"But as that craft isn't here, how can we put your father aboard?"
Mr. Farnum asked.
"We are right in the path that is to be taken by our friends' yacht," replied the son. "Since this is not a naval vessel, and you are not under Government orders, I take it you can as well wait here for two or three hours, if need be. My father will pay suitably for your time, and the service, if you will consent to wait until the yacht appears."
"I do not need any pay for extending the ordinary courtesies of the sea to those who have suffered wreck," replied Mr. Farnum, a bit stiffly.
"Whether you take pay or not, sir, will you wait and put my father aboard the yacht?" demanded the son eagerly. "A vast interest, believe me, sir, is at stake."
"Oh, there is a very great stake in this," cried the older man, tremulously. "I appeal to you, Mr. Farnum, since that is your name, to help me out in this. And, if you will accept handsome compensation, I shall be very glad to offer it."
David Pollard, who had heard some of this talk through the open manhole as he lounged by the wheel, now called down to report: "There's some kind of a craft on the northern horizon throwing up searchlight signals."
"That's our friends' yacht—it must be!" proclaimed the young man, darting forward and resting one hand on the rail of the spiral stairway. "Now, you see, if you will be good to us, we shall not very long trespass on your patience."
"A schooner—a sailing craft—equipped with a searchlight?" asked
Jack, wonderingly.
The son flashed upon the submarine boy a look in which there was something of a scowl, but he explained quickly:
"The boat has auxiliary power, and a complete electric light plant. Mr. Farnum, you'll steam toward that searchlight, won't you? I tell you, I am positive it is the boat of our friends."