The Motor Boat Club and The Wireless Part 25

"Nothing; not a click by way of answer," Joe Dawson responded. "I had half a hope that I might be able to pick up a s.h.i.+p that could relay back to another, and so on to New York. If that had happened, I was going to ask the companies direct, in New York, when their next boats would leave port. I'll do that, if I get a chance. I'm bound to know when to look for the next Rio boat."

"If this fog seems likely to last," resumed Halstead, "I've been thinking about increasing to ten miles and keeping right on toward New York."

"Bully!" enthused Dawson. "Fine!"

"Yes; so I thought at first, but I have changed my mind. If we get wholly out of these waters we might put a messenger aboard a steams.h.i.+p bound for Rio Janeiro, and then Dalton, by hanging about in these waters, might find a chance to board. If he suspected our messenger--and it may be you or I--it might be the same old Clodis incident all over again."

Joe's face lengthened.

"It's growing wearing, to hang about here all the time," he complained. "I'm near to having operator's cramp, as it is."

"Don't you dare!" Skipper Tom warned him.

"Well, then, I won't," agreed Dawson.

For four hours more the "Restless" continued nearly due north, at the same original speed of six miles an hour. Halstead began to think of putting back, slowly retracing his course. Joe went down for his regular hourly "sit" at the sending table.

"Hurrah!" yelled Dawson, emerging from the motor room several minutes later.

He was waving a paper and appeared highly excited.

"Picked up anything?" called Tom Halstead, eagerly.

"Yes, sirree!" uttered Joe, delightedly, thrusting a paper into his chum's hand. "The Jepson freight liner, 'Glide,' is making an extra trip out of schedule. Here's her position, course and gait. We ought to be up to her within two and a half hours."

Tom himself took the news to Powell Seaton. That gentleman, on hearing the word, leaped from the lower berth in the port stateroom.

"Glorious!" he cried, his eyes gleaming feverishly as he hustled into an overcoat.

Then he whispered, in a lower voice:

"Tom Halstead, you're--you're--It!"

"Eh?" demanded the young motor boat skipper.

"You'll take the papers on to Rio!"

A gleam lit up Halstead's eyes. Yet, in another instant he felt a sense of downright regret. He was not afraid of any dangers that the trip might involve, but he hated the thought of being weeks away from this staunch, trim little craft of which he was captain and half-owner.

"All right, sir," he replied, though without enthusiasm. "I'll undertake it--I'll go to Rio for you."

CHAPTER XVII

WHEN THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB BOYS "WENT DAFFY"

All this had been spoken in whispers. Both Mr. Seaton and Tom Halstead were keenly aware of the presence of the prisoner in the starboard stateroom.

"You don't seem as overjoyed as I thought you might be," observed Powell Seaton, in a tone of disappointment.

"I'm going through for you, sir, and I'll deliver the papers into the proper hands, if I live," replied Tom Halstead.

"And you're not afraid of the big chances of danger that you may be running?" persisted his employer.

"Why, I believe every human being has times when he's afraid," Skipper Tom replied, honestly. "But I shan't be any more afraid than you've seen me once or twice since this cruise began."

"Then I'll bet on your success," rejoined Mr. Seaton, holding out his hand, which the young motor boat captain grasped.

"Suppose we go on deck where we can talk a little more safely, sir,"

whispered Tom.

They made their way above and forward.

"Any further word, Dawson?" inquired the charter-man.

"I haven't signaled since I brought up that last message," Joe replied.

"Oh, of course not," retorted Powell Seaton. "It was an idiotic question for me to ask, but I'm so excited, boys, that I don't pretend to know altogether what I'm talking about."

Captain Halstead bent forward to look at the compa.s.s. He found Hank b.u.t.ts steering as straight as the needle itself pointed.

"What on earth can I do to pa.s.s the time of waiting?" wondered Mr.

Seaton, feverishly.

"Eat," laughed Tom. "You haven't had a meal since I don't know when.

Give me the wheel, Hank, and see what you can fix up for Mr. Seaton in the way of food."

Yet, poking along at that slow rate of speed, cutting through the fog but not able to see a boat's length ahead, proved an ordeal that tested the patience of all.

After awhile Joe returned to the sending table, in order to get in touch with the "Glide" and make sure that the two vessels were still approaching each other head-on.

"It's wonderful--wonderful, this wireless telegraph that keeps all the great s.h.i.+ps and many of the small ones in constant communication,"

declared Powell Seaton, coming up on deck after having finished his meal. "Yet it seems odd, doesn't it, to think of even freight boats carrying a wireless installation?"

"Not when you stop to consider the value of the freight steams.h.i.+ps, and the value of their cargoes," rejoined Tom Halstead. "If a s.h.i.+p at sea gets into any trouble, where in older times she would have been lost, now all she has to do is to signal to other vessels within two or three hundred miles, and relief is sent on its way to the s.h.i.+p that needs it. In the case of a freight steamer the wireless aboard means greater safety for the crew and often saves the owners the cost of s.h.i.+p and cargo. The Standard Oil people were among the first to think of the wireless for cargo-carrying boats. They installed the wireless on their tank steamers, and it wasn't long before the owners of other freight vessels realized the value of such an installation. Now, every freight boat that amounts to much has the wireless aboard."

"You speak of the wireless being used at a distance of two or three hundred miles," pursued the charter-man. "Dawson can't send the electric wave that far, can he?"

"No, sir; because our signal mast is shorter than that on a big steams.h.i.+p. The length of our aerials is less. Still, we can handle a message for a pretty good distance."

"What distance, Halstead?"

"Why, our ideal distance is about sixty miles; we can make it seventy easily, and, under the best conditions, we can drive a message, so that it can be understood, for about ninety miles. But that doesn't really hold us down to even ninety miles. If there's a wireless s.h.i.+p within our radius we can ask her to relay for us. With a few s.h.i.+ps spread out at proper intervals we could easily wire direct from the 'Restless' to the coast of England."

"Joe," called Tom to his chum as the latter came on deck between wireless performances, "do you notice that the fog is lightening off to weatherward?"