CHAPTER XXXV
THE RACE
In a little while the boat containing Peter was out of sight around the corner of the street. Larry thought it would be a good time to start in the right direction toward the telegraph office. Accordingly he told the man at the oars to head the craft the other way.
“I’ll bet they’re up to some trick,” the man said. “The fellow rowing that boat is a foxy chap. I think he suspects something.”
“Well, we’ll give him a race if we have to,” replied Larry.
If Larry had not been so intent on his errand he would have been interested in the strange sights all about him. The flooded city was alive with boats rowed or being propelled in all directions.
The people seemed to have gotten over their first fear, and, though there was much discomfort, they were making the best of circumstances. A large number of houses were under water to the second stories, and the families were living on the upper floors. A corps of men brought them food and supplies.
Fortunately the weather was mild for November, and there was little real suffering. There was not much food, but, now that the waters had ceased rising, trains were being sent over the railroad bearing goods of various sorts for the relief of the homeless ones.
On and on Larry’s boatman rowed him. It was quite a distance to the foot of the hill on which the telegraph tent was located, and progress was slow while they were threading their way in and out among the inundated streets. Care had to be taken, also, not to be struck with the floating débris that was swirling along on the current.
“Look behind you,” said the boatman suddenly to Larry, who was in the stern, facing the oarsman. The boy turned.