"Well, we are in a fix, boys," was his comment as he concluded his examination of the lockers and cupboards.
The boys looked their questions.
"Ain't a fog-horn nor a bell aboard this craft," was Bill's alarming intelligence, "we may get run down any minute."
Again through the fog came the roar of the approaching steamer's whistle.
Ominous, full of sinister possibilities, the voice of the nearing peril roared through the fog.
Suddenly there was a shout from astern.
"Hey there, I don't want to squeal, but I'm getting nervous. Have you forgotten me or am I adrift?"
"Billy Barnes!" cried Frank, "I had clean forgotten about him. Come on, boys, lay a hand on the tow-rope and we'll get him aboard."
The engine of the Ocean Spray had been cut off by Bill, when he first discovered that the little craft was as helpless to aid herself as a drifting log in the dense smother. She now rode the swells silently and powerless.
In response to Billy's hail, the boys shouted back: