with the draught created. Bailey soon had a hot meal ready, and
Larry did full justice to it.

"Now we'll go out on the beach," the fisherman said, as he donned
his oilskins, and got out a suit for Larry. The youth looked like
anything but a reporter when he put on the boots and tied the
yellow hat under his chin, for otherwise the wind would have whipped
it off in an instant.

They closed up the hut, leaving a lantern burning in it, and started
down toward the ocean. Through the darkness Larry could see a line
of foam where the breakers struck the beach. They ran hissing over
the pebbles and broken shells, and then surged back again. As the
two walked along, a figure, carrying a lantern and clad as they
were, in yellow oilskins, loomed up in the darkness.

"Hello, George!" cried Bailey, above the roar of the wind. "Going to
get the boat out?"

"Not to-night. I signalled down to the station, but they flashed
back that the surf was too high. We'll try the buoy in the morning,
if the ship lasts that long, which I'm afraid she won't, for she's
being pounded hard."

"The station where they keep the life-boat is about two miles below
where we are now," Bailey explained to Larry. "We'll go down in the
morning."

Suddenly a series of lights shot into the air from out at sea.