“It was a puff of wind did this for you,” declared Ned. “I would not blame my eyesight.”
To work in the open on the ice with a living gale blowing down from the Pole was by no means a comfortable situation. The mechanicians had to take turns in working on the broken wing and pontoon. A man might easily freeze his hands while working without gloves. Two gasoline stoves were brought out of the flying boat and set up on the ice right where the repair gang worked. The cook served hot coffee by the gallon. The passengers did all they could to help, but that was little.
Suddenly Mr. Nestor noticed the absence of Mr. Damon and the schooner captain. He asked:
“Have they gone hunting? Why did they climb that hill, do you suppose, Tom?”
“Didn’t we see some smoke up there?” queried Tom, only mildly interested. “Why, yes! Mr. Damon was talking about smoke from the ice peak, and that got me interested—interested enough to scale the old plane across the shoulder of that hill,” and the young inventor laughed rather ruefully.
“There’s something going on up there, Mr. Swift!” exclaimed Kingston suddenly. “See there?”
He pointed up the heights. Several hundred feet above the plain the big seaman was standing and waving his arms wildly to attract attention. Now his voice came booming down from the eminence:
“Mis-der Swift! Mis-der Swift!” he singsonged. “Send up a couple of my bullies undt a pread pag. Hurry oop!”
“Wonder what’s going on up there,” remarked Ned, as Tom waved to a couple of the seamen to obey their skipper’s demand.
“Let’s have a look ourselves,” Kingston said, and started up the ascent.