Читать книгу The Young Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Secret Service. Winning his way in the Secret Service онлайн

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As the vessel slid nearer, the excitement increased. More and more persons on shipboard and on the pier recognized friends and called to them. A very babel of voices arose. The scuffling and tramping of feet intensified the noise. Passengers descended to the lower decks and the people on the pier crowded forward toward the waiting gangplank. The tugs snorted and puffed, churning the water into yeasty foam. From the pier came the rumble and rattle of little hand trucks and the crash and bang of boxes and cases, which a gang of stevedores was piling in a corner for shipment. Outside arose the roar of the street traffic—the clatter of iron shod hoofs on hard paving-stones, the throbbing and churning of innumerable motors, the rattle of trucks and wagons, and the shrill cries of newsies, street venders, taxi drivers, and baggage porters.

The huge steamer was almost in her berth, and the sailors were in the very act of casting their lines ashore, when the door of the wireless cabin, a snug little structure perched on the very top deck of the Lycoming, swung open, and a trim young man, dressed in a well-fitting uniform of the Marconi Service, stepped to the side of the ship. He was the wireless operator, and in his hand he carried a pair of powerful binoculars. Steadying himself against the rail, he slowly swept his glance along the line of faces that fringed the pier. Presently his glasses came to rest. For a single moment they remained stationary. Then the wireless man slipped his binoculars into his pocket, cupped his hands in front of his mouth, and leaned over the rail, giving a long, peculiar whistle. It was the signal of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol. Apparently the signal was unheard. When the wireless man repeated it, a youthful face, almost hidden by the people on the pier, was upturned. A smile came on the waiting lad’s face. His arms shot up in silent greeting.