“Hello, Jack,” he cried, “what do you think of this? Burning soft coal in heaven, I guess! Isn’t it a smother, for fair?”
“It sure is,” rejoined Jack, “but the fog isn’t the worst of it.”
Raynor looked surprised.
“What are you driving at? They’ve had us on double watches since it started, stopping and starting up the engines till they must think they’re being run by a gang of crazy engineers.”
“It’s icebergs, old fellow,” said Jack in an awed tone.
“Icebergs! At this time of year, that’s unusual,” said Raynor.
“I don’t know about that, but I got a message from the Westerland telling about them.”
“The dickens, you say! No wonder the old man is worried out of his socks. Say, Jack,” went on the young engineer.
“Well?”
“What a fine chance we’d stand down below there, if we ever hit anything, eh?”