“We’re going to have a night of it.”

Ben Jolly spoke the words with a grim conviction that had its effect upon his friends. Each could realize for himself that they were face to face with an emergency.

When the skylight was partly shattered by a loose board blown across the surface of the roof, and the pieces of shattered glass and rain came beating down, the flood of illumination quieted what might have been a panic. Jolly had jumped to the piano stool.

“There is no danger,” he shouted—“just a broken pane of glass of two.”

Then he had resumed his seat and dashed off into a lively tune. People could see now that they were in no immediate peril and could easily get out. The dripping rain, however, dampered their amusement ardor. There was a movement for the exit and the last film was left unfinished.

Frank had got to Randy as soon as he could. He did not wish the report to get out that the Wonderland was in any way unsafe, or have anyone leave the place feeling that he had not got his full money’s worth. He summoned Pep to his assistance after giving Randy a quick direction. The latter immediately proceeded to stamp the date and the seal of the Wonderland across some blank cards. Then he came out into the entrance archway with the others.

“Here you are!” shouted the lively Pep. “Everybody entitled to a free ticket. Good any night this week on account of to-night’s storm. Let no guilty man escape!”

“Ha! ha! very good.”

“This is liberal.”

The crowd was put in rare good humor by Frank’s happy thought. The doors were left open and those who did not wish to go out into the pelting storm, were told they were welcome to linger in the entrance and among the rear seats until the rain let up. Meantime, however, Jolly and Vincent were not idle. While their young friends were coaxing the audience into good humor, the former had found a ladder, of which there were several about the place. Vincent mounted it and got at the skylight.

It was pretty well broken and the wind threatened still further damage. Jolly remembered a large canvas tarpaulin in the cellar that had been used by the painters. By the time the front of the place was cleared of the people he and Vincent had the skylight well battened down and protected.

“We’re going to have a bad night,” he reported as he came down the ladder dripping. “A view of the beach from that roof to-night would make a great moving picture.”

“I hope the storm won’t move us, Mr. Jolly,” said Frank a trifle uneasily, as a fierce blast shook the building.

There was nothing to do but to doubly secure all the doors and windows. The roof of the living room proved to be leaky, but the use of pans and kettles to catch the water provided against any real discomfort.

“I think we had all better stay up,” suggested Jolly. “I was in one of these big coast storms a few years ago and before the night was through we had some work on hand, let me tell you.”

The speaker proceeded to light the gas stove, put on some coffee to boil and then announced that he was going to make some sandwiches. This suited all hands. It seemed sort of cheery to nest down in comfort and safety while the big storm was blowing outside. Pep and Randy began a game of checkers. Vincent was mending one of his speaking dolls. Frank was busy at his desk. They made quite a happy family party, when all chorused the word:

“Hello!”

“Lights out,” observed Jolly, himself the center of the only illumination in the room, proceeding from the gas stove.

“The electric current has gone off, that’s sure,” remarked Vincent. “That means trouble somewhere.”

They waited a few minutes, but the electric lights did not come on.

“Light the gas, Randy” suggested Frank. “I think we had better light one or two jets in the playhouse, too, so we can see our way if any trouble comes along.”

The playhouse was wired for electric lights, but had a gas connection as well. The jet in the living room was lighted.

Pep went out and set two jets going in the playhouse. They heard him utter a cry of dismay. Then he hailed briskly:

“Come out here. Something’s happened.”

They all rushed in from the living room. Something had, indeed, happened. Pep stood in half an inch of water, which was flowing in under the front doors.

“Why this rain must be a regular deluge!” cried Randy.

“It’s not rain,” sharply contradicted Pep.

“What is it, then?”

“Salt water. Hear that—see that!.”

During a momentary hush they could hear a long boom as if a giant wave was pounding the beach. Then a great lot of water sluiced in under the doors.

“Open up, Pep,” directed Frank, “we must see to this right away.”

The moment the doors were opened a lot of water flowed in. But for the incline it would have swept clear over the floor of the playhouse. Meeting the rise in the seats, however, it flowed in about fifteen feet, soaking the matting and coming nearly to the boys’ shoe tops. Then it receded and dripped away over the platform outside.

All along the beach the electric lights were out, but the incessant flashes of lightning lit the scene bright as day. Here and there among the stores lanterns were in use, even candles, and where they had gas it was in full play.

The beach clear up to the boardwalk was a seething pool now. Whenever a big swell came in it dashed over the walk and beat against the building lining it.

“See here,” cried Randy in a great state of perturbation, “there isn’t any danger of the boardwalk going; is there?”

“Part of it is gone already down near the slump,” declared Frank. “Look, you can see the beach from here. I hope the waves won’t upset any of the buildings.”

“They can’t, right here, Durham,” declared Jolly promptly. “You see, there’s a drop from us inland. The water will drain off, if it doesn’t come in too heavy.”

“I’ll bet there’s trouble over on the flats,” suggested Randy. “See the lights moving around.”

“Lock the doors, Pep,” spoke Jolly. “We’ll take a look around and see just how bad things are.”

It was no easy task maintaining their footing on the boardwalk, for it was slippery and at places gave where it had been undermined. Once a big wave swept over the exploring party and threw them in a heap against a building. People came running past them from the lower level of the Midway.

They could hear the life saving corps yelling orders and the storm bell sounding out constantly in the distance. It was as they came to the street that cut down past the National, that Frank and his friends paused to survey a scene of great excitement.

The street, as has been already noted, dropped away from the boardwalk to a depression fully twenty feet below its level. This made it a natural outlet, not only for the waves that beat up over the boardwalk, but also for what drained laterally on both sides.

“Why, it’s like a regular water course,” declared Frank. “I say, there’s someone needing help.”

“Just look at the National!” exclaimed Pep, as they returned from carrying some crying children away from the menace of the flood.

The rival playhouse stood at the lowest part of the depression. A long platform ran to its entrance. This was fully four feet under water and the lower story of the place was two steps lower down. Here the surplus water had gathered, growing deeper every minute. The street in front was impassable, and running two ways a veritable river, which cut off the National as if it was an island.

“I hope no one is in it,” said Frank.

“But there is!” cried Randy. “Look, Frank—that window at the side. Some one is clinging to the window frame.”

The flashes of lightning, indeed showed a forlorn figure at the spot Randy indicated. And then Vincent, after staring hard, cut in with the sharp announcement:

“It’s certainly Jack Beavers!”

“Hey, you!” yelled Pep, making a speaking trumpet of his hands and signaling Peter Carrington’s partner. “Help me fellows,” and Pep sprang upon a platform that had drifted away from its original place in front of some store.

Frank was beside him in a moment. Randy had got Jolly to help him tear loose a scantling from a step protection. He joined the others, using the board to push their unstable float along.

The water was over six feet deep and the scantling was not much help. A great gust of wind whirled them ten feet nearer to the playhouse building. At the same time it blew over the chimney on its top.

The boys saw the loosened bricks shower down past the clinging form in the window.

“He’s hit!” shouted Pep. “He’s gone down!”

Jack Beavers fell forward like a clod and disappeared under the swirling flood. In an instant the motion picture chums acted on a common impulse and leaped into the water after him.