after the completion of the wireless
station, that Tom was sending out his morning calls. Mrs. Nestor
came up the little hill to the shack where Tom was clicking away.

"No replies yet, I suppose?" she inquired, and there was a hopeless
note in her voice.

"None yet, but they may come any minute," and Tom tried to speak
cheerfully.

"I certainly hope so," added Mary's mother, "But I came up more
especially now, Mr. Swift, to inquire where you had stored the rest
of the food."

"The rest of the food?"

"Yes, the supply you took from the wrecked airship. We have used up
nearly all that was piled in the improvised kitchen, and we'll have
to draw on the reserve supply."

"The reserve," murmured Tom.

"Yes, there is only enough in the shack where Mrs. Anderson and I do
the cooking, to last for about two days. Isn't there any more?"

Tom did not answer. He saw the drift of the questioning. Their food
was nearly gone, yet the castaways from the RESOLUTE thought there
was still plenty. As a matter of fact there was not another can,
except those in the kitchen shack.

"Get out wherever there is left some time to-day, if you will, Mr.
Swift," went on Mrs. Nestor, as she turned away, "and Mrs. Anderson
and I will see if we can fix up some new dishes for you men-folks."

"Oh--all right," answered Tom, weakly.

His hand dropped from the key of the instrument. He sat staring into
space. Food enough for but two days more, with earthquakes likely to
happen at any moment, and no reply yet to his appeals for aid! Truly
the situation was desperate. Tom shook his head. It was the first
time he had felt like giving up.

CHAPTER XXIII

A REPLY IN THE DARK

The young inventor looked out of the wireless shack. Down on the
beach he saw the little band of castaways. They were gathered in a
group about Mr. Jenks, who seemed to be talking earnestly to them.
The two ladies were over near the small building that served as a
kitchen.

"More food supplies needed, eh?" mused Tom. "Well, I don't know
where any more is to come from. We've stripped the WHIZZER bare." He
glanced toward what remained of the airship. "I guess we'll have to
go on short rations, until help comes," and, wondering what the
group of men could be talking about, Tom resumed his clicking out of
his wireless message.

He continued to send it into space for several minutes after ten
o'clock, the hour at which he usually stopped for the morning, for
he t