Curlie Carson Listens In Part 23

But only brave and hardy spirits can joke in the midst of disaster, and as for Curlie, he really did have one more trick up his sleeve.

As the old skipper sat staring away at the point where his craft had disappeared beneath the dark waters, he murmured:

"'Twasn't much we 'it; fragment from an iceberg 'er somethin', but 'twas enough. An' a good little craft she was too."

The storm had pa.s.sed, but the waves were still rolling high. The raft tilted to such an angle that now they were all in danger of being pitched headforemost into the sea, and now in danger of falling backward into the trough of the waves.

Soaked to the skin, shivering, miserable, the boys and men clung to the raft, while the girl bewailed the fact that she was not permitted to suffer with them. Wrapped as she was, and carefully guarded from the on-rush of the waves, she escaped all the miserable damp and chill of it.

"Shows you're a real sport," Curlie's lips, blue with cold, attempted a smile, "but you've got to let us play the gentleman, even out here."

When the waves had receded somewhat, Curlie began digging at one of the tubes beneath his feet. Having at length unfastened it, he stood it on end to unscrew some fastenings and lift off the top.

"Canisters of water and some emergency rations!" exclaimed Joe, as he peered inside. "Great stuff!"

They had taken a swallow of water apiece and were preparing to munch some hardtack and chocolate when Gladys exclaimed:

"Look over there. What's that?"

"There's nothing," said the engineer after studying the waves for a moment.

"Oh, yes there was!" the girl insisted emphatically. "Something showed up on the crest of a wave. It's in the trough of the wave now. It'll come up again."

"Bit of wreckage from our yacht," suggested Joe.

"Not much wreckage on 'er," said the skipper. "All washed off 'er long before she sank."

"What could it be then?" The girl was fairly holding her breath. "It couldn't be--"

"Don't get your hopes up too high," cautioned Curlie. "Of course miracles do happen, but not so very often."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE MIRACLE

They were all straining their eyes when at last the thing appeared once more on the crest of the wave.

"Wreckage! A ma.s.s of it!" came from the skipper.

"And--and there's a hand!" exclaimed Curlie.

"The paddles, boys! The paddles! Every 'and of you, hup an' at it,"

shouted the skipper.

The wildest excitement prevailed, yet out of it all there came quick and concerted action. Three paddles flashed as, straining every muscle, they strove to bring the clumsy raft nearer the wreck. With tears in her eyes, the girl begged and implored them to unwrap her and allow her to have a hand in the struggle.

A minute pa.s.sed. No longer chilled but steaming from violent exertion, they strained eager eyes to catch another glimpse of the wreck.

"There--there it is!" exclaimed the girl, overcome with joy. "You're gaining! You're gaining!"

Five minutes pa.s.sed. They gained half the distance. Eight minutes more; the hand on the wreckage rose again. They were getting nearer.

Suddenly the girl uttered a piercing cry of joy:

"It is Vincent! It is! It is!"

And she was right. A moment later, as they dragged the all but senseless form from the seaplane, they recognized him at once as the millionaire's son.

He had drifted in the benumbing water so long that had they been delayed for another hour they would have found nothing more than a corpse awaiting them.

As Curlie tore Vincent's sodden outer garments from him he saw the girl carefully unrolling the blankets and oiled covering from about her. He did not protest. To him the thought of seeing this girl half drowned and chilled through by the spray which even now at times dashed over the raft, was heartbreaking, but he knew it was necessary if the life of her brother was to be saved.

"Brave girl!" he murmured as he wrapped Vincent in the coverings and pa.s.sed him on to the skipper.

"And now," he said, "the time has come to think of other things. I believe the waves have sufficiently subsided to enable us to dare it."

He fumbled once more at the raft, at last to bring up a long, post-shaped affair.

"More rations," murmured Joe, swallowing his last bite of hardtack; "a regular commissary. But why get them out at this time?"

"You wait," smiled Curlie.

He was standing up. After telling Joe to steady him, he began tearing away at the upper end of the mysterious package. In a moment, he took out some limp, rubber affairs.

"Toy balloons," jeered Joe.

"Something like that," Curlie smiled.

He next brought out a small bra.s.s retort and a tiny spirit lamp.

"Lucky our matches are dry," he murmured, after unwrapping some oiled cloth and lighting the spirit lamp with one of the matches inclosed.

After firmly tying the end of a toy balloon over the mouth of the retort he held the spirit lamp beneath the bowl of the retort. At once the balloon began to expand.

"Chemicals already in the retort," he explained.

When the balloon was sufficiently inflated, he quickly tied it at the mouth, then began inflating another.

"The gas is very buoyant," he explained. "Hold that," he said as he pa.s.sed the string to the engineer.

"There's enough," he said quietly when the third had been filled.

He next drew forth some shiny fine copper wire coiled about some round, insulated bars.

When he had fastened the balloons to one end of the bars, he attached a strong cord to the balloons, then allowed them to rise, at the same time paying out the strands of copper wire.