So engrossed in the life about him was Roy that for the moment he forgot all about his troubles. On the street he encountered again the multitudinous traffic that had so depressed him upon his arrival in the city. But here it seemed to go at a slower pace. There were more heavily laden drays and fewer rushing motor-cars. Somehow the atmosphere of the “farm,” with its hard toiling drivers and signs of honest industry seemed different from the cold and callous air of Seventh Avenue and of Broadway. At any rate, Roy felt different.

Probably that was because he had made the plunge. Even if his captain was not what Roy had hoped and expected, the ordeal of meeting him was over. Furthermore, Roy was now on his mettle. Unconsciously he was reacting from the captain’s contemptuous attitude. Like any lad of spirit, his pride was hurt and his sense of justice outraged. His captain had condemned him without trial. Roy was determined to prove that he merited his commander’s fullest confidence rather than his contempt.

So now he walked along, holding himself proudly erect in his new uniform, his head up, his heart singing. In fact it could not have been otherwise; for, trouble or no trouble, he had at last reached the place every boy of spirits longs for: he had a job. He had made a start in real life.

The pier of the Confederated Steamship Lines was not far from the foot of Manhattan Island. Instinctively Roy turned his footsteps southward toward the Battery, that little strip of green that fronts the upper bay and that tips the end of the island like the cap on a shoe. Often during the search for the secret wireless, Roy had passed through this tiny park on his way to the Staten Island ferry, just to one side. But he had never really had time to look about. He decided that now he would explore a bit. Like any other wide-awake lad, Roy wanted to see and know all that he possibly could.

“I’ll look about the lower end of the island,” said Roy to himself. “Maybe I’ll find something of interest.”

Roy was right, but he had small notion of how much he would find that was interesting. The park was not unlike a half moon in shape. Paved walks, lined with benches, led hither and thither between the stretches of greensward, and trees and bushes beautified and shaded the grounds. A lively breeze was coming off the water, and this was grateful, for the day was a hot one in late June.

Roy made his way directly through the little park to the water-front. A low sea-wall, built of great blocks of granite, formed the very end of the island. Along this sea-wall ran a wide promenade of asphalt, with benches on the landward side. The sweeping wind was churning the bay into whitecaps, and these came slap! slap! against the sea-wall, throwing showers of water high into the air and drenching the promenade. Even the benches on the landward side of the broad walk were soaked by the driving spray.

But the thing that took Roy’s eye was the harbor. Six miles away, as the crow flies, rose the hills of Staten Island, where he and his fellows had watched so long for the German spies. Far to the right were the low shores of New Jersey, almost hidden in the smoke pall of the cities there bordering the bay. In that direction, too, loomed the Goddess of Liberty, symbol of all that the word America means to the world—the gigantic goddess whose high-held torch, flaming through the midnight darkness, shows the anxious mariner his way through the murky waters of the harbor. To the left were the shores of Brooklyn and the cliffs of Bay Ridge. While near at hand and almost in front of the little park lay Governor’s Island, with its antiquated stone fort, its barracks, and all the other buildings necessary in a military post. For Governor’s Island is the army headquarters for the Department of the East.

The miles of water, now tossing turbulently and capped with white, were alive with shipping. One of the great municipal ferry-boats, starting for St. George, was tossing the spray to right and left as she breasted the waves. Tugs, seemingly without number, were puffing and bustling about, mostly with great barges or lighters on either side of them, like men carrying huge boxes under each arm. Some of these barges were car floats, with strings of freight-cars on their decks. Some were huge, enclosed lighters, built like dry-goods boxes, and towering so high in air as fairly to hide the tugs that were propelling them. A string of twenty barges, like a twenty-horse team, with ten couples, two abreast and drawn by twin tugs far ahead of them, was coming down the Hudson. Heavily laden freighters of one sort or another were riding deep in the swelling waves. One or two sailing vessels, beating their way across the harbor, were heeling far over under the sharp wind. A motor-boat was scooting across the end of the island, and Roy even saw a venturesome Battery boatman riding the waves in a rowboat, at times standing out boldly on the crest of a wave and again almost lost to sight in the trough. But the sight that caught Roy’s eye and thrilled his heart was an incoming ocean liner, her high decks crowded with a multitude of expectant folks. Many of those folks were men who had come to New York, like himself, to seek their fortunes. But they had come from far across the seas. They were strangers in a strange land. Roy wondered how they felt.

