The newspapers spread on the wreck story next morning and I read about it while sitting by Hiram Strong's bedside in the hospital. The captain got the glory and credit, although the man, a mere boy, now tossing unconscious on the pillow, was the one to whom all credit belonged. In his delirium he muttered from time to time. Every now and then he would say—"Ben, he was going to let us drown—drown like rats in a trap!"

The nurse gently unbandaged his hands to show me their condition. The palms were cooked—black and seamy—like an overdone roast. But he was now clean, and handsome, his dark, wavy hair mounting high against the white pillow, all trace of dissipation having disappeared from his skin. That was fair and clear, though slightly flushed with fever. The smile hovering about his mouth appeared to be at the point of breaking out into a hearty laugh.

Surely his first attempt at a useful life was not a success, for which I held myself partly to blame. If I had said "no" to the captain's proposal we would have come away like the rest of the crew.

Three days found him much better, and when I came to see him he delighted me with his cheerful manner.

"Hello, Ben!" he chanted with an infectious smile. "I would like to shake, but my hands are wrapped up just like a petrified mummy."

Naturally I looked pleased that matters were no worse, and he continued to talk.

"Say, Ben, it was good of you to stick, bring me here, and then come every day to see me. I woke up in the night and the nurse—God bless her—she is a kind soul—she told me all about it."

"Hiram, as we were sort of partners in crime I had to stick."

"But say, we brought the ship in, didn't we? Sit around nearer the foot of the bed where I can see you. My tongue is about the only part of me I can move. Every bone in my body feels as though it was broken twice, and every rib creaks when I breathe. Job never had anything on me." He tried to laugh, but brought up short, ending with a groan.

"You'll be all right in a day or two if you take things easy."

"Oh, I'll not stay here long, Doc or no Doc. I'm only sore and that doesn't count for much. Ben, do you know what I would like to have right now?—a porterhouse steak, thick as a flagstone, smothered in mushrooms, and I'm going to have it if there's one in the town. By the way, what town are we in, Ben?"

"Better stick here till to-morrow anyway, then we will see how you feel," I said, ignoring his question.

"All right, old partner, but not a minute longer—they're mighty good to me, but I don't like the carbolic odor that comes floating down the hall. It makes me think of a Long Island fertilizing plant, or a morgue."

The next morning he put on his clothes, which had been renovated and pressed, with many "Oh's" and "Ah's" and "Ouch's," but withal he was good-natured and smiling. Then we started after the much coveted porterhouse and mushrooms. At first he toddled like an aged man, holding on to me. The effort was painful, but in a short time his locomotion was normal and likewise his good nature.

After a prodigious meal and a favorite cigarette he again surprised me by putting a question that was hard to answer.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked, looking inside his hands, which were still in a deplorable state.

"What—so soon?" I parried.

"Yes—after I came out of my luny funk at the hospital, I had time to think things over, duly and truly and soberly. You know, I haven't had a drink since we left New York, and I don't want one. This strenuous life rather appeals to me now that I have found I have a good body—as good as any one's—and it's got to work without getting sore or fluffing up with blisters. Besides, the Governor gave me the toe of his shoe and said I wasn't worth a 'cuss,' and I am going to show him." There was great determination in the manner in which he blew out the smoke of his cigarette.

"I think we will find an employment office here," I suggested mildly.

"Take me to it. I'm ready now," he said quickly, though hardly able to sit up in bed, but when we came to the employment office he hung back, insisting that I should be the spokesman. The face of the man in charge was heavy and florid. He might easily have passed for a gambler, confidence man, or race-horse tout. He sized us up critically before he replied:

"The only man I need is quartermaster—ship bound for New Orleans to take on cotton. You can sign again there for Liverpool if you want to."

Strong heard what was said and I moved toward him inquiringly.

"I don't care what it is, so long as you think it's all right. It can't be any worse than firing."

I explained to him in an undertone that the quartermaster steered the vessel, the hardest part of the job being to remain on one's feet four to six hours at a time, to which he replied quickly:

"That sounds good if I can do it."

"I can teach you in a few hours."

"All right, let's sign," he said, coming over.

We went to a second-hand store, found a book on practical seamanship, and I spent the afternoon familiarizing him with his duties, after which we went aboard. He seemed keen to know everything about a ship.

The captain, a jolly good fellow, asked us a few questions, seemed pleased, winked knowingly, and gave us a room to ourselves on deck just back of the officers' quarters, and told us to arrange the watches to suit ourselves. It was to be six hours on, six off, and we would sail at eight that night.

The next five days went by speedily. Our course was down the coast through the Straits of Florida and the Gulf of Mexico to the bar; thence to the little white lighthouse at the entrance of the Mississippi, over a hundred miles from New Orleans.

I wondered at Hiram constantly. He was so alert and apt that he never came in for a reprimand, never again referred to his father or his future plans, or craved liquor—an ample supply of his favorite cigarettes seemed to satisfy him. He had no time for stories, nor did he speak of women, or of any escapades in which he may have been involved. He was actually glad to be making his way by toil. With hands all healed he became quite normal, and was altogether a fine minded man. While such a rapid change might not be permanent, he appeared not only to have turned over a new leaf, but to have lost all taste for the habits and customs of his previous life.

Things went well with us and we sped along at a lively clip. I was at the wheel on the last watch that would take us into dock at New Orleans about midnight.

"Pop has been talking some"—Strong, from the beginning, had referred to the captain as Pop—"and wants us to sign up for a round trip to Liverpool. He says it's sixty dollars and fifty per cent extra for going the submarine zone."

"Then I guess we must have done our work all right," I replied, noncommittal. "What do you——"

"Ben," he interrupted, "why are you married to the sea?"

"I never considered that I was—I have never been blessed or cursed by being married to any one or anything—one has to make a living somehow." It was perfectly dark in the wheel-house with the exception of the tiny hooded light over the compass, and I couldn't see Hiram's face.

"A fireman can become an engineer and stops there?" he surprised me by putting forth a question in just that way. I paused before replying.

"Yes—usually."

"A seaman can become captain, and then his road gets very narrow and steep toward further advancement?" he persisted.

"Yes," I replied, wondering what was on his mind.

"It strikes me a man of your ability is wasting his time at sea—I don't see any future—what about wireless men?"

"They get ninety dollars a month," I replied, amused and still wondering.

"What about telegraphing?" he then asked.

"Some of our best men started as operators, Edison, for instance. I am inclined to think it's the methodical drill they get that helps."

"Ben, are you going to sign up for the other side?" he asked, as though expecting a negative answer.

"Well, I think the subs are getting quite plentiful—more than they tell us about. Don't you?" At last I knew what he had been driving at.

"That settles it," said he. "I won't, either. We've got a stake now and can afford to look around a little."

"Our stake won't last long unless we get busy," I warned.

"Oh, I'm willing to work, and I don't expect to go up on an escalator or an express elevator—but I do want to know that the stairs lead somewhere worthwhile. Do you get me, Ben?" he laughed. "I'll tell Pop we're not anxious to play hide-and-seek with the subs."

I did not reply, but wondered what effect "a stake" would have on an idle man like him in New Orleans.