"What! The fog? Bless your innocent heart, no! What do you think it would be like—just a dreary blank plate. You can't see anything, so how could it show up in a picture?" jeered Will.
"I wonder some bright genius hasn't discovered some sort of magic glasses that will let a fellow see through fog? What a blessing they would be to sailors, and the pilots of ferryboats in New York harbor," observed Bluff thoughtfully.
"Suppose you devote your spare time to solving that riddle? Listen! Was that a shout then?"
"Sounded like it to me; but who would be shouting out here in the fog?" replied Bluff scornfully.
"Come, now. We may not be the only pebbles on the beach. Perhaps there are others marooned out here in the fog, and they may be shouting just to keep their courage up, or for some other purpose," replied Will stoutly.
"Well, the fog won't last much longer, anyway, and that's a comfort."
"How do you know that?" asked Frank, looking up.
"Because I just felt a puff of air. The wind's going to rise, and that means an end to the fog," replied Bluff confidently.
"Well, I only hope we get this motor fixed before it rises too much," and once more Frank gave his full attention to his work on the obstinate engine.
Bluff and Will looked uneasily at each other.