CHAPTER XII
CHARLIE HOUSE
"Look at that!" cried Joe.
"I should say so!" echoed his chum.
"Must have been a queer freak of the flood that could do that,"commented Mr. Piper.
"Me for a picture!" exclaimed Joe, as he got out the camera.
"Is there light enough?" questioned Blake.
"I guess so--for a short run of film," answered his chum, and then, asthe house, in its queer position, drifted down stream, and as the motorboat approached it, the occupants seeking a safe place to tie up for thenight, Joe got a series of moving pictures.
"There it goes--stranded!" cried Blake, when his friend had finishedgrinding away at the crank of the camera. And, as he spoke, the housecame to a sudden stop.
Probably the roof which was submerged in the water, had struck against asandbar, or some high place in the land that was under water.
At any rate, the upside-down dwelling turned slowly about, settled alittle to one side, and then remained stationary in the water. It hadstranded in a small cove, in which the moving picture boys, and theirtwo friends, had also decided to take shelter for the night.
"We'll tie up to that big tree over there," said Mr. Ringold, pointingto a large oak that overhung the water. "I think that will stand, eventhough the waters rise higher."
"Tie with a long rope," advised Mr. Piper. "The river may rise suddenlyin the night, and if we are held fast by a short cable, and can't risewith the 'tide,' we'll sink."
"I'll look out for that," promised the manager. "But I think the riveris not rising so fast now. We can tell when we get near shore."
"It looks like more rain," remarked Joe, with a glance at the sky. "Youwouldn't think there could be so much water; would you?"
"Hardly," agreed Blake.
The work of making the boat fast was soon finished. Certainly the oaktree to which they tied seemed, with its great trunk, and spread ofroots, strong enough to withstand many a flood.
"And now for supper!" cried Joe, it being his turn to prepare theevening meal. The gasoline stove was started, and soon the appetizingodor of ham and eggs floated over the flood waters, for our friends hadpurchased a supply at the last village where they had stopped to makeinquiries.
"I only hope Birdie Lee, and the rest of 'em, are having as good a mealas this," murmured Blake, as he passed his plate for a second helping."I'd give a good deal to know where they are now, and be able to helpthem."
"I think we all would," came from Mr. Ringold, and he spoke rathersolemnly. "It's strange we can't get any word of them," he went on. "Atthe next town we make, if they have any telegraph service, I am going towire my New York office, and ask if any word has been received there.Levinberg probably knows I'd be anxious about them, after hearing of theflood, and he might think to wire me."
"Pretty bad telegraph service, all along the river now, I guess,"commented Mr. Piper.
"But they may be able to get a message through, somehow," said themanager, hopefully. "We'll wait half a day or so, after I send thedispatch, in case an answer should come back."
Supper over, the bunks were arranged for the night. The weather wascalmer now than at any time since the storms began that had caused theflood. The sun shone through the clouds a little, as it set. Blake andJoe, on the after deck of the motor boat, looked about them. On allsides stretched a vast extent of waters. They had driven a stake in nearshore, and watched it to note the rise of the river. It was very slightnow.
"Say!" exclaimed Blake, as he glanced over toward the upside-down house,"let's go over there and look inside. Maybe we can find something ofvalue, that we might save for the owners."
"I'm with you," agreed Joe. Mr. Ringold offered no objection, and, aftercasting off the line, the motor boat was started up, proceeding slowlyto the side of the overturned dwelling. The craft was then made fast toa hook in one corner.
"Let's go in," proposed Blake, when they had gazed through a window fora moment, not being able, however, to distinguish much.
"How do you act in an upside-down house?" asked Joe.
"You have to walk on the ceiling, of course," answered his chum. "Theceiling is the floor and the floor the ceiling. Come on."
They crawled in through a window. As Blake had said, they had to step onthe ceiling, and with caution, too, for it was only lath and plaster.Over their heads was the floor, with the sagging carpet still tacked toit.
