"That is just what the pilot would like to know. They can't see ahead a bit, and don't know where we are."
Bobby went on deck. The ocean rolled beneath them, but there was nothing but fog to be seen above and around them. The lead was heaved every few moments, and the steamer crept slowly along till it was found the water shoaled rapidly, when the captain ordered the men to let go the anchor.
There they were; the fog was as obstinate as a mule, and would not "lift." Hour after hour they waited, for the captain was a prudent man, and would not risk the life of those on board to save a few hours' time. After breakfast, the passengers began to display their uneasiness, and some of them called the captain very hard names, because he would not go on. Almost everybody grumbled, and made themselves miserable.
"Nothing to do and nothing to read," growled a nicely-dressed gentleman, as he yawned and stretched himself to manifest his sensation of ennui.
"Nothing to read, eh?" thought Bobby. "We will soon supply that want."
Calling Tom, they went down to the main deck where the baggage had been placed.
"Now's our time," said he, as he proceeded to unlock one of the trunks that contained his books. "Now or never."
"I am with you," replied Tom, catching the idea.
The books of the latter were in a box, and he was obliged to get a hammer to open it; but with Bobby's assistance he soon got at them.
"Buy 'The Wayfarer,'" said Bobby, when he returned to the saloon, and placed a volume in the hands of the yawning gentleman. "Best book of the season; only one dollar."