"Bless my gizzard, no!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Suppose we have dinner. I'm hungry."
That seemed to be his remedy for a number of ills.
"If we only could get a message off, summoning help, it would be the very thing," sighed Mrs. Nestor. "Oh, how I wish I could send my daughter, Mary, word of where we are. She may hear of the wreck of the Resolute, and worry herself to death."
"But it is out of the question to send a message for help from Earthquake Island," added Mrs. Anderson. "We are are totally cut off from the rest of the world here."
"Perhaps not," spoke Tom Swift, quietly. He had come up silently, and had heard the conversation.
"What's that you said?" cried Mr. Nestor, springing to his feet, and crossing the sandy beach toward the lad.
"I said perhaps we weren't altogether cut off from the rest of the world," repeated Tom.
"Why not," demanded Captain Mentor. "You don't mean to say that you have been building a boat up there in your little shack, do you?"
"Not a boat," replied Tom, "but I think I have a means of sending out a call for help!"
"Oh, Tom—Mr. Swift—how?" exclaimed
