"The river is coming up at the rate of an inch an hour!” announced Mr. Miller, reading from the evening paper. “At one o’clock it was eighteen feet, and reports from the north indicate the highest water ever known on the Upper Mississippi.”
“Hurrah!” cheered Ned, who was sitting on the porch steps, waiting for supper, and had heard through the open window.
“Why, Ned!” rebuked his mother. “Think of all the suffering this means!”
“Well, anyway, the river’s booming,” ventured Ned, abashed. “It’s even with the railroad tracks. I was down looking at it after school.”
“I’m sorry for the poor people on the flats—the lowlands must be flooded,” continued Mrs. Miller.
“But they tie their houses to trees with ropes, and move into the second stories, and go about on rafts,” explained Ned, to whom such a plight was not without fun.
“Still, I fancy that these people don’t find their fix very amusing, Ned,” commented his father. “Nor is it humorous to the merchants to have their cellars swamped and their goods damaged.”
Ned temporarily subsided—meekly convinced of the serious phase of a freshet, but nevertheless seeing sport in prospect.
“Say, father,” he blurted out, in the midst of supper, “Hal——”