“Wow! Looks as though we’ve really made the big time!” Bud muttered to Tom as they stripped off their hoods.
Shutters clicked frantically and TV cameras trained on the two heroes.
Microphones were held out to catch their answers to the barrage of questions fired at them from every direction.
“How do you feel, boys?”
“What was your first reaction as you came up?”
“Did you both come through in good shape?”
“How about saying hello to the television audience?”
DEADLY TRAWLER 45
Tom grinned. “Hi! Glad we made it. We’re both fine, but-well, frankly we had no idea we’d receive such an all-out welcome.”
A loud outburst of cheers and laughs greeted his words, and the borough dignitary said, “We British have always admired great feats of exploration and adventure, and we feel that your sub-Atlantic crossing-entirely alone and unescorted-represents a milestone in man’s conquest of the ocean I”
Again the air rang with cheers.
It took more than half an hour for the hydronauts to escape from the welcoming crowd. Then Tom and Bud were driven through streets decked with bunting to a hotel, where new tailor-made suits of clothing and other accessories had been provided by enthusiastic English merchants.
“Perfect fit, too!” Bud crowed as he inspected himself in front of a mirror.
“Harlan must have cabled our measurements,” Tom said, a bit embarrassed.
By the time the boys had changed, a helicopter had arrived to whisk them off to London for a second, even bigger reception.
“Hmm. I don’t see any brass bands waiting,” Bud remarked as the helicopter touched down.
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