Jimmy sat down and began to talk to him. Reluctantly at first, then eagerly as he found relief in conversation, the man related his story: how the ship had put out from port at the first possible moment with a cargo of freight and a considerable passenger list; how progress had been incredibly slow because of the heavy ice; how the storm had caught them only a few miles off shore; how the steamer’s propeller had been broken by ice; and how she had then drifted helplessly before the wind, finally to crash on the beach before them, with the loss of many lives, and the probable loss of many more. For it was impossible to get to the ship with the sea as it was, and the vessel was breaking up. It was only a question of hours until it would go to pieces. Of all those washed overboard—probably a score or more—the mate was the only one who had reached the shore alive. For an hour Jimmy talked with the downcast sailor. He plied the man with a hundred questions. He got every detail of the trip, from the start to the present moment. And he secured many names of passengers and crew. Then thanking the sailor and the cottager, he took his leave, accompanied by his rum-running friend. “Have you got all the facts you want?” asked the latter. “I’ve got all I have time to get now. I must put what I have on the wire. Later I can get more details and in the morning some pictures.” They hurried to the boat, boarded it, and crossed to the mainland, running before wind and wave. Their speed amazed Jimmy. They made the crossing in no time at all. Jimmy rushed to the telegraph office, which he found open and waiting for him, with an extra operator who had been ordered on duty especially to forward Jimmy’s story. Jimmy wrote a few lines and handed them to the operator. Then, with the telegraph key clicking in his ear, he wrote and wrote, tearing off sheet after sheet from his pad and handing each sheet to the operator as fast as it was written. When he laid the last sheet before the operator he glanced at the clock. It was half past two. Jimmy smiled with happiness. He had “caught” the city edition. As Jimmy and his new friend came out of the telegraph office they heard the hum of a plane overhead. Down came a ship, circling, and settling cautiously lower. Then it dropped a flare, turned its landing lights on, and glided safely to earth in a big field. Two men got out of it—the pilot and a passenger. They hurried over to Jimmy and the rum runner. In the dark Jimmy did not recognize them. “Is there any way we can get to the island, where that ship is wrecked?” demanded one of them. “We’ll pay well to get there.” Jimmy bristled with anger as he heard the voice. It was Rand’s. Jimmy’s rum-running friend turned to him. “What about it? Shall I take them over?” “Not if you’re a friend of mine,” said Jimmy. “This fellow is my worst enemy. He has played me no end of dirty tricks, and I think he played me one this very night.”