Part 11 (1/2)

During the search of the stateroom Tom stood silently by. He watched the coverings pulled ruthlessly from the berth, moved out of the way as the mattress was hauled to the floor, gazed fascinated at the quick thoroughness which mercilessly unfolded every innocent towel and scrutinized each joint and section of the life preserver, until presently the orderly little apartment was in a state of chaos. He saw the officer move the plate so as to examine the under side of the stool.

He saw the disguised Secret Service man pick up a little piece of innocent cotton waste and carelessly throw it down again.

But the turmoil about him was nothing to the turmoil in his own brain.

What should he do? Would he dare to speak? What could he say? And still he stood silent, watching with a strange, cold feeling, looking occasionally at his brother, and thinking--thinking. As his brother watched him furtively, and a little fearfully, Tom became aware of a queer way he had of contracting his eyebrows, just as Uncle Job used to do when he told a joke. And there came into his mind the memory of a certain day long ago when his big brother and he had shot c.r.a.ps together in front of the bank building in Bridgeboro and his brother had looked just that same way when he watched the street for stray policemen. Funny that he should think of that just now. The sailor (or whatever he was) gave Tom a shove to get him out of the way so that he could crawl under the berth.

And still Tom watched them dazedly. He was thinking of something that Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said--that blood is thicker than water. As nearly as he could make out, that meant that after all a fellow's own people came first--before anything else. He had great respect for Mr. Ellsworth.

The man in the sailor suit picked up the plate of food from the berth and slung the whole business into the basin. The jangle of the dish startled Tom and roused him. The others didn't seem to mind it. They had more important things to think of than a mess plate.

And Tom Slade, captain's mess boy and former scout, went on thinking.

CHAPTER XIII

HE PONDERS AND DECIDES BETWEEN TWO NEAR RELATIONS

When Tom at length did speak his own voice sounded strange to him; but he said what he had to say with a simple straightforwardness which in ordinary circ.u.mstances would have carried conviction.

”If you'd let me say something,” he said, trying to keep his throat clear, ”I'd like to tell you----”

”It's the best thing, sonny,” said the man in the sailor suit; ”you needn't be afraid of squealing. How old are you?”

”Seventeen,” said Tom, ”but it wasn't squealing I was thinking about. I ain't a-scared, if that's what you think.”

He avoided looking at his brother, who tried to catch his eye, and the men, perhaps seeing this and thinking it might be fruitful to let him say what he would in his own way, relaxed a trifle toward him.

”While you were searching,” Tom went on, hesitating, but still showing something of his old stolid manner, ”I wasn't a-scared, but I was thinking--I had to think about something--before I could decide what I ought to do.”

”All right, sonny,” said the man in the sailor clothes. ”I'm glad you know what's best for you. Out with it. You've got a key to that porthole, eh? Now where is it?”

”You had a flashlight and threw it out, didn't you?” added the officer.

”Come now.”

Tom looked from one to the other. His brother began to speak but was peremptorily silenced.

”It ain't knowin' what's good for me,” Tom managed to say, ”'cause as soon as I--as soon as I--made up my mind about that--then right away I knew what I ought to do----”

He gulped and looked straight at the officer so as not to meet his brother's threatening look.

”I had to decide it myself--'cause--'cause Mr. Ellsworth--a man I know--ain't here. Maybe a feller's own family come first and I wouldn't--I wouldn't--tell on 'em--if--if they stole--or something like that,” he blurted out, twisting his fingers together. ”And--and--I didn't forget neither--I didn't,” he added, turning and looking his brother straight in the face, ”I didn't--I----”

He broke down completely and the men stared at him, waiting.

”Anyway--anyway--I got to remember----” He broke off.

”Well, what became of the light?” the officer urged rather coldly.