“If this fog seems likely to last,” resumed Halstead, “I’ve been thinking about increasing to ten miles and keeping right on toward New York.”
“Bully!” enthused Dawson. “Fine!”
“Yes; so I thought at first, but I have changed my mind. If we get wholly out of these waters we might put a messenger aboard a steamship bound for Rio Janeiro, and then Dalton, by hanging about in these waters, might find a chance to board. If he suspected our messenger—and it may be you or I—it might be the same old Clodis incident all over again.”
Joe’s face lengthened.
“It’s growing wearing, to hang about here all the time,” he complained. “I’m near to having operator’s cramp, as it is.”
“Don’t you dare!” Skipper Tom warned him.
“Well, then, I won’t,” agreed Dawson.
For four hours more the “Restless” continued nearly due north, at the same original speed of six miles an hour. Halstead began to think of putting back, slowly retracing his course. Joe went down for his regular hourly “sit” at the sending table.
“Hurrah!” yelled Dawson, emerging from the motor room several minutes later. 178
He was waving a paper and appeared highly excited.