"I had Morgan on the wire all right—and the fool operator cut me off!"
Sally snipped her wet fingers in my face.
"Hello, fool operator," she said.
"Hello, yourself," said I. "But oh, Sally, listen to that wind, and tell me how it sounds to you. A wet hug if you guess the answer."
"To me," said Sally, "it sounds plausible." And she got herself hugged.
III
I don't believe that anybody slept much Saturday night. You never heard such a storm in your life. It seemed to Sally and me, who would have been the chief sufferers if it had blown down, that our comfortable, brand-new marble house flapped like a flag. Every now and then there came a tremendous crack from one part of the island or another; and each time Sally would say, "There goes my favorite elm," or I would say, "There goes that elm again."
Most of the men came down to breakfast Sunday morning. What with the storm and the worry about stocks keeping them awake most of the night, they were without exception nervous and cross, particularly Billoo. He looked like an owl that had been first stuffed and then boiled. Blenheim told me later that at various times during the night he had carried four several pints of champagne to Billoo's room; and at 7 A.M., bicarbonate of soda and aromatic spirits of ammonia.
"I tell you, Sam," said Billoo crossly, "I've been awake all night thinking what it would mean to some of us—yes, me!—if this storm should wreck that ferry-boat of yours."
A lot of wet snow and wind hit the dining-room windows a series of rattling slaps.