"Well, Honey," Billy Fairfax asked, a note of triumph in his voice, "how
about it?"

"Well, Billy," Honey Smith said in a baffled tone, "when you get the
answer, give it to me."

Nobody mentioned the night's experience the next day. But a dozen times
Frank Merrill stopped his work to gaze out to sea, an expression of
perplexity on his face.

The next night, however, they were all waked again, waked twice. It was
Ralph Addington who spoke first; a kind of hoarse grunt and a "What the
devil was that?"

"What?" the others called.

"Damned if I know," Ralph answered. "If you wouldn't think I was off my
conch, I'd say it was a gang of women laughing."

Pete Murphy, who always woke in high spirits, began to joke Ralph
Addington. The other three were silent. In fifteen minutes they were all
asleep; sixty, they were all awake again.

It was Pete Murphy who sounded the alarm this time. "Say, something
spoke to me," he said. "Or else I'm a nut. Or else I have had the most
vivid dream I've ever had." Evidently he did not believe that it was a
dream. He sat up and listened; the others listened, too. There was no
sound in the soft, still night, however. They talked for a little while,
a strangely subdued quintette. It was as though they were all trying to
comment on these experiences without saying anything about them.