"Yes," replied the young inventor, with a smile. "Here, listen for yourself," and he passed the head-instrument over to the Whizzer's former owner. The latter listened a moment.
"All I can hear are some faint clicks," he said.
"But they are a message," spoke Tom. "Wait, I'll translate," and he put the receiver to his ear. "'Steamship "Falcon" reports a slight fire in her forward compartment,'" said Tom, slowly. "'It is under control, and we will proceed.'"
"Do you mean to say that was the message you heard?" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul, I never can understand it!"
"It was part of a message," answered Tom. "I did not catch it all, nor to whom it was sent."
"But why can't you send a message to that steamship then, and beg them to come to our aid?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "Even if they have had a fire, it is out now, and they ought to be glad to save life."
"They would come to our aid, or send," spoke Tom, "but I can not make their wireless operator pick up our message. Either his apparatus is not in tune, or in accord with ours, or he is beyond our zone."
"But you heard him," insisted Mr. Damon.
"Yes, but sometimes it is easier to pick up messages than it is to send them. However, I will keep on trying."
Putting into operation the plan he had decided on for saving their supply of gasolene, Tom sent out his messages the remainder of the day, at the intervals agreed upon. Then the apparatus was shut down, but the lad paid frequent visits to the shack, and listened to the clicks of the telephone receiver. He caught several messages, but they were not in response to his appeals for aid.