"Oh, I don't know!" laughed Frank. "If Flynn paid money for the yacht, he is the one in hard luck."
At nine o'clock the White Wings cast off from the pier. Her sails were hoisted, and, aided by the out-running tide, she soon got away enough to catch a breeze.
And Parker Flynn had not returned.
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE FOG.
"It's no use, fellows, we can't go any further in this fog to-night," said Frank Merriwell on the fourth day after leaving Boston.
"We must go farther!" exclaimed Diamond. "There is no anchorage here."
"How do you know? We haven't tried for it."