The idea was taken in good part, and it had one effect—that of bringing forth a flood of—well, not exactly melody, for too many were off-key. But it brought forth laughs, and this was something, considering the gloom that seemed overpowering all on board.
All that could be done was to wait—wait for the wind, wait for an answer on the wireless, wait for the sight of some craft to aid them, either by providing a tow or sending word of their plight to those that could help.
Slowly the hours passed. Even the serving of meals brought little relaxation or enjoyment, and Ned and Jerry noticed, not without alarm, that Bob’s appetite was very poor.
“Come on, let’s start something!” proposed Jerry, after a bit.
“Start what?” asked Ned.
“Oh, a game, or something. We’ll go woozy if we stand about waiting for something to happen. Let’s go below, get some of the fellows we know, and see what we can dig up.”
As the three chums started for a companionway they noticed an old sailor gazing out across the ocean, which was as calm as the oft-spoken-of “mill pond.”
“See anything?” asked Jerry, as he paused to speak to the old salt.
“Not much,” was the answer.
“What’s the weather going to do?” asked Ned.