Once he gave full play to his fertile imagination, and Perk would even forget the passage of time; and this was just as well, since nothing he could do would alter their situation in the slightest degree; besides, it prevented him from worrying, as he so often did.
Along about three o’clock—as he knew by consulting his wrist watch for the twentieth time since their start—Perk had another little bright thought—what was to hinder them from having a nice snack, just to kill time, and cause them to feel stronger for whatever might come along later on?
Accordingly he got out a certain small packet which he knew contained some sandwiches he had paid their waiter to have made up for them, as a souvenir of the much esteemed little restaurant in San Diego, city of the Dons.
Sitting there, and still keeping an observing eye first on Jack, and then sweeping it around the array of instruments fastened to the black dashboard in front of the working pilot, Perk enjoyed his little nightly repast as only a fellow with his splendid appetite might.
When he nudged Jack in the side, and offered him a tempting ham sandwich the other shook his head in the negative, as though he was quite too busy to take advantage of the offer.
Following this up he made gestures which Perk interpreting understood him to signify he might alter his mind later on, when the conditions had changed a bit for the better. That was just like Jack—he liked to eat, it was true, when hungry; but never allowed a mutinous stomach to cause him to take the slightest chance of neglecting his duty.
So Perk had to dine all by himself; but he generously kept one fair-sized sandwich for the time when his chum would feel like having a few bites; which might not be until he wished Perk to take his place at the controls.
It was a dreary round they were making now—like keeping time in the awkward squad in the training camp—going through all the motions without advancing the spark an atom—round and round in that big circle, as the hours dragged along on leaden feet, with Perk growing fairly wild to end it all, even by accepting unusual risks.
Five o’clock came at last, and Perk more than once strained his eyes in staring hard toward the east, hoping to be able to glimpse a faint sign of approaching dawn—just a peep that would make him feel better; but thus far all in vain.
Nor was he able to detect any let-up in the floating sea of murky fog—it hung about them most persistently, almost dense enough to be felt; indeed most of the time their faces were wet despite the fact that they were shut up in the closed cabin of their ship.