“That jolt pretty nearly got to us, Sam. I’ve been scouting out in the hall. I couldn’t see much, but it looks as if the whole corner had been torn out of the room on the other side. And the house—what’s left of it, I mean, is askew. Floor of the hall’s tilted like a hillside.”
Sam made reconnaissance for himself, and found that Tom had by no means exaggerated the conditions. He returned to the room, to discover that Orkney was again scratching at the chimney. From the neighborhood of the window Lon spoke:
“Boys, I dunno but we’ll have to move along pooty soon—water sure is climbin’ and climbin’. So as I hate to take a jump in the dark, as you might say, I guess I’ll go scoutin’ for some road that leads higher, too. Jest you wait here, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”
In a moment more they could hear him in the hall; but several minutes passed before he called out to the Shark to bring him what was left of the torch. The Shark obeyed; and, presently, there was a creak of rusty hinges, and Lon called out cheerily:
“It’s all right! Attic stairs jest about where I cal’lated they ought to be. That’s enough of the light, son. Put it out and save the pieces till we need ’em again.”
Then back came Lon and his torch-bearer to join Sam and Varley and Orkney in the nerve-testing task of waiting for the steadily rising flood to drive them from their refuge.
How long they waited none of them knew. To Sam it seemed to be hours and hours before a chance movement of his was marked by the splash of his foot in water. Through the open door a tidy little stream was pouring into the room from the hall.
Now the old house was creaking and groaning, and without were all the noises of the storm, but not one of the party missed that splash or misunderstood its meaning.
“Heh! Time to go, ain’t it?” Lon tried to speak lightly, but his tone betrayed his excitement.
“Yes, it’s time,” Sam said; his voice, too, was shaking.