“It is! Look at the scare head!” and the speaker held out, for the inspection of his companion, a newspaper the front page of which fairly bristled with black type.
They were two youths, sitting under a cherry tree, on the green grass of a lawn which fronted a farmhouse. They were evidently taking their ease, or had been, for there were comfortable chairs near them, two hammocks, and a pile of magazines, while on a board seat, built into a crotch of the cherry tree, was a large pitcher of lemonade. And if that doesn’t show comfort on a warm, sunny June day I don’t know what does.
“Where’d you get that paper?” asked Joe Duncan, as he accepted the sheet his companion, Blake Stewart, passed over.
“It came in the mail, but I didn’t take it out of the wrapper until a second ago. It’s yesterday’s. Some news that; eh?”
“It sure is,” and as Joe began to read, Blake looked over his shoulder, murmuring such expressions as: “Worst flood in years! Many houses swept away! Toll of lives will be heavy! Many deeds of heroism! Mississippi on great rampage!”
What Blake gave expression to was merely quoted from some of the lines in the heading of the article that had so excited him and his chum. It was a telegraphed story of a big flood on the Mississippi, which, the article stated, was higher than it had been in years, while unusually heavy spring rains had added to the terrors of the rising waters.
“That sure is some flood!” murmured Joe, as he reached the bottom of the newspaper page, and turned the sheet over. “Hello!” he cried. “They’ve got some pictures of it, too!”
Almost all of the second page was taken up with half-tone cuts of scenes in the flooded districts. There were views of overturned houses being swept down a turbulent stream, pictures of half-demolished buildings, jammed together into a rude sort of raft, on which could be seen farm animals; views of whole towns partly inundated, and people being taken from roofs and out of third-story windows in small boats. It was a photographic story of untold misery and desolation.
“Yes, sir, that sure is some flood, Blake,” murmured Joe. “And do you know what I think?”
“I might make a guess at it, old man.”