Of course all the furniture was on the ceiling, too, and it was in greatconfusion. Bureaus had fallen on their sides, smashing the plaster, andpictures had dropped from their hooks and lay on the ceiling. The housewas a flat-roofed one, and all of what had been the third story was nowunder water. The third story was now the cellar, and the cellar, or whathad corresponded to it, was the attic. Though, as the bottom of thecellar had been left on the ground when the house was washed from thefoundations, there was no roof to the "attic."
"Quite a mix-up!" murmured Joe, as they went from room to room, steppingover the tops of the door openings.
Beds and furniture were piled in confusion in the different rooms, muchof the stuff being broken. There were evidences, too, that water hadcome in some of the rooms, probably when the house turned over, but ithad drained out, and now the rooms on the middle or second story werecomparatively dry.
"Let's go upstairs, or, rather, downstairs, to the first story,"suggested Blake.
Once on the top, or, rather, bottom floor, the boys found moreconfusion. The dining room table had fallen with its legs in the air,and piled about it was a buffet and chairs. The dishes lay about, brokenand cracked.
In the kitchen the weight of the stove, falling from the floor to theceiling, had caused it to crash through the lath and plaster, in whichit was imbedded, partly covered by the cooking utensils.
"Nothing much of value here," commented Blake, as they walked about onthe ceilings.
"Let's go back up; or, rather, downstairs," suggested Joe.
"Find anything?" asked the manager.
"Nothing worth saving for the owners," Blake answered.
"Well, then, we'd better be getting back," suggested Mr. Piper. "It willsoon be dark, and there's no telling when this house may go adrift, orturn right-side up again. I don't want to be in it when it does."
They were about to crawl out of the window again, to get into theirboat, when a curious cry stopped them.
"Hark!" exclaimed Blake. "What was that?"
"It sounded like someone crying," said Mr. Piper.
"Mamma! Mamma!" came the plaintive call from one of the bedrooms.
"It is someone crying!" decided the manager.
"And in here, too," added Blake, as he made a turn in the direction ofthe sound.
Again it came--a pitiful cry:
"Mamma! I want you!"
"Where are you? Who are you?" asked Mr. Ringold, as he and the othersfollowed Blake.
And there, sitting up amid a pile of bedclothes in a corner, hithertounobserved, was a small boy, about eight years old. He had evidentlyjust awakened, and was starting to cry. He rubbed his sleepy eyes.
"Well, my little man, who are you?" asked the manager, kindly.
"I'm Charlie," was the answer, "and I want my mamma."
"Charlie; eh?" went on the manager. "Well, tell us your other name, andmaybe we can find your mamma for you. What's your last name?"
"Ain't got none. I'm just Charlie, and I want my mamma!" was the answer.
"Just Charlie," went on Mr. Ringold. "Well, I guess we'll have to takeyou along with us, and we'll try to find your mamma. Will you come withus, Charlie--er--well, 'just' Charlie?" and he smiled at the littlechap.
"Call him Charlie House," suggested Joe, with a smile. "We found him ina house, so call him Charlie House."
"Good idea! We will!" decided the manager. "Will you come with us,Charlie House?"
"Yes, I'll come with you," answered the boy, as he threw off thebedclothes
. "But my name is just Charlie."
"Well, Just Charlie, or Charlie House, come along then. I expect you'rehungry, and we'll feed you, and do all we can for you," the managersaid.
With the confidence of childhood, that knows no fear, the boy walkedover the ceiling toward the rescuers. His clothing was in disorder, andhis face was grimy from crying. Evidently, after the accident, he hadcried himself to sleep. How he came to be alone in the overturned housecould be but guessed.
"What's that?" suddenly cried Blake.
The whole house seemed to shake and tremble.
"She's adrift again, and going to turn over!" yelled Joe. "Come on!Let's get out!"
It was evident that the dwelling was going to be righted by the flood,for it tilted more and more.
The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood; Or, Perilous Days on the Mississippi Page 13
