“I wouldn’t mind the wet so much if we could get a hot cup of coffee,” spoke Bob, and his chums were so much of his opinion that they made no reference to his allusion to food.
“Speak of coffee and——” began Ned, not finishing the sentence, for with a wave of his hand he indicated a group of women, attired in men’s rubber coats, who were going about with a small cart, in which stood a steaming wash boiler full of it.
“Say, there’s my mother!” cried Jerry, and, sure enough, the wealthy widow, with some of her friends, was going about giving hot coffee to the drenched and weary workers. “That’s the stuff, Mother!” cried Jerry, heartily. “Got any left?”
“Indeed we have, boys!” answered Mrs. Rutledge, a neighbor of the Hopkinses.
A number of the volunteers surrounded the little cart, and soon the coffee was being enjoyed. Jerry hastily told his mother of saving the boat, and then, as there was still much to be done, the boys resumed their rescue labors.
Fortunately no fires had broken out to add to the horror, or the history of Cresville might have been different. As it was, damage was done that took years to repair.
But the storm was really too fierce to last a great while, and the wind gradually died down, though the rain continued to fall for some time.
But now most of the homeless had been given temporary shelter, and the injured sent to hospitals, or were taken care of in private houses. There was no more for the boys to do, and, at Jerry’s suggestion, they adjourned to his house, which was the nearest. There they put on some of his spare clothes, though Bob looked so funny in them that Ned and Jerry laughed.
“I don’t care,” said Bob. “I’m too worried to mind what you fellows say—or do.”
“You mean about your cousin and uncle?” asked Ned, sympathetically.