One of the bathing house men ran out to help pull the bow of the boat up on the sands.
"Run along up to the hotel!" he cried. "There is no good shelter down here for you."
The moment they could do so the three girls leaped ashore. Thus relieved of their weight, the boat was the more easily dragged out of the reach of the waves, which now began to roll in madly. The lightning increased in its intensity, the thunder reverberated from the bluff. The tempest was at its height when they hastened to mount the winding wooden stair.
"Oh, my blister! Oh, my blister!" moaned Nell, as she climbed upward.
"Everything I've got on sticks to me like a twin sister," declared Amy Drew. "Oh, dear! How shall we ever get home in these soaked rags?"
"We must go to the hotel," cried Jessie. "Come on."
She was the first to reach the top of the stairs. There was a garden and lawn to cross to reach the veranda. As the rain was beating in from this direction none of the hotel guests was on this side of the house. The three wet girls ran as hard as they could for shelter.
Just as Jessie, leading the trio, came up the veranda steps, she heard a loud and harsh voice exclaim:
"Well, of all things! I'd like to know what you girls think you are doing here? You have no business at this hotel. Go away!"
Jessie almost stopped, and Amy and Nell ran into her.
"Oh, do go on!" cried Amy. "Let us get inside somewhere----"
"Well, I should say _not_!" broke out the harsh voice again, and the three Roselawn girls beheld Belle Ringold and Sally Moon confronting them on the piazza. "Just look at what wants to get into the hotel, Sally! Did you ever?"
"They look like beggars," laughed Sally. "The manager would give them marching orders in a hurry, I guess."
"Do let us in out of the rain," Jessie said faintly. She did not know but perhaps the hotel people would object to strangers coming inside. But Amy demanded:
"What do you think you have to say about it, Belle Ringold? Is this something more that you or your folks own? Do go along, Belle, and let us pass."
"Not much; you won't come in here!" declared Belle, setting herself squarely in their way. "No, you don't! That door's locked, anyway. It belongs to Mrs. Olliver's private suite--Mrs. Purdy Olliver, of New York. I am sure she won't want you bedrabbled objects hanging around her windows."