“Are you troubled because that fishing schooner is lying to off the island?” asked Joe, as Nate slammed the door behind him.
“Frankly, I don’t quite like the look of it,” rejoined Nat; “if she is lying to because of the storm, the cove is the natural place for her to seek shelter and not the open sea.”
“That’s right, it has a funny look. Say, Nat, you don’t think that old Israel Harley can be on board, do you?”
“I don’t know, Joe; I don’t know what to think. He is a daring old villain, and he has no reason to love us. After what Hank told you yesterday, it behooves us to be on the watch constantly. Till that schooner goes away, we can’t leave the island.”
“Then I’d better send a flash to Ding-dong. I wonder if his station is working yet?”
“It ought to be, but in that case I should think he’d have given us a call.”
“Well, we can try it, anyhow. Come on down to the hut while I get busy with the instruments.”
The two boys tried for a long time to raise Ding-dong, sending out the call “D-B,” the prearranged signal, incessantly. But no answer came for a long time, and when it did it was hardly satisfactory. It was from the Santa Barbara operator, who had been listening in.
He cut into Joe’s waves with a sharp summons for “G. I.”
“Right here,” flashed back Joe eagerly, thinking that it might be Ding-dong at last. He was soon undeceived.