For a moment Jerry and Ned stared almost uncomprehendingly at the boy who brought such startling news. Then Jerry exclaimed:
“It can’t be possible, Bob! There must be some mistake!”
“I only wish there was,” went on the stout lad. “Not that I want any other vessel to be wrecked, either. But the dispatch says plainly that the Hassen has gone down. It’s a peculiar name, and there’s hardly any likelihood of an error. No, I’m afraid it’s all up with Uncle Nelson and Cousin Grace!”
“Too bad!” sympathized Ned. “Now you won’t know what it was he was bringing over with him.”
“Oh, I fancy my folks know,” said Bob. “But I don’t care so much about that.”
“I should say not,” agreed Jerry. “Think of being out in the ocean in such weather as this! Poor girl!”
“They might have escaped—have taken to the small boats or the life rafts,” suggested Ned. “I wouldn’t give up all hope, Bob, old man.”
“Well, of course there’s a small chance,” admitted the stout youth in a despondent tone; “but not much in such a storm as this. A small boat couldn’t live an hour in such a sea as there must be off this coast. It’s awful!”
“Well, hope for the best,” came from Jerry. “Things are bad enough here. Look at the ruin!” and he gazed about him. The others saw the destruction on every side, caused by the high wind. Scarcely a street but what was littered with debris, and many houses were uninhabitable by reason of being unroofed or through the breaking of water and drain pipes.