Joe had his meal after the others had finished, as
it was necessary for some one to stay at the wheel, for the Tartar
was slipping along through the blue water at a good rate of speed.
Cape San Juan was rounded, and then the prow of the powerful motor
boat was turned south, to navigate the often perilous passage between
Porto Rico and Vieques.
"Do you think we'll find any news at St. Croix?" asked Cora, of Jack,
in a low voice, when, after the meal, they found themselves for the
moment by themselves.
"Hard to say, Sis," he answered. "I'm always living in hope, you
know."
"Yes, I suppose we must hope, Jack. And yet, when I think of all
they may be suffering--starving, perhaps, on some uninhabited island,
it--it makes me shiver," and Cora glanced apprehensively across the
stretch of blue water as though she might, at any moment, sight the
lonely isle that served as a refuge for her mother, and for Mr. and
Mrs. Robinson.
"Don't think about it," advised the practical Jack. "There are just
as many chances that the folks have been picked up, and taken to some
good island, as that they're on some bad one."
By the course they had laid, it was rather more than a hundred miles
from San Juan harbor to St. Croix, the Danish island, and as they
were going to make a careful search, and husband their supply of
gasoline as much as possible, they had set their average speed at ten
miles an hour.
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