“Damage!” cried the sailor. “Say, did you ever see a little automobile, the lightest kind there is, going full speed, hit a solid wall of rock?”
“I can imagine what would happen,” admitted Ned.
“Well, that’s what happens when a ship strikes an iceberg,” returned the sailor. “Course we’re not speeding, but if we hit about fifty thousand tons of ice—Aye, aye, sir!” he answered in response to a call from one of the mates, and he moved off through the mist.
“Pleasant prospect,” mused Jerry.
“Let’s don’t think about it,” urged Bob. “Say, I wish we’d stayed in France a few months longer. This being picked to be among the first to go home isn’t as nice as it sounds.”
“Oh, we’ll come out of this all right,” asserted Jerry. “Now let’s consider what’s best to be done in case there is another accident in the fog. We ought to try to find out where Professor Snodgrass is. He’ll never think of trying to save himself if he has as much as one bug to occupy his mind. We’d better try to locate him.”
“I thought you said we wouldn’t force ourselves on him for fear of spoiling his plans,” said Ned.
“We won’t exactly force ourselves on him,” was Jerry’s answer. “But we can inquire from the purser where our friend is placed. That may be his regular cabin where we saw him, or he may only have stepped in there. Once we know where he is we can go there and see that he gets out in case there’s a crash.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” agreed Ned and Bob.
They were on their way to the purser, who might be expected to know the names of all on board who were not strictly members of the military force, when they heard from above the deep, hoarse note of a whistle.