“Let’s take to the middle of the street,” suggested Ned, when a broken shutter, crashing down, narrowly missed Bob.
“Guess that will be a good idea,” commented Jerry. “It will be a little safer there.”
“Unless a tree falls on us!” put in Andy. “That would be fierce! Smash down—crack your head—pin you fast—make you——”
“Andy!” cried Jerry warningly, “that will do.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot. I’ll remember. I——”
Ned gently, but firmly, placed his hand over the small lad’s mouth as they hurried on.
On every side were evidences of the raging storm. The streets were littered with debris, some thoroughfares being almost blocked. Many chimneys had been blown down, and one or two small frame houses had collapsed. The persons in them had barely escaped with their lives, and several had been injured.
There were pitiful scenes, and the boys made up their minds that they would come back and lend what aid they could to the unfortunates as soon as they had caught and made fast their fine boat.
“This certainly is fierce!” gasped Jerry, as they turned down a street leading to the river and felt the full force of the wind, which, for a space, had been broken by a row of houses. “I’m afraid we’ll never get that boat in time.”
“Oh, yes we will,” asserted Ned, confidently. “Don’t you dare say we won’t, Jerry Hopkins!”