There was no reply, so the boys, after listening a moment to the pounding of the rain, the complaining of the river, the roar of the city which lay all around them, closed the door, producing the effect to one outside of obliterating the deck and the pier, the warehouse and the river, as if they had never existed at all.
“Jule will get soaking wet and take cold!” fretted a third voice as the door closed. “Besides, being on guard, he ought never to have left the boat!”
One of the boys who had stood in the doorway wiped the rain from his face as he listened and grinned at the other.
“No need to have a fit about it, even if Jule does get soaked,” he said. “But he won’t get wet,” he added, entirely for the benefit of the one who had grumbled, “he’ll be back here in a minute as dry as a pound of powder.”
“How’s he going to get through all that,” with a swing of the arm toward the door, “without getting wet? I suppose you think he’ll be able to dodge the drops!”
“Anyway, what’s the use of getting him wet and sick in our minds?” cut in another, good-naturedly. “That won’t help any. Most of the hard luck we’ve had lately never caught up with us—except in our minds!”
“Case”—Cornelius Witters where full names are insisted on—turned a dejected face to the others.
“He shouldn’t have gone out,” he grumbled.
“Speaking of hard luck that never caught up with us,” said Clay—he had inherited from his parents, his only inheritance, by the way, the name of Gayton Emmett—“do you remember the time we lost $50 by taking in a counterfeit bill?”
“Yes,” laughed Alex—Alexander Smithwick on state occasions—“we lost the $50 for one day and one night, until we could get to a bank. Then it wasn’t lost at all, for the note was genuine! You know the story how a man hired a professional worrier to take trouble off his mind? Suppose we hire one? I reckon he’d have enough to do.”