Mrs. Grey was overwhelmed with grief and despair.
“Bound for the Arctic Ocean!” she groaned. “Oh, he will never come back alive! My poor, poor boy! This is dreadful—dreadful! Oh, what shall I do? I am wild—frantic—filled with agony!”
“Hush!” said Frank, gently. “I alone can give you hope.”
“I do not understand you.”
“Then I will explain. I am Frank Reade, Jr.”
“What! The wonderful inventor of whom I have so often read!”
“I am an inventor, and my latest contrivance is a flying ice boat, with which I have planned to visit the mysterious land of Nova Zembla. As my course will be the same as that of the ship Red Eric it is more than likely that I shall fall in with that whaling ship. If I don’t I’ll hunt for it. If I find her I shall save your son. I swear it, for I have the means of doing so.”
His words were so emphatic that renewed hope was aroused in the heart of the half-distracted mother, and she dried her tears and asked:
“When do you intend to undertake this journey, sir?”
“Within a few days,” Frank replied. “My flying ice ship is nearly finished. I came to Boston to get the few things I need to complete her. To-morrow I am going home; but ere I leave this city I shall make it my business to help you to have Alfred Milburn arrested, so you can recover possession of the fortune of which he designs to rob you.”