“Oh! look at Taff, father; he does look such a Guy Fawkes.”
Arthur turned upon him fiercely, and it suddenly occurred to Dick that he was in precisely the same costume; but he only laughed the more as, well equipped to meet the storm, they started for the beach.
“It’s ridiculous,” said Arthur, in tones of disgust, as they walked down towards the harbour under the lee of the houses. “There was no need to put on these wretched stiff things.”
Almost as the words left his lips they passed the last house, and—
Bang!—boom!—swirl!
A large wave struck the shore on a boulder slope and sent a deluge of water across the road, to strike the rock on the other side, and run back like a stream.
Arthur, was sent staggering, and would have fallen but for his father’s hand; and all three, but for their shiny garb, would have been soaked from head to foot.
“Oh, here’s a game!” cried Dick. “I say, Taff—run—run—here comes another.”
They escaped part of the wave, but Dick had his weather ear full, and the sea-water and foam streamed down their backs as they stood in the shelter of a bit of cliff.
“Well, Arthur, what do you say to your oilskins now?” said Mr Temple.