It seemed to them as though solid sheets of water were coming down.

Yet the position of the tent, aided by the ditches, kept their floor dry.

Dan, peering out through the canvas doorway, reported that the ditches were running water at full capacity.
"This will all be over in an hour," hazarded Greg.
"It may, and it may not be," Dick rejoined.

"My own guess is that the storm will last for hours." As the howling wind gained in intensity it seemed as though the tent must be blown to ribbons, but stout canvas will stand considerable weather strain.
"If we had driven the wooden pins for the guy-ropes," muttered Greg, "everyone of them would have been washed loose by this time." "They would have been," Dick assented, "and the tent would now be down upon our heads, a drenched wreck.

As it is, I think we can pull through a night of bad weather." In an hour the flashes of lightning had become less frequent.
The wind had abated slightly, but there was no cessation of the downpour.
"I pity anyone who has to travel the highway in this storm," muttered Dave.