"I know. They meant all right, but they're too daring. However, it can't be helped. Where's Paul?"
"He felt so well that he went for a little walk. He said he'd go down toward the pier and see if he could see or hear anything of the boys.
"Well, I'm glad he's getting better." Mr. Racer once more tried to read the paper, but gave it up.
"You're nervous," said his wife, as he tossed it aside.
"Yes, I am. Nothing is worse than sitting still, and waiting—waiting for something to happen.
"Oh, Dick! I'm sure you don't want anything to happen!"
"Of course not. But I don't like this weather."
Paul came in at that moment. The glow off health was beginning to reappear in his pale cheeks.
"Well?" asked Mr. Racer quickly.
"They're not in sight," answered the lad who did not know who he was.
"And Captain Trent says a bad storm is brewing."