“Ha! That’s just the way! Everything goes wrong with me!” cried C. C. “I’ve a good notion to go back and not start until to-morrow. Something serious is bound to happen before this day is over. I’ve a notion to go back.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” persuaded Blake. “Mr. Ringold will be expecting you, and he will be disappointed.”
“Well, I’ll go on; but, mark my words, something will happen before we reach New York,” predicted C. C.
The moving picture boys purchased newspapers, not being particular what kind, as long as they contained fresh news of the big flood. They found more recent dispatches than those they had read at the farmhouse, and other pictures. As Mr. Piper had said, the raging Mississippi was higher than before, and the almost constant fall of rain, augmenting the streams that poured into the Father of Waters, added to the danger and desolation.
“Anything about our friends?” asked Blake of his chum, as the latter scanned the pages eagerly.
“No, I don’t see any mention of them. But it says several lives have been lost, and there is much suffering from lack of food and clothing.”
“Too bad! I wish we were out there now, and could help.”
The boys, pacing up and down the depot platform, rapidly glanced over the news sheets, and Joe suddenly uttered an exclamation.
“Here’s something!” he cried. “There are no names given, but in a dispatch from Hannibal it says that it is rumored a company of moving picture actors, and actresses, were carried away in a house that was swept down by the current.”
“That’s our crowd, all right,” declared Blake.