It was nearly sunset on the day the shipwrecked mariners had been conveyed to the city. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the sea was so calm that it was almost difficult to believe it could ever be aroused to a roaring fury.
The lookout on day-duty had come down to the station for supper, and the two whose time for patrol began at sunset were already eating the evening meal that they might be ready to set out at the exact moment.
Benny had been assisting the cook as usual, but was now waiting upon the men who were about to go on patrol.
Fluff, ten minutes previous, had whined for permission to go out of doors for a stroll, and, after learning that Maje was in the oil-room, where he usually found a shelter during exceedingly cold or stormy weather, Benny opened the door for his pet.
So white was Fluff, thanks to his master’s custom of giving him a bath every other day, that it was almost impossible to distinguish him in the gloom of early twilight while he remained on the snow, and Benny lost sight of him before he had gone a hundred feet from the building.
Then he was called by one of the men, and while attending to whatever trifling duty had been set him, it was observed that the boy appeared anxious.
“What’s the matter, Benjamin?” Sam Hardy asked. “Anything wrong with Mr. Fluff C. Foster?”
“I hope not, sir; but he disappeared so soon after leaving the house that I’m wondering if he didn’t get into the oil-room.”
“I reckon not, else we’d heard something from Maje before this. I’m goin’ out, though, an’ will look after him.”
Sam opened the door as he spoke, and at that instant Fluff could be heard in the distance, barking shrilly.