That was so like Adam. He could think of nothing but possible victims of
the storm. Mrs. Peck sniffed, and gathered the bedclothes back about her
in expressive silence. It was quite useless to argue with Adam when he
got the jumps. Experience had taught her that long since. She could only
resume her broken rest and hope that it might not be again disturbed.

Adam pulled on his clothes with his usual brisk deftness of movement and
went downstairs. The rising storm was calling him, and he could not be
deaf to the call. He had belonged to the lifeboat ever since he had come
to man's estate, and never a storm arose but he held himself ready for
service.

His first, almost instinctive, action was to take the key of the
lifeboat house from its nail in the kitchen. Then, whistling cheerily
below his breath, he set about laying the fire. The kettles were
already filled. Mrs. Peck always saw to that before retiring. There was
milk in the pantry, brandy in the cupboard. According to invariable
custom, all was in readiness for any possible emergency, and having
satisfied himself that this was the case, he thrust his bare feet into
boots and went to the door.

It had begun to rain. Great drops pattered down upon him as he emerged,
and he turned back to clap his sou'wester upon his head. Then, without
further preparation, he sallied forth.

As he went down the road that ran to the quay a terrible streak of
lightning reft the dark sky, and the wild crash of thunder that followed
drowned even the roaring babel of the sea.