off his call for help for the castaways of Earthquake Island.
For half an hour he sent it away into space, none of the others in their shacks below him, awakening. Then Tom, having worked off his restless fit, was about to return to bed.
But what was this? What was that clicking in the telephone receiver at his ear? He listened. It was not a jumble of dots and dashes, conveying through space a message that meant nothing to him. No! It was his own call that was answered. The call of his station—"E. I."—Earthquake Island!
"Where are you? What's wanted?"
That was the message that was clicked to Tom from somewhere in the great void.
"I get your message 'E. I.' What's wanted? Do I hear you right? Repeat." Tom heard those questions in the silence of the night.
With trembling fingers Tom pressed his own key. Out into the darkness went his call for help.
"We are on Earthquake Island." He gave the longitude and latitude. "Come quickly or we will be engulfed in the sea! We are castaways from the yacht 'Resolute' and the airship 'Whizzer! Can you save us?"
Came then this query:
