"It's wrecking a seven-thousand-ton passenger-steamer in the night!"
mourned the general manager.
"It isn't! It's putting her into a safe cradle."
"But at this speed!"
"That chap in the pilot-house is no fool. He'll get his hint in time to
save her from real damage. You needn't worry!"
Fogg opened his traveling-bag and lifted out a strip of metal. He
handled it as gingerly as if it were a reptile, and he looked at it with
an air as if he feared it would bite him.
"That's the little joker," said Burkett. "About two points deviation by
local attraction will do the business!"
"I'm tempted to throw it overboard and call it all off, Burkett. I have
put through a good many deals in my life in the big game, but this looks
almost too raw. I can't help it! I feel a hunch as if something was
going to miscue."
"I've got no more to say, governor."
"My crowd doesn't ask questions of me, but they expect results. If I
don't do it, I suppose I'll kick myself in the morning." He cocked up
his ear and listened to the bawling of the liner's great whistle. "But
it seems different in the night."
"You ain't leaving any tracks," encouraged Burkett. "And this being his
first run makes it more plausible. You're here all naturally, yourself.
It might seem rather queer if you made another trip. It's his first run
on her, I remind you. If he makes a slip-up it won't surprise the wise
guys-a mite."
"It seems to be all set--I've got to admit it. By gad, Burkett, I have
always put a thing through when I've started on it! That's why they
call in the little Fogg boy. I'd rather apologize to my conscience than
to--Well, never mind who he is." He tucked the strip of metal into his
inside coat pocket and buttoned the coat. "Blast it! nothing that's very
bad can happen in this calm sea--and that last life-boat drill went off
fine. Here goes!" declared Fogg, with desperate emphasis.
"That's the boy!" declared Burkett, encouraged to familiarity by their
association in mischief.
The general manager found the night black when he edged his way along
the wet deck to the pilot-house. The steamer's lights made blurred
patches in the fog. Now she seemed to have the sea to herself; there
were no answering whistles.
"I'm back again, Captain Mayo," he said, as he closed the door against
the night. "I hope I won't bother you folks here. I'll stay out from
underfoot." He sat down on a transom at the extreme rear of the house
and smoked his cigar with nervous vehemence.