A moment passed, two, three, four; but there came no answering call. Only the buzz and snap of the ever-increasing static greeted his straining ears.
Once more he sent out the message; again he listened. Still no response.
"C'm'on," came from the boy below. "It's getting dangerous. You can get a message off in the air. Gotta get out o' here. Gotta climb. May not be able to make it even now."
As the other boy glanced down at the white-capped waves all about them he realized that his companion spoke the truth.
Hurriedly rewrapping his instruments, all but the receivers, which by the aid of an extension he brought down with him, he made his way to his seat and strapped on his harness.
"All right," he breathed.
Once more the motors thundered. For a long distance they raced through blinding spray. Little by little this diminished until with a swoop, like a sea gull, the magnificent plane shot upward. The next instant they felt a dash of cold rain upon their cheeks. Was the storm upon them? Or was this merely a warning dash which had reached them far in advance of the deluge? For the moment they could not tell.