Dimly through the rain Ned and Bob could see their chum steering through a drive-way alongside of a white house on the left of the highway. They followed him, and soon found themselves in front of a barn, to which the drive-way led.
“Hurry up inside!” Jerry called. “And bring the machines in with you!”
The motors were stopped and three drenched boys trundled them into the shelter of the barn, the doors of which Jerry had found unlocked, and had managed to open.
“Whew! This is a storm!” exclaimed Ned, wiping the water from his eyes.
“Storm! I should say so—terrible—fearful! Worst one in twenty-one years! Hundreds of people struck! Houses burned! Barns blown over! Awful! Awful! Hello! Bob, Ned and Jerry! Where’d you come from? Glad to see you—come in—shut the door—get up in the hay and dry off—this is the worst ever!” and then the voice, that had uttered all this in one breath stopped, and the three chums who had started in surprise as the torrent of words began, turned to behold their friend Andy Rush.
“Well, how in the world did you get here?” asked Jerry, taking off his cap and wringing the water from it.
“On a visit—my Aunt Jane lives here—nice lady—she’ll be glad to see you—lots to eat—I’m having a fine time—came out here to feed the horse—storm came up—I didn’t want to get wet—say how’d you get here?”
“The same old Andy,” murmured Ned to Bob. “He’ll beat the storm for wind.”
“We were going to Huntsville on our motors,” Jerry explained, “and we got caught in the deluge. Do you suppose your aunt will mind if we stay here a while?”
“Not a bit—glad to have you—Whoop! That was a cracker—bet it struck the house!” cried Andy, as a louder clap of thunder than usual fairly shook the barn.