Astounding Stories of Super-Science January 1931. Various

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      The urge for breakfast asserting itself, Larry drew a bar of chocolate from his pocket and munched on it. But this was scanty fare for a healthy young six-footer, accustomed to a liberal portion of ham and eggs. Furthermore, the lack of coffee made him realize that he was getting decidedly thirsty. The air, moreover, was getting pretty bad.

      “All in all, this hole wasn’t exactly intended for a bedroom!” he reflected with a wry smile.

      Taking a chance, he opened the door a crack and sat there impatiently, while the interminable minutes ticked off.

      The Nereid’s turbine was humming now with a high, vibrant note that indicated they must be knocking off the knots at a lively clip. He wondered how far out they were, and how far down.

      Lord, there’d be a riot when he showed up! He wanted to wait till they were far enough on their way so it would be too much trouble to turn around and put him ashore.

      But by noon his powers of endurance were exhausted. Flinging open the door, he stepped out into the corridor, followed it to a companionway and mounted the ladder to the deck above.

      There he was assailed by a familiar and welcome odor – food!

      Trailing it to its origin, he came to a pair of swinging doors at the end of a cork-paved passage. Beyond, he saw on peering through, was the mess-room, and there at the table, among a number of uniformed officers, sat Professor Stevens and Diane.

      A last moment Larry stood there, looking in on them. Then, drawing a deep breath, he pushed wide the swinging doors and entered with a cheery:

      “Good morning, folks! Hope I’m not too late for lunch!”

      Varying degrees of surprise greeted this dramatic appearance. The officers stared, Diane gasped, her father leaped to has feet with a cry.

      “That reporter! Why – why, what are you doing here, young man?”

      “Just representing the press.”

      Larry tried to make it sound nonchalant but he was finding it difficult to bear up under this barrage of disapproving eyes – particularly two very young, very blue ones.

      “So that is the way you reward us for giving you an exclusive story, is it?” Professor Stevens’ voice was scathing. “A representative of the press! A stowaway, rather – and as such you will be treated!”

      He turned to one of his officers.

      “Report to Captain Petersen that we have a stowaway aboard and order him to put about at once.”

      He turned to another.

      “See that Mr. Hunter is taken below and locked up. When we reach New York, he will be handed over to the police.”

      “But daddy!” protested Diane, as they rose to comply, her eyes softening now. “We shouldn’t be too severe with Mr. Hunter. After all, he is probably doing only what his paper ordered him to.”

      Gratefully Larry turned toward his defender. But he couldn’t let that pass.

      “No, I’m acting only on my own initiative,” he said. “No one told me to come.”

      For he couldn’t get his city editor involved, and after all it was his own idea.

      “You see!” declared Professor Stevens. “He admits it is his own doing. It is clear he has exceeded his authority, therefore, and deserves no sympathy.”

      “But can’t you let me stay, now that I’m here?” urged Larry. “I know something about boats. I’ll serve as a member of the crew – anything.”

      “Impossible. We have a full complement. You would be more of a hindrance than a help. Besides, I do not care to have the possible results of this expedition blared before the public.”

      “I’ll write nothing you do not approve.”

      “I have no time to edit your writings, young man. My own, will occupy me sufficiently. So it is useless. You are only wasting your breath – and mine.”

      He motioned for his officers to carry out his orders.

      But before they could move to do so, in strode a lean, middle-aged Norwegian Larry sensed must be Captain Petersen himself, and on his weathered face was an expression of such gravity that it was obvious to everyone something serious had happened.

      Ignoring Larry, after one brief look of inquiry that was answered by Professor Stevens, he reported swiftly what he had to say.

      While cruising full speed at forty fathoms, with kite-aerial out, their wireless operator had received a radio warning to turn back. Answering on its call-length, he had demanded to know the sender and the reason for the message, but the information had been declined, the warning merely being repeated.

      “Was it a land station or a ship at sea?” asked the professor.

      “Evidently the latter,” was the reply. “By our radio range-finder, we determined the position at approximately latitude 27, longitude 65.”

      “But that, Captain, is in the very area we are headed for.”

      “And that, Professor, makes it all the more singular.”

      “But – well, well! This is indeed peculiar! And I had been on the point of turning back with our impetuous young stowaway. What would you suggest, sir?”

      Captain Petersen meditated, while Larry held his breath.

      “To turn back,” he said at length, in his clear, precise English, “would in my opinion be to give the laugh to someone whose sense of humor is already too well developed.”

      “Exactly!” agreed Professor Stevens, as Larry relaxed in relief. “Whoever this practical joker is, we will show him he is wasting his talents – even though it means carrying a supernumerary for the rest of the voyage.”

      “Well spoken!” said the captain. “But as far as that is concerned, I think I can keep Mr. Hunter occupied.”

      “Then take him, and welcome!”

      Whereupon, still elated but now somewhat uneasy, Larry accompanied Captain Petersen from the mess-room; started to, that is. But at a glance of sympathy from Diane, he dared call out:

      “Say – hold on, folks! I haven’t had lunch yet!”

      When young Larry Hunter reported to the captain of the Nereid, after this necessary meal, he found that the craft had returned to the surface.

      Assigned a pair of powerful binoculars, he was ordered to stand watch in the conning-tower and survey the horizon in every direction, in an effort to sight the vessel that had sent out that mysterious radio, but though he cast his good brown eyes diligently through those strong lenses, he saw not so much as a smoke tuft upon the broad, gray-blue surface of the hazy Atlantic.

      Gradually, however, as the afternoon wore away, something else came in view. Masses of brownish seaweed, supported by small, berry-like bladders, began drifting by. Far apart at first, they began getting more and more dense, till at last, with a thrill, he realized that they were drawing into that strange area known as the Sargasso Sea.

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