“Sure!” called back Ned.
Soon a message was being flashed to his father, and to the other folks in Cresville. While waiting for a reply from his parent, Ned suggested to the operator that he try once again to get into communication with the Manhattan.
Through space the wireless messages clicked, but silence was the only answer.
“It’s of no use,” said the operator gloomily. “They may all be dead now.”
Ned, too, felt the seriousness of the situation, but he was not going to give up so soon. Once more the instruments clicked.
“It’s a message for you,” spoke the operator. Ned read the dots and dashes, for he and his chums could both send and receive wireless and ordinary telegraphic messages.
“Go ahead,” wired Mr. Slade to his son. “We all send our best wishes to you boys. Do your best to see Mr. Jackson, Ned. Vitally necessary to rescue him, for our own sakes. My business is in very poor shape. I am ruined unless Mr. Jackson lends me his aid and influence. Get to him if at all possible!”
“And I will, too!” declared the merchant’s son with a grim tightening of his lips.
He hurried back to where the Comet waited but the movement of a lever to launch her into space and off to the rescue. Briefly Ned told his chums of the message.