He was the last boy in the world to expect more consideration than was due him or to make much of his own exploits, and if his superiors did not take him into partnership and make him their confidant and adviser, as undoubtedly they would have done in a story, they at least treated him with rather more consideration than is usually given to ships' boys, and the awkward young fellow in the ill-fitting duck jacket and peaked hat askew was pointed out among the army men and passengers, as he occasionally passed along the decks, as one who had a head on his shoulders and a pair of eyes in his head. No one questioned that he had saved the vessel by making known the clew which had sent Dr. Curry to the ship's lock-up, and Tom, satisfied to have done something worth while for Uncle Sam, attended to his menial duties, and did not think of very much else. But if Uncle Sam's Secret Service man had thought it best not to be too confidential with him, kind Fate decreed that it should be Tom Slade and none other who should clinch the case against this foreign wretch whose plans he had thwarted. It happened the very next day, beginning with a circumstance which made Tom feel indeed like a hero in a cheap thriller. "The captain wants to see you," said a young officer from the bridge, as Tom sat with his flippant but now humble admirer, Archibald Archer, upon one of the after-hatches. "Me?" stammered Tom. "He's going to make you first mate," said Archer, "and give you ten thousand dollars--go ahead." "What?" said Tom. "That's the way they do in the _Dick Dauntless Series_; go ahead--beat it!" Tom followed the officer forward and up those awful steps which led to the holy of holies where the master of the ship held his autocratic sway. The captain sat in a sumptuously furnished cabin, and Tom stood before him, holding his cap in one hand, clutching his long, starched sleeve with the other, and greatly awed at the surroundings. "You said something about understanding wireless," said the captain. "Do you think you could be of assistance to the operator?" "I ain't--I'm not an operator," stammered Tom, "but I know the American code and the International code and some of the International abbreviations. I can send and receive with my own instrument, but it's a kind of--not exactly a toy, but----" "Hmm. What I mean is, could you work under the operator's direction, so that he could get a little sleep now and then? He'd sleep right in the wireless room." Tom hesitated. "I don't--I don't know if I should say, Aye, aye, sir--I hear some of 'em doin' that," said Tom awkwardly. "You mean, yes, you can?" said the captain, with the faintest suggestion of a smile. "Yes, I--as long as he's right there with me--yes, sir, I think I could." "Well, then, you go down there now, and I'll notify the steward." Tom half turned, then hesitated, clutching his sleeve tighter. "I--I got to thank you," said he.