Varley surveyed the premises with a feeling of helplessness; they seemed to offer no more shelter than was given by the leafless boughs of the trees.
“No; nobody home!” he echoed.
The Shark grunted. “Ugh! Say, ’tis getting to rain!” One might suppose from his tone that this was a fresh discovery.
Varley nodded. As he did so, the motion sent a shower of drops flying from the visor of his cap.
The Shark gave a moment or two to consideration of the weather signs. Then he shook himself much in the manner of a dog emerging from a pond.
“Huh! Can’t say it looks like clearing. Still, you never can tell. So long’s we’re here, we might as well crawl in somewhere out of the wet, and wait a while.”
“Where’s a place to crawl in?”
The Shark stepped up to the door and gave a tug at the boards. They were tightly nailed.
“Huh! Nothing doing there,” he reported.
“Nothing doing,” Varley repeated dismally. His courage was good enough, but he was becoming acutely conscious of the physical drawbacks of the situation.