Almost immediately after Dawson disappeared the crash of the spark across the spark-gap and up the wires was heard. The young wireless operator of the “Restless” was making the most of any time that might be left to him.
“How about that storm that threatened last night, captain?” inquired Mr. Seaton. “Has it come any nearer?”
“There, It’s Done,” Muttered Joe. “Slide, Tom.”
“No, sir,” replied the motor boat captain, shaking his head. “It acted the way many September storms do on this coast. It passed by us, out to sea, and ought to be down by Havana by now. The barometer has been rising, and is at nearly the usual pressure. But I don’t like the looks of the sky over there”—pointing.
“Why not?” queried the charter-man, following the gesture with his eyes.
“We’ll be playing in great luck, sir,” answered the young captain, “if a fog doesn’t roll in where the storm threatened to come.”