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Page 5
"I wouldn't want to be on that vessel," remarked the brakeman as the
train, having stopped at a small station, started off again. "It's
beginning to rain now, and it will blow great guns before morning."
Several men, their faces bronzed from exposure to the weather, had
boarded the train. They talked quietly in one corner of the car.
"Who are they?" asked Larry, of the brakeman.
"Life savers, from the Anglesea station. Going to Tatums, I guess."
"What for?"
"Tatums is the life-saving station nearest where the vessel is
ashore. Maybe they are going to help in case she breaks up in the
storm. Tatums is about three miles below where you are going."
Larry began to see that he would have no easy task in getting news
of the wreck, or in transmitting it after he had it. But he was not
going to worry so early in the undertaking. So, when the brakeman
warned him that the train was nearing the water tank, which was all
that remained of interest to the railroad people at Miller's Beach,
the young reporter prepared to alight.
As he went out on the platform the wind increased in violence, and
then, with a rush and a roar, the rain began to fall in torrents.
Larry wished he could stay in the train, as he had no umbrella, but
there was no help for it. He leaped off the platform of the car
almost before it had stopped, and looked for a place of shelter. He
was surprised to see several large buildings in front of him, but
even through the mist of rain he noted that they were dilapidated
and forsaken. He was in the midst of a deserted seaside resort.
He hurried on, being wet through before he had gone a dozen steps.
Then he heard the train puffing away. It seemed as though he was
left all alone in a very lonesome place.
"Hi! Where you going?" a voice hailed him.
Larry looked up, to see a man clad in yellow oilskins and rubber
boots standing in front of him.
"I came down about the wreck," was the young reporter's reply.
"Got any folks aboard? If you have I'm sorry. She's broken her
back!"
"No; I'm a reporter from New York. What do you mean about breaking
her back?"
"Why, she ran away up on the bar at high tide. When it got low tide
a while ago the bows and stern just sagged down, and she broke in
two. They've got to work hard to save the passengers."
"That's a good story," was Larry's ejaculation, but it was not as
heartless as it sounds, for he was only speaking professionally. "I
must get down after it."
"What? With night coming on, the wreck almost half a mile out, and
it coming on to blow like all possessed?" asked the man in oilskins.
"Guess you don't know much about the sea, young man."
"Very little," answered Larry.
A sudden gust of wind, which dashed the rain with great force into
his face, nearly carried the reporter off his feet. He looked about
for a place of shelter.
"Better come with me," suggested the man. "There are no hotel
accommodations here, though there once were. I have a shack down on
the beach, and you're welcome to what I've got. I fish for a living.
Bailey's my name. Bert Bailey."
"Go ahead. I'll follow," returned Larry. "I'd like to get out of
this rain."
"Have to tog you out like me," said the old fisherman, as he led the
youth toward his hut. "These are the only things for this weather."
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