“If those fellows come here and succeed,” smiled Roy to himself, as he watched the ship ride majestically by, “I’d be a poor pill if I couldn’t make good, wouldn’t I? Why, a lot of them can’t speak English, and they’ve never even been to school. I’ll make that captain of mine take back what he said.”

Poor Roy! If he could have seen all the difficulties ahead of him, he would not have smiled so confidently. But he could not, and presently he turned away from the harbor, still light-hearted, to see what further things of interest he could discover.

At that instant a bell clanged. Close at hand, and directly on the water-front, Roy had noticed a low structure with a little tower. But he had been so engrossed with the stirring spectacle of the harbor craft that he had paid scant attention to the building or the narrow, low craft moored to the pier in front of the building. He judged that this bell, which was still striking sharply, must be in this building. Curious to know what the bell signified, Roy turned sharply about. He was just in time to see a number of men in dark blue uniforms rush from the building, race across the narrow wharf, and leap into the little boat. The hawsers were cast off and in a second’s time the little craft was shooting swiftly from her pier.

“I never saw anything like that before,” said Roy to himself. “I wonder what that can be.”

He ran over to the little house, and on its front were the words “Fire Department—City of New York.”

“By George!” muttered Roy. “Those fellows are firemen and that is one of those fire-boats I’ve read about.”

He ran around to the seaward side of the building and took a good look at the little steamer that was plunging through the waves at a rapid rate. She was long, low, narrow, and decked over in the centre somewhat like a low lighter. She resembled a tug more than anything else, yet she was unlike any tug Roy had ever seen. Fore and aft and amidships, Roy saw long, glistening brass nozzles permanently mounted on the superstructure and he knew that the boat’s engines would suck up the harbor water and shoot it through these nozzles with terrific force.

How he wished he could be aboard of her. How he would like to help fight the fire. He wondered where it could be. The little boat was heading straight for the Brooklyn shore. There Roy saw smoke rolling upward in great clouds from a pier shed. The distance was so great that Roy could not see distinctly, but he was sure that tugs were trying to pull a great steamship from her berth beside the burning pier. Even as he watched, flames burst from the shed. They swept outward in great sheets as they were fanned by the draughts within the shed. To Roy it seemed as though the flames were fairly licking the helpless liner.

“Will they get her away in time?” Roy asked himself, and his heart almost stood still as he watched the struggle. It seemed to him that the great ship was moving, but he could not be sure. Intently he watched. After a few minutes he was certain that the distance between the pier and the ship was growing greater. But it was still so small that the flames blew about the boat like clouds of fire, and Roy knew that blazing embers must be fairly raining on the ship’s decks.

So fascinated was he by the struggle that he completely forgot the little fire-boat until suddenly it shot into his field of vision. It steamed directly between the endangered ship, from which Roy could now see puffs of smoke arising, and the blazing pier. In another instant Roy saw great columns of water shoot from the fire-boat’s nozzles and fall in drenching torrents on the helpless liner. Gradually the tugs pushed the huge craft farther and farther from the shore. The fire-boat stood alongside and hurled thousands of gallons of water over her, until the last vestige of smoke disappeared from the big ship. Then the fire-boat steamed close to the pier, which was now a roaring bonfire, and played its streams steadily into the flames.

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. “They saved her,” he said to himself. “They saved her. But suppose there had been no fire-boat. The land engines couldn’t have helped her a bit. She’d have burned to the water’s edge. That would have been terrible.”

