“Gee,” he exclaimed, “I never saw the Inner Channel cutting up like this! Come, look, Roy.”
It certainly did look tempestuous. The shore was almost hidden in the smother of rain. The river which an hour before had been like a mill-pond, was a gray-green waste of tumbling waves.
“I wouldn’t care to go out there in the canoe now,” said Roy.
“We might have some music,” observed Mr. Cole, “but I don’t believe we could much more than hear it.” As though to prove the truth of his assertion there came a dazzling flash of lightning and a burst of thunder that shook the boat until the china danced on the kitchen shelves.
“Thunder!” exclaimed Chub involuntarily.
“And lightning,” added Dick.
“Well,” said Mr. Cole, “find seats, boys, and be as comfortable as you can. This can’t last very long; it’s too severe. As long as the cables hold us to the shore we’re all right.”
Roy and Dick settled themselves on the window-seat, but for Chub the seething expanse of troubled water held a fascination and he remained at the window watching. Jack had crawled between his master’s knees and placed his head in his lap, trembling and glancing about affrightedly.
“Poor old boy,” said the artist, patting the dog’s head, “thunder just about scares him to death, doesn’t it, Jack?”
At that instant there was a sharp cry from Chub, and as the others sprang to their feet he turned a pale, excited face toward them.