CHAPTER XX

THE WIRELESS PLANT

The castaways had been on Earthquake Island a week now, and in that time had suffered many shocks.  Some were mere tremors, and some were so severe as to throw whole portions of the isle into the sea.  They never could tell when a shock was coming, and often one awakened them in the night.

But, in spite of this, the refugees were as cheerful as it was possible to be under the circumstances.  Only Mr. Jenks seemed nervous and ill at ease, and he kept much by himself.

As for Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, the three were busy in their shack.  The others had ceased to ask questions about what they were doing, and Mr. Nestor and his wife took it for granted that Tom was building a boat.

Captain Mentor and the mate spent much time gazing off to sea, hoping for a sight of the sail of some vessel, or the haze that would indicate the smoke of a steamer.  But they saw nothing.

“I haven’t much hope of sighting anything,” the captain said.  “I know we are off the track of the regular liners, and our only chance would be that some tramp steamer, or some ship blown off her course, would see our signal.  I tell you, friends, we’re in a bad way.”

“If money was any object—­,” began Mr. Jenks.

“What good would money be?” demanded Mr. Hosbrook.  “What we need to do is to get a message to some one—­some of my friends—­to send out a party to rescue us.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Mr. Parker, the scientist.  “And the message needs to go off soon, if we are to be saved.”

“Why so?” asked Mr. Anderson.

“Because I think this island will sink inside of a week!”

A scream came from the two ladies.

“Why don’t you keep such thoughts to yourself?” demanded the millionaire yacht owner, indignantly.

“Well, it’s true,” stubbornly insisted the scientist.

“What if it is?  It doesn’t do any good to remind us of it.”

“Bless my gizzard, no!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.  “Suppose we have dinner.  I’m hungry.”

That seemed to be his remedy for a number of ills.

“If we only could get a message off, summoning help, it would be the very thing,” sighed Mrs. Nestor.  “Oh, how I wish I could send my daughter, Mary, word of where we are.  She may hear of the wreck of the resolute, and worry herself to death.”

“But it is out of the question to send a message for help from Earthquake Island,” added Mrs. Anderson.  “We are totally cut off from the rest of the world here.”

“Perhaps not,” spoke Tom Swift, quietly.  He had come up silently, and had heard the conversation.

“What’s that you said?” cried Mr. Nestor, springing to his feet, and crossing the sandy beach toward the lad.

“I said perhaps we weren’t altogether cut off from the rest of the world,” repeated Tom.