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She smoothed the paper again and moved away to the open doorway. Then she read in a strident voice and commented as she read:

“‘Disaster at Sea? Urgent SOS.’

“That’s the headline, mum dear, and there’s a question marked against it,” she cried. “You get that? Even the paper asks the question.”

The girl had looked up. She was urgently regarding the figure at the stove. She was seeking a sign and seemed to find it in the fact that her mother had sat up.

“Listen,” she went on quickly. “You need to get the words just as they are.

“‘The S. S. Arbuthnot of Liverpool, bound for Sydney, N.S.W., picked up the following wireless on the morning of 27th inst.: “Sailing-ship Imperial, Bristol. Steering gear carried away. Cargo shifted. Plates badly sprung. Sinking. Send help. Possibly last twenty-four hours.”’”

Again the girl looked up.

“Then there’s figgers I don’t understand,” she said. “Maybe they’re her position. But you see she’s going to last twenty-four hours. Anything, I guess, could happen in that time. There’s the boats. Maybe if there’s storm, it’ll let up. We’ve seen it storm nigh a hurricane on the sea back of here and flatten out in twelve hours——”