Something appeared to heave upward from the surface of the sea. The smoke spread out as if it had suddenly been converted into an immense fan of vapor, and the air was filled with black fragments.
Then the smoke slowly drifted away and the ocean was empty once more.
“Well, that’s good-night for her,” said Mr. Brown. “Ready, that operator certainly had a right to have a case of rattles.”
Jack did not answer. He was thinking of the wonder of the wireless, and how by its agency the news of the disaster that had overtaken the Halcyon had been flashed to the rescue party.
“She just blew up with one big puff and melted away,” he said presently.
“Yes, I’ll bet there isn’t a stick or timber of her left,” said Mr. Brown.
“Was she a fine boat?”
“A beauty.”
“Ever see her?”
“Yes, once in New York harbor. The old man was coming back from a cruise to the Azores. That’s a favorite stamping ground of his, by the way. There’s nothing cheap about J. J. when he comes to gratifying his own whimsies, and the Halcyon was one of them. Mahogany, velvet, mirrors, and I don’t know what all,—but never mind that now. We ought to be sighting some of the boats.”