The Ocean Wireless Boys on War Swept Seas. Goldfrap John Henry

H. R. H. – Physician in Ordinary to His Royal Highness. If you don’t run acrost any of them skippers of state you can just distribute it around careless like, and draw special attention to the directions and to my address in case the prescription should require to be refilled.”

      Jack promised, but it is to be feared that the Golden Embrocation never got nearer Europe than the cabin of the square rigger Jane Harding, of Halifax, Nova Scotia, which happened to be in the Erie Basin unloading lumber. Captain Podsnap, of the Jane Harding, was an ardent admirer of, and believer in, Captain Toby’s concoctions which, as the compounder boasted, never were known to do harm even where they didn’t do good. To Captain Podsnap, therefore, Jack hied himself perfidiously and made over to him the gifts intended for ailing royalty.

      The St. Mark was what is known as a “popular” ship. That is, she usually crossed with full cabins. But on the present trip there were a bare score of passengers in the first cabin, not many more in the second, while in the steerage were a couple of hundred travelers, mostly reservists of the various countries at war, returning to Europe to take up arms.

      As they steamed down the harbor, the docks on each side of the river could be observed to be crowded with idle steamers of all sizes, from small freighters to huge four-funnelled liners. With smokeless stacks and empty decks, they lay moored to their piers, offering an eloquent testimonial to the almost complete paralysis of ocean traffic that marked the earlier days of the war. Off Tompkinsville, Staten Island, the dreadnought, Florida, swung at anchor, grim in her gray war paint, – Uncle Sam’s guardian of neutrality. It was her duty to keep watch and ward over the port to see that no contraband went out of the harbor on the ships flying the flags of combatting nations and in other ways to enforce President Wilson’s policy of “hands off.”

      With dipping ensign, the St. Mark slipped by, after a brief scrutiny by a brisk young officer. Then, down the bay she steamed, which the boys had traversed only a few days before on the hunted Kronprinzessin.

      “Well, Jack, old fellow,” observed Raynor, as Jack leaned back after sending a few routine messages of farewell and business of the ship, “off again on our travels.”

      “Yes, and this time, thank goodness, we’re under Uncle Sam’s flag, and that means a whole lot in these days.”

      “It does, indeed,” agreed the other fervently, “but have you any idea what port we are bound for?”

      “Not as yet. We are to get instructions by wireless, either from the New York or London offices.”

      “This a queer job we’ve embarked on, Jack,” resumed Raynor, after a pause in which Jack had “picked up” Nantucket and exchanged greetings.

      “It is indeed. I only hope we can carry it through successfully. At any rate, it will give us an opportunity to see something of the war for ourselves.”

      “It’s a great chance, but as to finding Tom Jukes, I must say I agree with you that a needle in a hay stack isn’t one, two, three with it.”

      A heavily built man, dark bearded and mustached, entered the wireless cabin. He had a despatch ready written in his hand.

      “Send this as soon as possible, please,” he said, handing it to Jack.

      As his eyes met those of the young wireless man he gave a perceptible start which, however, was unnoticed by either of the boys. Raynor was paying no particular attention to the matter in hand and Jack was knitting his brows over the despatch. It was in code, to an address in New York and was signed Martin Johnson.

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson,” said Jack, “but we can’t handle this message.”

      “Can’t? Why not?” demanded the passenger indignantly.

      “Because it is in code.”

      “What’s that got to do with it?”

      “While the war lasts we have instructions not to handle code messages or any despatches that are not expressed in English that is perfectly plain.”

      “That’s preposterous,” sputtered the passenger angrily. “This is a message on a business matter I tell you.”

      “If you’ll write it out in English, I’ll transmit it,” said Jack; “that’s what I’m here for.”

      The man suddenly leaped forward. He thrust a hand in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills.

      “Can I speak to you confidentially?” he asked, turning his eyes on Raynor.

      “Anything you’ve got to say you can say before my friend,” said Jack.

      “Then, see here – there’s a hundred dollars in that roll,” as he threw it on the desk, “forget that code rule a while and it’s yours.”

      “Look here, Mr. Johnson,” said Jack coldly, “I’ve already told you what my orders are. As for your money, if it was a million it would be just the same to me.”

      “Bah! You are a fool,” snapped the other, angrily snatching up the money and flinging out of the cabin, crumpling the code message in his hand.

      “That infernal boy again,” he muttered, as he gained the deck outside. “This only makes another score I have to settle with him. These Americans, they are all fools. Well, Von Gottberg in New York will have to go without information, that’s all, if I can’t find some way of getting at the wireless.”

      “Say, Jack,” asked Raynor, as the bearded man left the cabin, “did that fellow remind you of anybody?”

      “Who, Johnson?” asked Jack idly. “Why yes, now that you come to mention it, there was something familiar about his voice and his eyes, but for the life of me I couldn’t place him.”

      “Nor I, and yet I’ve a strong feeling that we’ve met him somewhere before.”

      “Johnsons are as thick as blackberries,” commented Jack.

      “Yes, but I don’t connect that name with this man. It was some other name altogether. Oh, well, what’s the use of trying to recall it – anyhow, Mr. Johnson, whoever he is, hasn’t got a very amiable temper. I thought he was going to swell up and bust when you refused that message.”