"Just to think how utterly unconscious those fellows were of the fact that
three human beings were hovering right above them and listening to every
word of their conversation," chuckled Jimsy; "isn't it queer?"
A little while later a steamer's whistle boomed through the fog beneath
them, but as the altitude register showed five hundred feet, they did not
bother about it.
"At all events we know we're still above the water and not in danger of
colliding with any church steeples," said Jess, and she found consolation
in the thought.
"Have you any idea at all as to the direction of the light, Peggy?"
inquired Jimsy at length.
"I--I really don't know," confessed Peggy, with a gulp; "everything's
mixed up. It's so thick I can't tell anything and I'm deathly afraid of
running into the lighthouse by mistake."
"Then for goodness sake give it a wide berth," cried Jimsy; "if we keep on
cruising about for a while we'll be bound to land somewhere. Anyhow we've
got lots of gasoline, that's one comfort."
It was, indeed. In the steady hum of their powerful motor the young
aviators found consolation in that lonely ride through the billowing
fog-banks. At all events, there was no sign of a falter or skip there.
"If only we could get some wind," sighed Jess.
"Might as well wish for the moon," said Jimsy; "the air is as still as it
used to be at noon out on the desert.
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