“When we reach the Thousand Islands, we will get busy with our loop aerial and find you by radio compass,” he promised.

The mysterious intermeddler who professed to have a sporting wager with the “island prisoner,” was on hand with a machine-gun stream derisive waves, but Cub refused to pay any attention to him, not that he regarded that fellow’s version of the affair as utterly unworthy of consideration, but, for the time being, at least, he did not wish to believe it.  He was eager for the adventure, which might be spoiled if his father became convinced that “Mr. Crusoe’s” Sos was a gambling hoax.

The boys took regular turns at the radio table in the cabin that afternoon and found the occupation of listening-in much more interesting than it had been at their homes, not because of any particular difference in the messages, but because of the more romantic character of their new motives and surroundings.  Even the multitude of static interferences that swarmed the atmosphere on this, the first oppressively hot day of the season, were combatted with tuning coil, condenser, and detector, so confidently, although with poor success, that Mr. Perry pronounced them all “princes of patience”.

In other words, the boys were in the best of spirits, all handicaps notwithstanding.  Cub’s father had not taken his first lesson in wireless telegraphy, and so left the radio field entirely to the three young amateur experts.  In spite of the heat, they were able to get a more or less broken message now and then from the “island prisoner”, but could get no acknowledgment of receipt of messages sent by them until about supper time.

“If it weren’t for this heat, we probably could ’ave got a message to him as we were leaving Oswego,” Cub remarked to Bud after they had been on the lake about two hours.

“The atmosphere is the worst I’ve ever known it to be,” returned Bud, who had been laboring hard with key and spark for some time.  “If it don’t clear up, we may not be able to begin our hunt for him before morning.”

“Well, we’ll go along until half an hour before dark, I suppose, and then find a place to tie up till morning,” said Cub.

He consulted his father on the subject, and the latter indorsed the plan.

The lake was rather choppy, in spite of the calmness of the day; consequently, the Catwhisker was unable to make a record run to the head of the St. Lawrence River.  Ontario is not a placid lake, although it has not the heavy roughness that characterizes Lake Huron.  A strong current is driven through its middle by the flood of the upper lakes after its plunge over Niagara Falls, and along the shores is a back-sweep of eddies and swirls.  Hence the pilots and shippers of small boats on the lake, if they are wise, keep their weather eyes well peeled for any disturbance that may augment the natural roughness of this body of water.

Mr. Perry and his three boy companions were all well aware of the wisdom of weather caution while cruising in the Catwhisker.  In the morning before starting, they had consulted the Government forecast and found the outlook favorable, but they were well aware of the fact that absolute dependence should not be put upon even so learned a being as a Great Lakes weather man.