“Mr. Jackson!” replied the merchant’s son. “Mr. Jackson is on that disabled balloon. He is being blown out to sea and he may never be rescued. Then my father’s business will fail! Oh, what luck—what fearful luck we’ve had since we set out to find him! We can’t seem to get in touch with him, and every day’s delay makes it worse for poor dad!”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Jerry, “that’s so! I forgot for the moment that we need to see Mr. Jackson, and he’s on that balloon, over the ocean. I guess——”
Jerry was interrupted by the reappearance of the wireless operator. There was a despondent look on the man’s face.
“Did you hear from them?” cried Bob.
The man shook his head.
“It’s of no use,” he answered. “I called and called, and finally I did manage to pick them up; I started to ask them their direction, but their operator broke in on me.”
“What did he say?” demanded Jerry.
“Just one word,” was the answer, “just one word—‘help!’ That’s all.”
Once more came an ominous silence.
“Well, why don’t we send help?” suddenly asked a man in the throng. “Here we are at a balloon and aviation meet, and one of the aircraft needs help. There are several balloons on hand, and any number of aeroplanes. Why don’t some of them start out to sea, and try to find Mr. Jackson and his crowd?”