“You’re welcome,” answered Bert, with a laugh.
The boy ran down and picked up the cat, all dripping wet as it was, in his arms. Evidently he loved animals, and if he had not been so excited he, himself, might have rescued his pet as Bert had done.
“I thought a child had fallen in,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.
“So did I,” agreed her husband. “But if we don’t hurry along we may all be as wet as that kitten. It’s going to rain hard soon. And with this wind it will be a driving rain so the top on the car won’t be much protection. It’s too much work to get up the side curtains. We’d better run for shelter.”
Leaving the boy with his wet cat calling out renewed thanks to Bert, the Bobbsey family started off once more. Now the sky was torn with jagged flashes of lightning, followed by low mutterings of thunder which seemed to come nearer and nearer.
“I guess this is Hitchville,” said Mr. Bobbsey, as they turned off a country road into a town. Very soon several signs told them that this guess was correct.
By this time the wind was blowing hard, the lightning was more vivid, and the thunder louder.
“Hadn’t we better run into some garage here?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband, as they passed along the main street of Hitchville.
“Wait until I find out how far it is to Cloverbank farm,” he suggested. “We may be able to get there before the storm breaks if it isn’t too far.”
He stopped to make inquiries of a traffic officer where the two main streets of Hitchville crossed, and the officer said Mr. Watson’s place was about two miles out, on the main road.