News from the City
Frank Hardy set his jaw with grim determination as he drove the
motorboat into the storm. It was too late to turn back.
The storm had swept up with such speed that Frank realized now that he
had underestimated it. The wind was terrific and the waves were high.
They battered against the staunch little boat, drenching the boys with
flying spray.
Frank headed toward the mainland, but then he saw that he could not hope
to find shelter from the wind along the shore. The waves were rolling in
and dashing against the rocks. The motorboat would have no chance there.
It would be flung hither and thither and battered to pieces.
“Nothing for it but to head right into the wind, I guess,” he shouted,
above the howl of the storm.
The other boys were crouching in the bottom of the boat, out of the
flying spray. The boat seemed to quiver with successive shocks as it
bucked the waves.
The rain was driving into their faces. Through the downpour Frank could
not even see the little village toward which they were bound. He wished
they had remained on Cabin Island.
_The Sleuth_, although small, was a strong and well-built craft. The
engine throbbed faithfully. None of them dared think of the consequences
should the engine fail.
The bow of the craft cut through the rolling waves like a knife. Thunder
rolled overhead. The sky was black. The boys could scarcely see the
shore. Driving against the wind and the tide, the boat could make little
speed, and headway seemed slight.
Nevertheless _The Sleuth_ was edging slowly down the bay, coming ever
closer to the little village. Frank peered through the raging storm,
hoping to catch sight of the little huddle of houses on the shore.
Lightning flared in the dark sky. Frank held the boat steadily into the
wind.
They were all drenched to the skin. Although no one said a word, Frank
could see that the others were frightened. As a matter of fact, he was
none too confident of the outcome himself.
“It all depends on the engine,” he muttered. “If that fails, we’re done
for.”
But the engine had been thoroughly overhauled just the previous week. He
was grateful for the foresight that had enabled him and Joe to take this
precaution.
Joe crept to the side of his brother.
“Do you think we’ll get there, Frank?” he shouted.
Frank nodded. “It’s dirty weather, but we ought to make it all right.”
Just then he caught sight of the little break in the shoreline that
indicated the cove where the village was located. They were still far
out, and to reach the village the boat must run diagonal to the waves.
This was the hardest test.
The buffeting _The Sleuth_ had previously received was as nothing to
what she now suffered. Time and again the boys held their breaths,
certain that the boat was about to capsize. Great waves would crash
against it, the boat would cant far over on her side, her bow would be
buried in the water. Then, like a live thing, _The Sleuth_ would shake
herself free, rise above the waves, and go plunging on.
The boys clung to every available hold, fearful of being washed
overboard.
Suddenly Joe gave a shout of warning:
“Watch out!”
A great roller was bearing down on them. They ducked, waited——
Crash!
A huge sea of green water engulfed them. For a moment the boat was
completely buried beneath the wave. It slipped far over. Frank felt his
feet washed from beneath him. He clung to the wheel with all the
strength at his command, held his breath through what seemed an eternity
of waiting.
Then the motorboat labored free of the wave, slowly righted itself. The
water receded. The craft was weighted down by the water that still
remained in it, but all the boys were safe. Chet was suffering from a
cut across the forehead, where he had been flung against one of the
seats; Biff was clutching his wrist, which had been wrenched in his
desperate effort to retain his grip on an iron ring; Joe was gasping for
breath after his immersion in the water; Frank felt a dull pain in his
side, where he had been dashed against the wheel.
More dead than alive, the boys held on. But the village was now in plain
view. They had gone through the worst of the storm, and the waves were
now hurling the boat in toward the cove.
Frank steered toward a little dock, where the angry waters were dashing
themselves angrily against the timbers. He saw a man clad in oilskins
running out on the dock, gesturing to them and pointing toward the
shore. There was a little boathouse in the cove, and then the man ran
from the dock over toward the boathouse, still gesturing.
There was shelter for them. The motorboat would have been dashed to
pieces had they tied up to the dock. Frank saw the door of the boathouse
open and he drove directly toward it. A great wave caught the craft and
it shot forward. A turn of the wheel and he was headed into the narrow
opening. He switched off the engine, and then _The Sleuth_ slid gently
into the slip.
Tired, exhausted, drenched, the boys clambered out of the boat. The man
in oilskins was waiting for them. He seized a rope Frank flung to him
and snubbed it around a post.
