The storm was beginning to blow itself out. Every hour saw a let-up in the violence of the wind, and when that died away it would mean that the waves would begin to subside. But it was plain the swell would not go down that day.
The Elizabeth forged ahead, pitching and tossing. But the passengers were getting used to that now, and rather enjoyed it. The stanch craft had not leaked a drop.
All the morning, by turns, a lookout was kept, and the waste of waters was swept by a powerful glass. But only a few large lake steamers were seen, and Larry knew it was none of these of which they were in search. He wanted to see a small motorboat, the dingier and more dilapidated the better, for that, he believed, would contain the kidnappers and the stolen boy.
It was just after the midday meal had been served that there came a sudden jar to the Elizabeth.
“What’s that?” cried Mr. Potter, who was on deck with Larry.
“It felt as though we hit something,” said the young reporter. “I’ll go below and find out.”
But there was no need, for, a moment later, the chief engineer came up. On his face there was a look of trouble.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Potter.
“That gasket again. Two of ’em this time, and I haven’t another spare one aboard. We’ll have to run at half speed, or else put back for some.”
“Well, run at half speed. It’s the best we can do,” replied the millionaire.