When morning dawned, the fog rolled away under the influence of a
brilliant sun, showing an attractive sight. Other fishing-boats, big and
little, were rising and falling on the swell. To the northward a
steamer, outward bound, trailed from her triple funnels banners of black
smoke. From the southward a "fruiter," as the vessels bringing fruit
from the West Indies are called, came bravely up the coast. There were
other vessels--schooners, barks, sloops, and the coast itself was
visible as a blue line. Finally, one of the Slocum brothers came to
Merriwell and held out a scrap of paper. Frank glanced at it, and read,
in an almost illegible scrawl: "Sea Cove."
"They will take us to Sea Cove!" Inza explained.
"New York City," Merry wrote.
The deaf-mate shook his head and again pointed to the name "Sea Cove."
"What's the odds?" said Bart. "There is a railway there, and no doubt
boats running to New York. And then it will give us an opportunity to
investigate the murder of poor Barney a little. By to-night we can be in
New York, if all goes well!"
"Put us aboard the fruiter or some steamer," Frank again wrote.
But the man shook his head.
"It is Sea Cove or nothing," said Inza. "And he would be glad, I think,
to have it nothing."
"Sea Cove it is, then," Frank agreed.
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