“Their boat went down like a rock when we struck her,” one of the crew, who had been on deck when the collision occurred, was explaining to another, as the boy hastened past.
But the next instant he stopped short with a gasp of astonishment. In the center of the group of sailors and rescued persons from the small craft the schooner had seemingly just run down, was one that was strangely familiar. As Tom drew nearer he heard a youthful voice pipe up. Its owner’s small form was hidden by the clustering seamen of the schooner:
“What kind of a boat is this, pa-pa?”
“This is a schooner, my child. It has just run us down,” rejoined the tall, lanky figure.
“What did they run us down for, pa-pa?”
“Professor Dingle!” cried Tom, recognizing first the questioning voice of the professor’s son and heir, and then the tall, bony figure.
“Tom Dacre, my boy!” cried the professor delightedly.
“How came you here?” asked Tom.
“I might ask the same question of you,” rejoined the professor. “I was cruising north toward the Aleutian peninsula in my little yawl-rigged boat, when out of the darkness this schooner came upon me and ran me down. My two faithful Kanakas and my boy and myself only managed to save ourselves by a hair’s breadth.”
“But how did you come to be hereabouts, professor?” asked Tom.