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 today, 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.
