And he was right for in less than ten minutes it was so thick that they could hardly see a dozen feet ahead. Bill slowed down the motor until they were making just enough headway to maintain their altitude. “Only thing to do is to ride it out,” he declared. “Good thing there’s no wind,” Gordon ventured. “But if there was a good wind it would probably blow the fog away,” Rogers told him. “That’s so, too,” Gordon agreed. “Perhaps I’d better whistle for one.” Another half hour passed with no change in the conditions. “I’m afraid we’ll go past it,” Bill told them. “What’s the matter with starting the elevator and standing still till the fog clears if it ever does?” Gordon suggested. “Just what I was thinking of doing,” Bill said, and a few minutes later they were practically motionless. “Keep your eye on the needle,” Bill ordered. “We don’t want to get any lower.” It took considerable moving of the switch to hold the plane stationary but for more than an hour their altitude did not vary more than a hundred feet. Of course they were unable to tell how fast they were drifting but there was only the slightest of breezes and they knew it could not be much. It certainly was a peculiar sensation to be suspended there betwixt sky and water and before long it began to get on their nerves. “If something doesn’t happen before long I know one who’s going loco,” Gordon declared. “It isn’t very pleasant,” Bill told him, “but I can’t see that we’re in any particular danger.” “It isn’t that,” Gordon insisted. “It’s, it’s——well, I don’t know what it is but it is all right.” “I feel somewhat that way myself,” Rogers acknowledged. “And I guess I’d better make it unanimous,” Bill laughed, but there was not much mirth in the sound. “How about going straight up and seeing if we can’t get out of this stuff?” Gordon asked. “Wouldn’t do a bit of good if we did,” Bill told him. “I know it but it would be doing something.” “All right, just as you say,” and Bill pushed over the switch. They had been floating at an altitude of about eight hundred feet and the needle slowly turned until it registered four thousand and the fog was as thick as ever. And now it was getting dark. “Think we’d better go any higher?” Bill asked. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere and that’s a fact,” Gordon told him. “Guess we better go down again. Somehow I don’t feel safe up so high.” So Bill pulled the switch back and they began to sink. At an altitude of a thousand feet he brought the plane to a stop and said: “Well, we seem to be about where we were before we went up.” “Every place looks the same,” Gordon growled. “Listen.” It was Rogers who gave the command and for a moment they strained their ears. “It’s the surf sure’s you’re born,” Gordon finally declared. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about it,” Bill agreed. “Which way do you make it?” “Straight ahead, I’d say,” Rogers replied. “Sure it is,” Gordon agreed.