Frank returned alone after taking a good rest, and Ransom waited for news from home.
Late in the afternoon of the next day it came. Cheerful, helpful letters from the dear ones in Michigan. The money order came too.
Kenneth bought his supplies, and, after bidding his friends good-bye, started out on the long journey. During his stay in Commerce the weather had softened, the frost had come out of the ground, and thick, sticky mud made walking difficult. The boy stepped out in lively fashion, in spite of the eighty-five pound pack he carried and the heavy rubber boots he wore. He forgot the weight and discomfort in his anxiety to get to the yacht and the sick friend aboard of her.
It was four o’clock when he started, and he had not been on his way much over an hour before the darkness fell, and he had to pick his way warily. Of necessity he moved slowly, and the pack grew heavier with every stride. The sticky mud held on to his rubber boots so that his heels slipped up and down inside until they began to chafe and grow tender. An hour later he was still walking—more and more slowly under the weight of the pack, which seemed to have acquired the weight of a house. Blisters had formed on his heels and were rapidly wearing off to raw flesh.
When he hailed the “Gazelle” at seven o’clock, after three hours of most agonizing trudging, he was very nearly exhausted and his heels were bleeding. The absolute necessity of reaching Arthur soon and of applying the little knowledge he had of medicines, had kept him from going under, and had given him courage to go on his way.
“Thank God, you’ve come!” was Clyde’s greeting when he came to ferry Kenneth over.
“How’s Arthur?” was the skipper’s first inquiry.
“Crazy; clean crazy, and awful sick.” Clyde was clearly greatly worried.
“Oh! I guess he’ll come out all right.” Ransom saw that it was his play to put on a cheerful front and conceal the anxiety, the physical weariness and pain he felt. “You can’t kill a Morrow, you know.”
They stepped aboard, and the first thing the captain heard was his friend’s incoherent muttering.