“It’s dangerous, too,” said Ned.
“That’s so,” assented Jerry. “This fog adds another danger to this eventful voyage. I never saw mist so thick.”
“What are we going to do?” Bob asked.
“There isn’t anything we can do,” Jerry declared. “All any one can do is to wait for it to lift. I suppose they have a means of sounding some sort of warning signal.”
“No, I didn’t mean so much what can we do about the fog, though that’s bad enough—seems to take away all my appetite,” complained Chunky. “I meant what are we going to do about Professor Snodgrass? Now that we know he’s on board oughtn’t we do something?”
“Yes,” admitted Jerry, “I believe we ought. But not just yet. Let’s wait a while. We’ve got plenty of time. The professor can’t get away any more than we can, and if we start looking for him now we may get him into some sort of mixup. Let matters take their course for a while.”
“I don’t hear anything of him now,” said Ned, listening intently. “He seems to be on the still hunt for his new fog-bugs.”
Though all about them, coming through the white mist, were murmurs of voices and the sound caused by the movement of many bodies, neither of the three lads had a glimpse of Professor Snodgrass. Nor did the echo of his peculiar voice come to them.
The fog seemed to be growing more dense every minute. There was no wind to carry the mist away, and it hung about the disabled troopship like some heavy, white veil. It was actually impossible to see more than fifty feet, and then only dimly. To peer out over the side of the craft was to gaze into a white sea, opaque and impenetrable. To look forward or aft was to note the same thing. From amidships neither stern nor bow of the Sherman could be seen, and men moving about the decks actually collided with one another.