Instead, he let himself down into the water slowly.

Then his head vanished beneath the surface of the water.
"Whew! The nerve of that young fellow!", thought Conlon with shuddering admiration.
"Ob co'se Massa Reade done got nerve," nodded the negro at the wheel.
"Dat's one reason why, Misto Conlon, Massa Reade is boss." "There are other reasons why he's boss," grunted the engine tender.

"Mr.
Reade has nerve, but he also has brains in his head.

Any man with brains and the sense to use 'em goes to the top, while I stay down a good deal lower, and you, Rastus, are still lower." "Ah reckon Ah got a two-bit hat on top o' only two cents' wo'th o' brains, Misto Conlon," grinned the darkey.
Conlon was an Irishman, and naturally, therefore, no coward.

Yet with the possibility that Tom would run afoul of a contact-exploding bomb and send them all skyward, the engine tender waited at the rail with drawn breath.
Finally, there was a ripple on the water.