“Never mind that part of it, my son. I’ve spoken with the keeper, an’ he thinks it’ll do you good to take a spin out of doors. What about Fluff?”
“May I take him with me?”
“Sure; but I can’t say the wind won’t blow him away; it’s powerful strong, an’ he don’t carry much ballast.”
“He’ll be glad enough to stay in my arms most of the time,” Benny cried gleefully as he went in search of his reefer, which Joe Cushing, having been given a hint by Tom Downey as to what was proposed, had hung in front of the fire.
Had Benny taken all the clothing his “guardians” offered to loan, it would have been literally impossible for him to walk. He did accept, however, a pair of rubber boots many sizes too large, a woollen muffler, and a pair of mittens, and when these had been adjusted according to the advice of all hands, he looked like an animated bundle of clothing rather than a living boy.
Fluff was disposed of under the large reefer, and the party set out, Joe Cushing leading the way, with Sam Hardy walking by Benny’s side.
The boy observed that each of his companions put into his overcoat pocket a bar of wood, fashioned as if intended to be used as a handle, and three small packages looking not unlike sticks of soap, wrapped in paper. He afterward came to know that these last were Coston signals; that when a surfman finds it necessary to show a light, he inserts one of the packages or sticks into the wooden handle, and, striking it against a rock, or any hard substance, produces a brilliant light, many times more powerful than the ordinary “flare.”
In addition to these signals the men hung over their shoulders round leathern cases which looked much like the covering of a small clock or a large watch, and Sam Hardy said as they left the station:
“I’m allowin’, my son, you don’t understand the meanin’ of all this ’ere rigging; but keep your eyes open, an’ you’ll soon find out that we of the Service have more on hand than sittin’ ’round taking our ease, as a good many people credit us with doing.”