But Jack, who had been looking about the island in their vicinity, dampened their enthusiasm by a sudden question. “How are you going to fix an aerial?” he asked. “Easy enough,” said Tom confidently; “some tree will do. Ned Bangs, here, can climb it. Luckily I loaded a lot of copper wire with the other stuff. We can use that for antenna.” “Why, you monkey!” cried Jack, half laughing, “there isn’t a tree on the island.” This fact, which none of them had noticed before, was evidently so. The island was covered with a scrub growth, but nowhere did the bushes exceed a height of ten feet. Professor Chadwick broke in on their dejection. “Come,” he said, “it’s no use our discussing anything now. Let us have a good meal and then, maybe, we’ll hit upon some plan.” While Jupe made his preparations for a warm meal, selecting a spot sheltered by brush not far from the remains of the Flying Road Racer, the boys gathered driftwood, of which there seemed to be plenty on the beach, and made a big pile of it. This was lighted, and the warmth of the blaze proved very comforting to the chilled castaways. As Professor Chadwick had predicted, the meal served to put new heart into them. As they ate they discussed their situation in all its bearings, but without arriving at any conclusion as to their future course. If they could not get a wireless message to some station on land or ship, their situation looked as if it might speedily become serious. They did not dwell on this aspect of the case, however, but made a determined effort to be as cheerful as possible. After dinner, if such the meal could be called. Professor Chadwick and Mr. Jesson set out to explore the island. The others, except Jack and Tom, lay down to sleep, being’ thoroughly exhausted by what they had gone through. The two lads, however, felt too excited to sleep. Instead, they fell to figuring how it would be possible to send out a message telling of their plight, without having a tall pole or tree to which to string their aerials. The problem was perplexing, and they threshed it over and over for an hour without arriving any nearer a plan for getting their wires into the air. It was Jack who finally hit upon what was literally an inspiration. Close to them, while they had been talking, lay the pile of life jackets they had taken off when they landed. “Is there any of that liquid rubber for repairing the tires in the Flying Road Racer?” he inquired of Tom, with seeming meaningless curiosity. “Why, yes; there’s a gallon can of it. But why?” “You’ll see directly. Will you get it?” “Yes, of course,” rejoined Tom, rising from his seat on the sand. “Anything else?” “That needle and stout thread in the gas bag tool kit and—well, I guess that will be all for now.” “I wish I knew what you are driving at,” said Tom, as he moved off to get the things Jack had asked for. “I’m driving at a way to get those aerials up,” rejoined the young inventor briefly.