Just now they were all anxiously gathered in the pilot house eagerly on
the lookout for any possible danger that might be threatening them from
out the dense fog being swept inland by the wind. Harry was at the wheel
while Jack stood with his hand close to the switchboard that governed
the engines pulsating below. Tom and Arnold were leaning half way out of
the open windows heedless of the fog and the spray that now and again
fell in sheets over the pilot house as the Fortuna thrust her nose into
a large wave.

"Great fishes!" ejaculated Tom. "I'd like to have a collision with some
eats right soon. I'm nearly starved and drowned and several other
things! I haven't eaten since we left Mobile!"

"Score one for Tom!" cried Harry. "He washes the dishes next time!
Remember our bargain, old Scout," he continued. "Do you remember what we
agreed to do when we left Chicago?"

"Could I forget it with your melodious Klaxon working overtime?" queried
Tom. "Great Fishes isn't slang, though! Ask Jack."

"How about it, Jack?" asked Harry. "Does he wash or not wash, that's the
question. Fair play here--let the umpire decide!"

Before he spoke, Jack pressed the button that actuated the Klaxon. When
the raucous noise of the fog horn had died away he turned to the two
disputants with a quizzical look and said:

"You'd be more careful of your language if your mother were here,
wouldn't you, Tom?" and then, as a look of triumph on the face of
exultant Harry was about to be followed by a shout of rejoicing, he