“Whew!”
“Some storm, Tom!”
“I shouldn’t fancy many gusts like that last one.”
Station Z quivered like an eggshell in the hand of a giant. A loose piece of wood from the roof of the operating cabin struck a sash, demolishing two panes of glass, and the iron framework rocked to and fro in the heaviest wind storm that had struck Sandy Point in years.
Tom Barnes glanced anxiously at the delicate wireless apparatus which shared sensitively in the pervading disturbance. His companion, Harry Ashley, was looking around for something to fasten over the broken window to shut out the driving rain.
It was three days after the Morgan incident, and Tom was now fairly in the wireless harness. It had been lowering weather all day, and Tom had been glad that the rain had held off until Grace Morgan, who, with her music teacher, had spent a delightful hour going over the wonders of Station Z, had gotten home before the tempest broke.
Tom had obtained his mother’s consent to his remaining all night at the tower. It was the current conviction among all coast wireless men that a stormy night usually brought urgent and important service. A storm generally meant distress of some kind at sea, and Tom wanted to be on hand in case of emergency, as he had promised Mr. Edson.
It was agreed that Harry Ashley should remain with him, and Mrs. Barnes had put up a fine lunch. About five o’clock when the wind began to rise with low rumblings of thunder in the distance and fitful gusts of wind, Tom held eye and attention close on the apparatus, ready for what might come.
Within an hour, however, his thoughts, as well as those of his companion, were mainly concerned in their own immediate environment. The storm was not accompanied by very vivid lightning, but the wind had risen to hurricane force.
Just before dusk a particularly severe gust broke down a large elm tree in sight. A little later a boat shed near the beach toppled over, and the fragments were carried like kindling wood out into the hissing, boiling surf.