“Well, now, that was a narrow squeak, if ever I saw one!” he declared in
a familiar, nasal voice. “Wust storm we’ve had on this bay for ten
years, and you’d be caught in it. You’re mighty lucky, my lads.”
They looked up. They knew that voice well.
“Amos Grice!” exclaimed Frank.
At the sound of his name, the man looked around. Then he recognized the
refugees.
“Well, if it ain’t the Hardy boys!” he shouted in welcome. “And Chet and
Biff!”
“You certainly did us a good turn that time,” declared Joe.
Amos Grice was soon shaking hands with them, asking a score of
questions. How had they come to be out on the bay in the storm? Had they
been at Cabin Island? Had they been frightened? How did the boat get
half full of water? And so on and so forth. He was a kindly old man,
this village storekeeper. He now led the way out of the boathouse.
“Come up to the store,” he said. “Come up and put on some dry clothes.
You’re soaked to the hide, all of you. Come up and tell me how it
happened.”
“Nothing much to tell, Mr. Grice,” explained Frank. “We were on Cabin
Island this afternoon when we saw the storm coming up. We knew there was
no chance of getting back to Bayport in time, so we thought we’d run
over here, but the storm broke too suddenly for us.”
“It did break sudden,” admitted the storekeeper. “It broke sudden and
fierce. I’ve never seen a worse storm in ten years.”
He took them up to the store, and in a warm kitchen at the back he bade
them dry themselves by the fire while he hustled about and procured dry
clothing. Amos Grice was a bachelor, and while his living quarters were
crude, they were neat and comfortable. He was genuinely delighted to see
the boys, and he soon busied himself at the stove preparing supper.
After a hearty meal the lads were feeling more comfortable and their
hazardous adventure on the bay did not seem quite so perilous as they
looked back on it.
“I guess we won’t be able to get back to the city to-night,” said Frank
regretfully.
Amos Grice snorted.
“I wouldn’t hear of it!” he declared. “Couldn’t think of it! Just
suicide to try it. No, sir, you lads have got to spend the night with
me, and glad I am to have you. It’s seldom enough I have company here.”
“As long as you have room for us——”
“Of course I have room for you. There’s two big beds in the spare room,
and you’re more than welcome.”
A bell occasionally tinkled out in the store, and Amos Grice bustled
away to wait on a customer. However, there were few people in the little
village and the night was so wild and stormy that nearly everyone was
staying indoors, so the interruptions were few.
They chatted with the old man all that evening, sitting by the fire, and
eventually he showed them to a big room where the beds were already
made.
“Now,” he said, “sleep as long as you wish and I’ll have some breakfast
for you in the morning. No doubt your parents is worryin’ about you, and
I’d phone ’em if I could, to let ’em know you’re all safe and sound. But
the telephone wires is down somewhere along the line. They’ll likely be
fixed by morning.”
“Dad and mother will certainly be worrying about us,” said Joe.
“Can’t be helped,” returned Amos philosophically. “They’ll feel all the
better when they know you’re safe.”
The boys were tired and they fell asleep quickly. In the morning when
they awakened the sun was shining in the window. The storm was over. Out
in the kitchen a fire crackled in the stove and they could hear Amos
Grice moving about. There was a savory aroma of bacon and eggs and
coffee.
“He’s certainly a good scout!” declared Chet, as they dressed.
“Can’t be beat,” agreed Biff.
When the boys were washed and dressed, they went out into the kitchen.
“Sleep well?” inquired Amos.
“You bet!”
“That’s good. Breakfast is ready. Pull your chairs up to the table and
get on the outside of some bacon and eggs. There’s plenty, so don’t be
afeared to ask for second helpin’s.”
“Is the telephone working, Mr. Grice?” asked Frank. “I’d like to call
them up at home if I can.”
“Yep, the phone is workin’ again,” the storekeeper assured them. “I
know, because I was callin’ the operator this morning. Big doin’s in
Bayport last night.”
“What was that?” asked Joe, interested.
“Big robbery at the airport. One of them airplanes was robbed of a lot
of mail worth more’n twenty thousand dollars, so the telephone operator
was tellin’ me.”
The Hardy boys looked at one another in amazement. A second robbery at
the airport! Impulsively, Frank exclaimed:
“Ducroy again!”