"If you knew your business you would blow your fog whistle while running through a fog bank," returned Frank Merriwell, promptly.
"That's the stuff, Merry!" grated Hodge, whose face was still pale. "How do you suppose they happened to do such a thing?"
"Probably that bank of fog is narrow, and they only ran into it a few minutes ago. Perhaps they did not strike heavy fog till just before they broke through and came into view."
"Well, it was a piece of reprehensible carelessness, and it's lucky the White Wings was not cut in two."
As the huge steamer slipped past, the boys saw not many persons were astir on her. She had made an all-night run from Boston, and the passengers were still sleeping in their staterooms, with a few exceptions.
Near the stern of the steamer were two persons in mackintoshes. They seemed to regard the yacht with interest, not to say excitement, and their movements attracted the attention of the boys.
One of the passengers clutched the other by the arm and pointed out the White Wings, then both leaned over the rail.
Jack Diamond leaped to Merriwell's side, grasped Merry by the shoulder, and cried in his ear:
"Look, Merriwell—look!"