"I wish he'd tell us how to get out of here," joked Jimsy, rather wearily.
"Who?" asked Jess.
"That bell boy."
Never had one of Jimsy's jokes fallen so flat. He mentally resolved not to attempt another one.
Presently he looked at his watch.
"Almost eleven," he said, "we must have passed the light by this time."
"I don't know," said Peggy helplessly; "if only the chart marked that bell buoy—but it doesn't."
She again scrutinized the chart pinned before her on the sloping slab designed for such purposes. But no bell buoy was marked on it as being located anywhere near where they estimated they must be drifting. Drifting, however, is not quite the correct word. An aeroplane cannot drift. Its life depends upon its motion. The instant it stops or decreases speed beyond a certain point, in that same instant it must fall to the earth.
This fact is what made the position of the young sky cruisers particularly dangerous. Although the gauge showed that they had plenty of gasoline, the supply—even with the use of the auxiliary tanks—would not hold out indefinitely. If the fog did not lift, or they did not land, sooner or later they must face disaster. Worse still, they were—or believed they were, navigating above the sea.
Had the Golden Butterfly been fitted with pontoons like some of the Glen Curtiss machines, this would not have been so alarming. But a descent into the ocean would inevitably mean a speedy death by drowning.