"Headache or no headache, I don't see how we are going to get off this
floe unless we can attract the attention of the ship, and we are
drifting further away from it every minute," said Frank, gravely.

"Let's fire our pistols," suggested Billy.

"I didn't bring mine," said Frank.

"Nor I," said Harry.

"N-n-n-n-or I," chattered the shivering professor.

"Gee whitakers," shouted Billy, "and to top the bad luck, I left mine
in the boat. I laid it on a seat after I had fired at the whale."

"B-b-b-b-boys, w-w-w-w-w-hat are we g-g-g-oing to d-d-d-do?" shivered
the scientist.

"Shout," said Frank; "come on, all together."

They shouted at the tops of their voices, but in the clear polar air,
rarified as it is, sound does not carry as well as in northern
latitudes, and there was no response.

All the time the floe, slowly revolving in the current like a floating
bottle, was drifting further and further from the ships. The situation
was serious, and, moreover, the scientist was evidently suffering
acutely, although he made no complaint, not wishing to add to their
anxieties. Frank, however, insisted on their each shedding a garment
for the professor's benefit, and although the scientist at first