"No, you will get worse as you become older," declared his friend.
"Gee, that's a bad outlook. Well, where there is life there is hope," replied Jim; "no use nosing this trail along, we have got the general direction and we want to get to the beach just as soon as we can so as to head those fellows off."
The two of them then started on a brisk trot and in a short time they heard the roar of the surf on the sand. But about a quarter of a mile from the beach they came to a halt, for a high fence barred their way.
"Hello, what does this mean?" inquired Jim with interest.
"It means we have come on someone's private estate," remarked the engineer, "and judging from the sharpness of these iron spikes, they are not at home to ordinary folks like us."
"I can just make out the house," remarked Jim, "and it looks like a big one."
There was the indistinct loom of the house through the fog; it appeared to be made of brick, with white trimmings and a huge chimney in the center clad with ivy. This was a good many years ago, and no remnant of this place remains to-day, for fire and earthquake wrought the ruin of this mansion, long before the catastrophe of 1906.
"Let's walk around this estate before it gets completely dark," said Jim, "which will be pretty soon now."
"You don't suppose that those two misguided pirates live here, do you?" questioned the engineer.
"Hardly," admitted Jim, "but they might be hiding in the yard."