“Oh, I believe that,” nodded Powell Seaton. “You boys have been the strongest sort of personal friends to me in my troubles. You couldn’t possibly have made my affairs, and my dangers, more thoroughly your own troubles.”
Two hours later a wireless message came back from the “Glide.” It was from Dick Davis, and couched in vague terms, but meant to inform those aboard the “Restless” that the drab seventy-footer was still out of sight. An hour after that a second message reached the motor boat. Soon after the “Restless” found herself unable to answer, though still able to receive.
“Hank, are you feeling particularly strong to-day?” inquired Mr. Seaton. 201
“I’m always strong, sir,” replied the young steward.
“Then why not rack your pantry stores in order to supply the biggest thing in a meal for all hands this evening? I feel more like eating than I have any day in a month.”
“You’d have to go to a sure-enough number-one hotel to find a better meal than I’ll put up for this evening,” retorted Hank, grinning gleefully, as he started for the galley.
In such lazy weather Tom Halstead felt that he could go below for a nap, especially as Joe was around. Hepton was left at the wheel. Tom speedily closed his eyes in one of the soundest naps he had enjoyed in many a day. He was awakened by Hank, who came into the stateroom and shook him by the shoulder.
“Weather’s all right, up to now,” Butts informed the young captain. “Still, we don’t like the looks of the sky, and the barometer is beginning to show signs of being eccentric. Won’t you come up on deck for a minute, anyway?”
Tom was out of his berth in a twinkling. There was enough of the sea-captain in him for that. The instant he reached the deck his gaze swept around anxiously, inquiringly, at the sky.
“The clouds up on the northeast horizon don’t 202 look exactly friendly, do they?” he inquired of Joe.