“Impossible, my lad. You could not stand out there without being blown off.”
“But I must, uncle.—If the wind comes in—”
Whoo!
A tremendous squall struck the place, the shutter banged, the wooden dome roof rattled, and in the midst of the deafening din the wind drove in upon them with such force that they felt as if in the open air, and believed for the time that the round wooden top had been lifted off to go sailing away.
“That was a rum one, uncle,” cried Tom breathlessly. “Now then, I must go, before another comes.”
“No, no, my lad; life is of more consequence than observatories; it is not safe for you to go.”
“But I shall be all right if you hold me tightly,” cried Tom. “Come on.”
Uncle Richard gave way, and took a firm grip of the boy’s jacket as he climbed out through the shutter opening into the little gallery, where he reached over to get to the far edge of the shutter, to draw it to him, but the next moment he had crouched down and held on for dear life.
For, as if the storm had pounced upon him to tear him off the high building and sweep him away, down came the wind with a savage roar, and when for a few moments there was a slight lull, Tom yielded to the drag put on him by his uncle, and half climbed, half allowed himself to be lifted into the observatory.
“I never thought the wind could be so strong,” he panted breathlessly.