Collision Course by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online Page B

captain,” Alfie added, taking out the papers.
    “I’ll take those,” Lightoller said.
    Alfie held them away. “I believe the protocol is that they must be placed directly in the captain’s hands, sir.”
    Amused, Lightoller stepped aside, and Alfie approached the commodore of the line.
    “I know the speed has been impressive,” Mr. Ismay was saying as Alfie drew near, “but you know she can do better.”
    Captain Smith took the messages from Alfie, glanced at them briefly, and turned back to Ismay. “Yes, but
should
she do better?”
    “Well, of course she should!” Ismay exclaimed. “Don’t you want to see what she can do with those last two furnaces fired up? Naturally, I’m just a passenger, but I certainly do.”
    Captain Smith seemed to chew this over for a moment. Then he called to his second officer: “Mr. Lightoller, order the last two boilers lit. By all means, let’s see what she can do.”
    Alfie looked on in confusion. The two ice warnings were still in the captain’s hands.

CHAPTER NINE
    RMS
TITANIC

S ATURDAY, A PRIL 13, 1912, 9:05 P.M.
    Still clad in the baggy coveralls, Paddy climbed to the top of the aft third-class staircase. In his hand he clutched a bouquet of exquisite white orchids.
    Sixteen-year-old Curran Rankin laughed at the sight of him. “Well, would you look at this? If it isn’t my onetime brother Patrick! Are you getting married with those flowers, Paddy?”
    “They’re for your ma,” Paddy grinned, “fresh from the first-class dining saloon. If it’s good enough for millionaires, it’s good enough for the sweetest lady who ever hid a fellow from a nosy sailor.”
    “Aw, she was glad to do it. What’s one boy more or less when she’s already got so many?”
    “Where is she now? In the cabin?”
    “Follow me.” Curran led him through the passageways of third class, past the Rankins’ cabin, moving steadily aft.
    “Where are we going?” Paddy wondered, noting that there were a lot of passengers in the corridors, all heading in the same direction. “Don’t tell me steerage has to ride on the propellers now.”
    Curran laughed. “Shhh. Don’t give the White Star Line any ideas. This way. I promise you’ll not be sorry.”
    They bustled up a crowded staircase and entered the third-class general room. That was where Paddy first heard the music — a tin whistle and a fiddle playing an upbeat Irish jig.
    By now the migration was more like a stampede, rushing across the room in an effort to reach … what?
    At last, Paddy burst into the open air of the aft well deck and into the heart of the largest party he’d ever seen. Hundreds of steerage passengers danced and stomped and clapped along with the music.
    Curran beamed at him. “We may not have their fancy champagne and waiters in monkey suits. But when it comes to having a good time, we could show those swells a thing or two.”
    Paddy held his bouquet high in the air to keep it from being crushed. Although the night was frigid, the heat generated by so many moving bodies kept the temperature comfortable.
    And the music! Not even in Belfast had he heard its like. It was the heartbeat of hundreds of tiny villages throughout Ireland, like his own in County Antrim. It was the sound of home.
    A hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He knew a moment of panic.
    How will I flee in this huge crowd?
    “Don’t look so pale, darlin’ — it’s only me!” Mrs. Rankin pulled him into a loving hug, thoroughly squashing the flowers between them. “Were those for me? Aren’t you sweet!” She held up the stems. “I’m sure they were lovely!”
    Paddy had to shout to be heard over the music and the noise of the crowd. “I wanted to thank you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble because of me.”
    “Everything’s fine, Paddy,” she assured him. “Come on — dance with your ma.”
    Paddy shrank back. “I shouldn’t. The officers know I’ve been hiding in third class.”
    “Do you really