vain, to pick up the interrupted CQ signal.

"Captain Sahib him want you, sahib," announced Mahmed.

Mostyn promptly obeyed the summons. He too was rather surprised at the alteration effected by the removal of the skipper's beard, the newly shaven portion contrasting forcibly with the brick-red tan of the rest of his face.

"Tell me," began the Captain, "what was that old barge doing in the wireless-cabin?"

Peter explained.

The Old Man nodded eagerly.

"You did the right thing, my boy," he remarked "I've had enough--more than enough--of that impossible woman. I told her that in future she is not to come on the bridge on any pretext whatsoever. If she wants to send a message, let her; but she must do so in writing and submit it to me before it is pa.s.sed. That'll clip her wings. All right, Mr.

Mostyn, carry on."

Peter carried on until relieved by Watcher Plover. The latter was improving considerably, although he could never become an operator. He lacked the education and intelligence necessary for the work, but by this time he was able to discriminate between various signals and to know the Morse call for the ship. Consequently Peter's watch below was not subject to numerous and unnecessary interruptions.

"h.e.l.lo, Sparks!" exclaimed Preston, as Mostyn blew into the smoking-room. "So you've been up against it this time. Tell us all about it."

There were about half a dozen pa.s.sengers, the Acting Chief Officer, and two of the engineers off duty pa.s.sing a pleasant hour. All seemed eager to know full particulars of the encounter.

"She's an unmitigated nuisance," declared an artist, proceeding to Natal in order to paint some frescoes for one of the important buildings. "We'll all be reduced to nervous wrecks before we see the last of her. Can't we choke her off?"

"For Heaven's sake don't, old chap," protested Comyn, his cabin-mate, a tall, lean-faced, literary man. "I bear the brunt of it. Every morning I get a dose of it until I know every shred of her personal history in spite of the fact that the details vary as consistently as does the ship's position. It is priceless. I revel in it. Wouldn't miss it for worlds; I encourage her, in fact."

"'Tany rate," interposed Alderton grimly, "she called you a lanky reptile."

"Perhaps," rejoined the unruffled author. "If it comes to that, she said you were a little worm. There's no end of fun making out that you believe all Mrs. Shallop tells you. It's a little gold mine."

"For you, perhaps," added Preston. "However, I guess the Old Man has upset her apple-cart. We won't hear her bell-like notes again in a hurry."

But he was mistaken. Into the smoke-laden atmosphere wafted the strident voice of the lady under discussion. She was venting her wrath upon Olive Baird.

CHAPTER XVI

Hot Work in No. 1 Hold

The S.S. _West Barbican_ was within a couple of days of Cape Town. The weather, although still warm, had lost much of the sweltering heat, thanks to the influence of the Trades.

The ship was rolling badly. For the last ten days she had been on her best behaviour in that respect; but now she was making up for lost time. There was a high sea running, and the ship's alley-ways to the saloon were ankle-deep in water.

With the gla.s.s falling rapidly the seas increased in violence. It was evident that the _West Barbican_ would receive a heavy dusting within the next few hours.

"Hanged if I like the look of things, Preston," admitted Captain Bullock, sniffing the approaching storm from afar. "We're in for something."

"We are, sir," agreed the Acting Chief. "And I'm not altogether satisfied with that steelwork. Bad enough cargo at any time, but I've an idea something's working adrift in No. 1 hold. I'll get Anstey to have a look at it."

The Old Man concurred.

"Tell the serang to warn the lascars," he added. "We don't want broken limbs and all that sort of thing."

At an order a party of lascars a.s.sembled for the purpose of securing any of the cargo that might have broken adrift. Presently Anstey, wearing sea-boots, made his way along the lurching deck. He was not at all keen on this particular job. Hounding about in the semi-darkness of the hold and in momentary danger of being crushed by a ma.s.s of shifting metal was not a pleasing outlook. But it was duty, and Anstey was not a shirker.