It came to Roy that a fire at sea was a million times worse than a conflagration like the one he was watching. “Those people over there,” he muttered, as he looked at the rescued ship, “could have gotten away even if the ship had burned. The tugs would have taken them off. But if a ship ever got afire on the ocean the people aboard wouldn’t have one chance in a thousand.”

Suddenly a great light leaped into his eyes. “Yes, they would,” he corrected himself. “And that chance would be the wireless. It could bring help to a ship at sea just as surely as that fire gong brought the fire-boat.”

On his face came a look of deepest determination. “If ever anything like that happens on the Lycoming,” he muttered.

But the sentence went unfinished. Again the gong in the fire-house clanged its warning. It was another alarm. Hardly had it sounded before a whistle shrieked long and sharply at the western end of the Battery. Everywhere whistles were tooting, as vessels exchanged signals with one another in the crowded harbor; but this whistle was so insistent, so unlike the tooting signals all about him, that Roy turned to discover what could have made it. He was just in time to see a little steamer poke her nose out from behind the pier at the western end of the promenade. Sharply the craft turned eastward and in another moment was speeding past Roy almost in the path the fire-boat had taken. The boat was a small, shapely craft that looked more like a private yacht than anything else. What instantly caught Roy’s eye were the wireless antennÆ strung above the boat.

Roy’s eyes sparkled. “That’s the police boat Patrol,” he thought. “She’s going to the fire.” And his mind went back to the night when he and his companions had raced up the East River on that same little craft in their search for the secret wireless.

For a long time Roy stood looking at the little police boat as she fought her way through the swirling current, but actually he saw nothing. He was lost in thought. Then a passer-by caught his attention. Scores of persons had gone by while Roy was watching the fire, yet he had paid no heed to any of them. But the instant his eye rested on this man Roy felt attracted to him.

The stranger was somewhat stout and his face was tanned a deep brown, as though he had been exposed to wind and weather. He wore a well-fitting suit of yachting flannels and a yachting cap of blue was set rather rakishly on his head. Roy instantly decided that the stranger must be a seafaring man. But what attracted Roy to the man was the latter’s jolly, friendly expression. He fairly exuded good nature. Roy felt that he would like to know the man. The stranger, however, hardly noticed Roy, but walked rapidly along the promenade, with a step that was wonderfully light and quick for a man of his build. Roy knew that it was impolite to stare at people, but he was so drawn to this passer-by that he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn around and watch him. In another second he was glad he had done so.

A great wave crashed against the sea-wall and showered both Roy and the stranger with spray. Roy was annoyed at getting his new uniform wet. The stranger only laughed, though he was far wetter than Roy. From a side pocket of his coat he drew a white handkerchief and wiped the spray from his face. With the handkerchief he pulled out a letter. He did not notice it, and in a second the wind whirled it away through the park.

“Wait a minute,” shouted Roy. “You lost a letter.” And he dashed across the green after the flying envelope. His voice was drowned in the babel of sounds and the stranger went on his way unheeding.

Roy pursued the elusive paper almost to Broadway before he managed to clutch it. Then he turned and dashed back across the park. The stranger had disappeared, but Roy knew that he could single the man out because of his white clothes. So he ran on down the promenade in the direction the stranger had taken. But he could find him nowhere. Roy reached the western end of the promenade and looked up West Street. The man was nowhere in sight.

“He couldn’t have gone much farther than this,” reasoned Roy. “Probably he has gone into some building. He might have gone into the harbor police station. I’ll look there for him.” And Roy turned toward the building on the pier from beside which the Patrol had emerged.

He pushed open the door and entered the Harbor A Station. A lieutenant of police sat behind a big desk and on the floor before him was the man Roy was searching for. But the man’s expression had changed greatly. He looked troubled and worried.

