“What do you mean?” asked Tom quickly, a new hope springing up in his heart.
“I mean that the Kangaroo, from all accounts, was coming over about the same path in the ocean as we’ll take going out. She was to stop at Honolulu I see by the papers, just as we are. Of course she was wrecked—or at least we’ll suppose so—before she got there. And if we sail over the same course we may sight her—or what’s left of her.
“Mind though!” the captain went on quickly, as he saw the look of despair on Tom’s face, “I’m not admitting that she was wrecked. Just as you have told me, I believe that she may have been disabled in a storm, and part of her gear, her masts and her lifeboats, may have been swept overboard. That has often happened. In fact it’s happened to me when I had charge of a big sailing ship.
“But it’s possible to rig up a jury mast, make some sort of sail, and stagger on, when by all accounts one ought to be at the bottom of the sea. So you see it doesn’t do to give up hope.”
“And I’ll not!” cried Tom. “Oh, I do hope we can pick up the Kangaroo. I’m going to keep a lookout every day.”
“Yes, you can do that,” agreed the captain. “I’ll let you take a good glass, and I’ll also instruct the lookout to keep his eyes peeled day and night. But it’s too soon to begin yet, so you might as well take it as easy as you can. Say, did you notice the passenger who came aboard in such a hurry?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, for the ship was now well on her way and there was less of interest to hold our hero’s attention.
“Did you think he acted in any way funny?”
“Well, yes, I did,” admitted Tom. “He didn’t seem to know exactly what to do.”
“And another thing,” went on the captain. “It seemed to me that the sight of you scared him.”