“Wake up, everybody; here comes your first Norther!” he shouted at the top of his young and healthy voice.
[CHAPTER XVII.]
THE SHELTER BACK OF THE KEY.
“Oh! what happened?” Nick was heard to call out, in a tremulous voice.
“Get up and hustle! Show a leg here, or you’ll be frozen in your blanket!” George shouted, excitedly, for his canvas tent was wabbling in the wind like a thing possessed.
Of course, those in the other boats had little need to worry, since their hunting cabins protected them in a great measure from the violence of the gale. The neglect of George to have the same sort of contrivance placed on the Wireless, for fear lest it might reduce the great speed of the boat, always cost him dear when night came, or a storm howled about their ears. One has to pay in some way or other for his whistle; and George was a “speed crank” without any doubt.
For a short time it was feared that the tent on the Wireless would actually blow away. Half dressed, the pair aboard hung on with might and main to save the canvas, Nick’s teeth chattering tremendously as he shivered in the rapidly falling temperature.
It certainly did get cold in a hurry, too. Jack would never more smile when he heard old “crackers” tell about the terrors of a Norther. Why, in spite of the protection of the cabin walls, the bitter wind seemed to penetrate to their very marrow.
“Say, Jimmy, this is mighty tough on George and Nick,” he remarked to his boatmate, when the wind had passed its worst stage, but the cold seemed to be on the increase.