“Come out here. Something’s happened.”
They all rushed in from the living room. Something had, indeed, happened. Pep stood in half an inch of water, which was flowing in under the front doors.
“Why this rain must be a regular deluge!” cried Randy.
“It’s not rain,” sharply contradicted Pep.
“What is it, then?”
“Salt water. Hear that—see that!.”
During a momentary hush they could hear a long boom as if a giant wave was pounding the beach. Then a great lot of water sluiced in under the doors.
“Open up, Pep,” directed Frank, “we must see to this right away.”
The moment the doors were opened a lot of water flowed in. But for the incline it would have swept clear over the floor of the playhouse. Meeting the rise in the seats, however, it flowed in about fifteen feet, soaking the matting and coming nearly to the boys’ shoe tops. Then it receded and dripped away over the platform outside.
All along the beach the electric lights were out, but the incessant flashes of lightning lit the scene bright as day. Here and there among the stores lanterns were in use, even candles, and where they had gas it was in full play.