"In your case—perhaps," was the rejoinder. "I feel as if I had swallowed quarts of salt water. What's that?"
He pointed to a slender, pole-like object bobbing up and down about fifty yards from their unwieldy craft.
Without replying, Guy cautiously got astride one side of the skylight, then slipped gently into the sea. Swimming strongly, he quickly gained the floating pole and returned with it in triumph.
"It's a boathook," he announced. "The metal head is keeping it in a vertical position. We'll tie a shirt to it and hoist it as a signal of distress. It will be more likely to attract attention."
During the morning the smoke of several distant steamers could be discerned. Once a large barque tacked and stood in within a couple of miles of the wreckage, but the lads' signal of distress escaped notice, for the sailing vessel went about, filled, and stood away on the other tack.
During the afternoon no sail was sighted. The heat was most oppressive, for the sunlight was so strong that it shimmered in rolls of vapour upon the surface of the sea. There was every prospect of another fog as soon as night fell.
Both lads were now feeling the effects of prolonged hunger and thirst. Their throats began to ache, and their tongues to swell to such an extent as to render breathing a matter of difficulty. Talking was almost out of the question.
"See anything?" asked Leslie after a long interval.
"No."
"If we are not sighted pretty soon, it will be a rotten business for us."