“I beg your pardon,” said Roy, stepping toward the stranger, “but this letter belongs to you. It came out of your pocket when you pulled your handkerchief out and the wind blew it away. I shouted at you to wait, but I suppose you didn’t hear me. I had to chase it nearly to Broadway and when I got back you had gone. I’m glad I found you.”

“By George, youngster!” said the man, grasping the letter eagerly. “You aren’t half as glad as I am. That’s a mighty important letter. I discovered when I replaced my handkerchief that it was missing, and I stepped in here to report the loss. I thought I had been robbed.”

He looked the letter over critically to make sure it was all right. “You’ve done me a mighty good turn, youngster,” he said. “What do I owe you?”

Roy drew back, frowning. “Nothing, sir,” he said. “I didn’t chase your letter for money.”

The man looked sharply at Roy. “Then what did you do it for?” he demanded.

Roy was rather nonplused. “Why, why—there wasn’t anything else to do,” he stammered. “You lost your letter; nobody else saw you lose it; and so there wasn’t anything else to do.”

The stranger laughed uproariously. Roy felt almost hurt. His face must have betrayed the fact, for suddenly the stranger checked his laugh. “You’re a fine lad,” he said. “A fine lad. And it’s plain as the Woolworth Building that you don’t belong in this town.”

Roy was astonished. “I don’t,” he assented, “but how did you know it?”

Again the man burst into laughter. “Listen to that, Lieutenant,” he chuckled. “Listen to that.”

Then, turning to Roy, he said, “Where do you come from, lad? I see by your uniform that you’re a wireless man.”

Roy glowed with pride. “My home is in Pennsylvania,” he replied. “I’m the wireless man on the Confederated liner Lycoming.”

“The deuce you are!” said the man. “The deuce you are!” And his eyes fairly danced. Then he added, with a chuckle, “Have you met Captain Lansford yet?”

Roy’s sober expression was answer enough for the stranger. He burst into another hearty laugh. Then he said; “See here, lad. Don’t you pay any attention to Captain Lansford. His bark is worse than his bite. You do your duty and you’ll make good with him.”

“Do you know him?” asked Roy incredulously.

“I should say I do,” rejoined the stranger. “But I must be on my way. I’ve got a lot to do.”

He thanked Roy again for his kindness and turned away. But immediately he faced about. “Know anybody in this town?” he asked, then added with a chuckle, “that is, anybody but Captain Lansford?”

“Hardly anybody,” said Roy.

“I thought so,” said the stranger. “What are you doing with yourself?”

“I thought I might find something interesting down here,” said Roy. “I want to see everything I can while I have the opportunity.”

“Good boy,” said the stranger. “That’s the way to get ahead. You’ve come to the right place to see things, too. Why, lad, this is one of the most interesting places in all America. Yes, and in all the world—this neighborhood right here. I could talk to you about it for hours, but I haven’t time now. Go get yourself a guide-book and go over the place thoroughly. You’ll never be sorry. If you can’t find one, I’ll lend you mine. Good-bye.”

“But I may never see you again,” said Roy.

The man chuckled. “Oh! yes you will,” he smiled. “I’m going to look you up on the Lycoming. Good-bye.” He held out his hand, grasped Roy’s so firmly that he made Roy wince, and was off.

Roy watched him disappear in the crowd. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer alone in a big city. He had a friend. At least, he believed the man was going to be his friend, and he was glad of it. But suddenly his face grew long again.

“I forgot to get his name,” muttered Roy, “and I could have had it without asking. All I needed to do was to read the address on the envelope. Now I may never see him again.”

For a minute Roy felt gloomy enough. Then he recalled the man’s promise to look him up on the Lycoming. “If he does,” smiled Roy, “I’ll bet a dollar I won’t forget again to find out his name. Now I’m going to take his advice and get a guide-book. Wonder where I can find one.”

A policeman was passing. Roy stopped him and asked where he could purchase the desired volume. The policeman directed him to a near-by book shop and in a few minutes Roy was back in Battery Park with a little guide-book in his hand.