“They tell me you boys are radio fans,” he concluded, as he rose to leave the room. “Well, I congratulate you. Radio’s the greatest thing in the world.”
Marston, who had just taken down another message, turned to the group.
“Would one of you boys mind calling McDonald?” he said.
McDonald was the chief engineer of the ship, a dour, grizzled Scotchman, snappy and cranky, but one who knew his work and loved it. His engines were the apple of his eye, and while he was at work he talked and crooned to them as though they were his children.
“I’ll go,” said Joe, springing to his feet.
“Lucky if you get back without having your head snapped off,” laughed Bob.
In a short time, Joe returned, followed by the old engineer, puffing and grumbling.
“An’ wha’ is eet ye’re callin’ me up here for?” he demanded truculently.
“Listen, Mac,” said Marston, placatingly. “Here’s a captain of a ship that’s operated by a Diesel engine and he’s running out of Diesel oil.”
“Mair fule he,” growled McDonald. “Wha’s that my beesness?”
“Well, you see,” explained Marston, “he’ll have to stop his voyage to re-fuel, and at the nearest port he can get only heavy oil. He’s never used that kind before, and he wants to know what the effect will be on his engines. He——”
Here the choleric old engineer exploded, and the air was blue for a while as he stamped around and roared about the “fule cap’n” that ought to be sailing toy boats in a bathtub instead of commanding ships on the high seas. Marston let him rave until his wrath and scorn had subsided, and then returned to the attack.
“Oh, come along, Mac, and be a good fellow,” he urged. “The man’s in a fix, and he needs advice. No doubt he’s a fool and all that, but you can’t expect him to know all that you do about engines. Who does, for that matter? There’s only one McDonald,” he concluded, with a side wink at the boys.
That the “salve,” though rather crudely laid on, was not without effect was shown by the final consent of the old fellow to give the necessary information, though only on condition that Marston should give it in his exact words. As these, however, involved a number of uncomplimentary references to the “blitherin’ fule” that needed to ask such questions, it is needless to say that Marston toned it down to the proper extent, and finally with a last blast against “tin sailors,” McDonald clumped out of the room and down again to his beloved engines.