ed Captain Halstead, looking
significantly at Powell Seaton.

"It sets me to thinking hard," replied that gentleman, gravely.

Hepton glanced with natural curiosity from one to the other. Then,
finding that he was not to be enlightened as to what had happened
ashore, he soon stepped aft again.

"Here's what you want to know, I reckon," announced Joe, in a low
voice, as his head bobbed up out of the motor room. In one hand he
held a slip of paper on which he had just taken down a message.
"Twenty miles north of us is the Langley Line freighter, 'Fulton.'
She's headed this way, and coming at fourteen knots."

Skipper Tom received the paper, studying the position and course as
Joe had jotted them down.

"The Langley boats run to Rio Janeiro, don't they?" asked Halstead.

"Yes, and every boat of that line carries a wireless installation now,
too," Joe continued. "She's the only boat that answered my hail."

"Take the new course, Hank," called the young skipper to the boy at
the wheel, and rattled it off. The "Restless" swung around to a nearly
northerly course.

"At her speed, and ours, it needn't be many minutes before we sight
the 'Fulton,'" judged Halstead. "Hank, you keep the wheel. I want a
chance to handle my glasses."

With the marine binoculars in his hand Skipper Tom soon began to sweep
the horizon.

"There's what the wireless did for us," he chuckled to Mr. Seaton.
"Without our electrical wave we wouldn't have known, for sure, that
there was a Rio boat in these waters this afternoon. And, but for
getting the 'Fulton's' position and course by wireless, we'd have
swept by to the eastward, away out of sight of the freighter."

Within a few minutes more the young skipper, by the aid of his
glasses, got a glimpse of a steamship's masts. A few minutes later the
upper works of her high hull were visible.

"That's the 'Fulton.' I know the Langley type of freighter build,"
Halstead explained, eagerly. "We'll soon be close enough to see her
name-plate through the glass. And--oh!--by Jove!"

Tom waved the glasses with a flourish, pointing, then handed them to
Powell Seaton.

"Look right over there to the north-westward, sir, and you'll make out
that drab-hulled seventy-footer. She's just coming into sight."

"I see her," nodded Mr. Seaton.

Captain Halstead took the glasses again, studying both the
seventy-footer and the freighter intently, judging their relative
speeds and positions.

"Dalton, or his