“Do you mean to say that was the message you heard?” cried Mr. Damon.  “Bless my soul, I never can understand it!”

“It was part of a message,” answered Tom.  “I did not catch it all, nor to whom it was sent.”

“But why can’t you send a message to that steamship then, and beg them to come to our aid?” asked Mr. Fenwick.  “Even if they have had a fire, it is out now, and they ought to be glad to save life.”

“They would come to our aid. or send,” spoke Tom, “but I can not make their wireless operator pick up our message.  Either his apparatus is not in tune, or in accord with ours, or he is beyond our zone.”

“But you heard him,” insisted Mr. Damon.

“Yes, but sometimes it is easier to pick up messages than it is to send them.  However, I will keep on trying.”

Putting into operation the plan he had decided on for saving their supply of gasolene, Tom sent out his messages the remainder of the day, at the intervals agreed upon.  Then the apparatus was shut down, but the lad paid frequent visits to the shack, and listened to the clicks of the telephone receiver.  He caught several messages, but they were not in response to his appeals for aid.

That night there was a slight earthquake shock, but no more of the island fell into the sea, though the castaways were awakened by the tremors, and were in mortal terror for a while.

Three days passed, days of anxious waiting, during which time Tom sent out message after message by his wireless, and waited in vain for an answer.  There were three shocks in this interval, two slight, and one very severe, which last cast into the ocean a great cliff on the far end of the island.  There was a flooding rush of water, but no harm resulted.

“It is coming nearer,” said Mr. Parker.

“What is?” demanded Mr. Hosbrook.

“The destruction of our island.  My theory will soon be confirmed,” and the scientist actually seemed to take pleasure in it.

“Oh, you and your theory!” exclaimed the millionaire in disgust.  “Don’t let me hear you mention it again!  Haven’t we troubles enough?” whereat Mr. Parker went off by himself, to look at the place where the cliff had fallen.

Each night Tom slept with the telephone receiver to his ear, but, though it clicked many times, there was not sounded the call he had adopted for his station—­“E.  I.”—­Earthquake Island.  In each appeal he sent out he had requested that if his message was picked up, that the answer be preceded by the letters “E.I.”

It was on the fourth day after the completion of the wireless station, that Tom was sending out his morning calls.  Mrs. Nestor came up the little hill to the shack where Tom was clicking away.

“No replies yet, I suppose?” she inquired, and there was a hopeless note in her voice.

“None yet, but they may come any minute,” and Tom tried to speak cheerfully.

“I certainly hope so,” added Mary’s mother, “But I came up more especially now, Mr. Swift, to inquire where you had stored the rest of the food.”