"Those fellows would risk anything to keep out of the clutches of the law," rejoined Tom positively, "mark my words, they'll run the Straits without showing a glimmer."
"They are taking desperate chances."
"Such rascals as they are have been taking desperate chances all their lives," put in the professor gravely.
"Well, how about us, Tom?" asked Jeff after supper—a meal eaten with little more appetite than dinner,—"are we going to keep on?"
"I suppose so. I don't know that it is much use, though. In this darkness we are as likely to get miles off our course as we are to stick to their heels."
"I wish there were some way of making the daylight twenty-four hours long when you wanted it to be," said Jeff impatiently, peering ahead with his hands on the wheel.
"We'd have to be further north for that," said the professor, "to the north pole almost."
"Well, we'll go there, if necessary, to rescue Jack and Sandy," declared Tom, with firm conviction.
In the darkness the professor reached for Tom's hand and found it. He wrung it warmly. Adversity brings men and boys wondrous close.
"That's the talk, Tom Dacre," he said heartily, quite dropping his pedagogic air and speaking simply and strongly. "Although Providence may sometimes seem to favor rascals, never fear but that in the end she is on the side of honest men."