fighting the flames, by r.m. ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ this is one of the books by ballantyne in which he describes one of the main institutions of british life--the fire brigade. of course he wraps a good story into this description, but you come away with a good idea of how the fire brigade functioned in those days. bear in mind that there were no motors--the fire-engines were drawn by galloping horses. there were no telephones, and the alarm was raised by someone running to the fire station. more than that, there was a system for alerting any adjacent fire stations, so that better cover could be given to the district as a whole. the power for the pumps was from men, and to rescue anyone the fireman had to ascend a ladder, hunt for the person, and carry him or her back down the ladder, all done with unsophisticated gear. injuries to firemen, or even their death, were frequent. we are also introduced to the floating fire engine, that could attend a fire by the river-side, usually in one of the very vulnerable ware- houses. ________________________________________________________________________ fighting the flames, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. how the fight began. one's own fireside is, to all well-regulated minds, a pleasant subject of contemplation when one is absent, and a source of deep gratification when present. especially may this be said to be the case in a cold, raw night in november, when mankind has a tendency to become chronically cross out of doors, and nature, generally, looks lugubrious; for, just in proportion as the exterior world grows miserably chill, the world "at home," with its blazing gas, its drawn curtains, its crackling fires, and its beaming smiles, becomes doubly comfortable and cosy. even james auberly, pompous, stern, and ungenial though he was, appeared to entertain some such thoughts, as he sat by his own fireside, one such night, in his elegant mansion in beverly square, euston road, london; and smiled grimly over the top of the _times_ newspaper at the fire. mr auberly always smiled--when he condescended to smile--grimly. he seldom laughed; when he did so he did it grimly too. in fact, he was a grim man altogether; a gaunt, cadaverous, tall, careworn, middle-aged man--also a great one. there could be no question as to that; for, besides being possessed of wealth, which, in the opinion of some minds, constitutes greatness, he was chairman of a railway company, and might have changed situations with the charwoman who attended the head office of the same without much difference being felt. he was also a director of several other companies, which, fortunately for them, did not appear to require much direction in the conduct of their affairs. mr auberly was also leader of the fashion, in his own circle, and an oracle among his own parasites; but, strange to say, he was nobody whatever in any other sphere. cabmen, it is true, appeared to have an immense respect for him on first acquaintance, for his gold rings and chains bespoke wealth, and he was a man of commanding presence, but their respect never outlived a first engagement. cabmen seldom touched their hats to mr auberly on receiving their fare; they often parted from him with a smile as grim as his own, and once a peculiarly daring member of the fraternity was heard blandly to request him to step again into the cab, and he would drive him the "nine hundred and ninety-ninth part of an inch that was still doo on the odd sixpence." that generous man even went further, and, when his fare walked away without making a reply, he shouted after him that "if he'd only do 'im the honour to come back, he'd throw in a inch an' a half extra for nothink." but mr auberly was inexorable. "louisa, dear," said mr auberly, recovering from the grim smile which had indicated his appreciation of his own fireside, "pour me out another cup of coffee, and then you had better run away to bed. it is getting late." "yes, papa," replied a little dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, laying down her book and jumping up to obey the command. it may be added that she was also dark-dressed, for mr auberly had become a widower and his child motherless only six months before. while louisa was pouring out the coffee, her father rose and turned his back to the fire. it was really interesting, almost awe-inspiring, to behold mr auberly rise; he was so very tall, and so exceedingly straight. so remarkably perpendicular was he, so rigidly upright, that a hearty but somewhat rude sea-captain, with whom he once had business transactions, said to his mate on one occasion that he believed mr auberly must have been born with a handspike lashed to his backbone. yes, he was wonderfully upright, and it would have been downright madness to have doubted the uprightness of the spirit which dwelt in such a body; so nobody did doubt it, of course, except a few jaundiced and sceptical folk, who never could be got to believe anything. "good-night, my love," said mr auberly, as the child placed the coffee beside his chair, and then advanced, somewhat timidly, and held up her cheek to be kissed. the upright man stooped, and there was a shade less of grimness in his smile as his lips touched his daughter's pale cheek. louisa, or, to use the name by which she was better known in the house, loo, had clasped her hands tightly together while she was in the act of receiving this tribute of parental affection, as if she were struggling to crush down some feeling, but the feeling, whatever it was, would not be crushed down; it rose up and asserted itself by causing loo to burst into a passionate flood of tears, throw her arms round her father's neck, and hold him tight there while she kissed his cheek all over. "tut, tut, child!" exclaimed mr auberly, endeavouring to re-arrange the stiff collar and cravat, which had been sadly disordered; "you must really try to get over these--there, don't be cast down," he added, in a kinder tone, patting loo's head. "good-night, dear; run away to bed now, and be a good girl." loo smiled faintly through her tears as she looked up at her father, who had again become upright, said "good-night," and ran from the room with a degree of energy that might have been the result of exuberant spirits, though possibly it was caused by some other feeling. mr auberly sat for some time, dividing his attentions pretty equally between the paper, the fire, and the coffee, until he recollected having received a letter that day which he had forgotten to answer, whereupon he rose and sat down before his writing-table to reply. the letter was from a poor widow, a sister-in-law of his own, who had disgraced herself for ever--at least in mr auberly's eyes--by having married a waterman. mr auberly shut his eyes obstinately to the fact that the said waterman had, by the sheer force of intelligence, good conduct, courage, and perseverance, raised himself to the command of an east indiaman. it is astonishing how firmly some people can shut their eyes--sew them up, as it were, and plaster them over--to some things, and how easily they can open them to others! mr auberly's eyes were open only to the fact that his sister-in-law had married a waterman, and that that was an unpardonable sin, for which she was for ever banished from the sunshine of his presence. the widow's letter set forth that since her husband's death she had been in somewhat poor circumstances--though not in absolute poverty--for which she expressed herself thankful; that she did not write to ask for money, but that she had a young son--a boy of about twelve--whom she was very anxious to get into a mercantile house of some sort, and, knowing his great influence, etcetera, etcetera, she hoped that, forgetting, if not forgiving, the past, now that her husband was dead, he would kindly do what he could, etcetera, etcetera. to this mr auberly replied that it was impossible to forgive the past, but he would do his best to forget it, and also to procure a situation for her son (though _certainly_ not in his own office), on one consideration, namely, that she, the widow, should forget the past also--including his own, mr auberly's, existence (as she had once before promised to do), and that she should never inform her son, or any other member of her family--if there happened to be any others members of it--of the relationship existing between them, nor apply to him by visit or by letter for any further favours. in the event of her agreeing to this arrangement, she might send her son to his residence in beverly square, on thursday next, between eleven and twelve. just as he concluded this letter a footman entered softly and laid a three-cornered note on the table. "stay, hopkins, i want you," said mr auberly, as he opened the note and ran his eye over it. hopkins, who was clad in blue velvet and white stockings, stood like a mute beside his master's chair. he was very tall and very thin, and very red in the nose. "is the young woman waiting, hopkins?" "yes, sir; she's in the lobby." "send her up." in a few seconds hopkins reopened the door, and looked down with majestic condescension on a smart young girl whom he ushered into the room. "that will do; you may go--stay, post this letter. come here, young woman." the young woman, who was evidently a respectable servant-girl, approached with some timidity. "your name is matty merryon, i understand (yes, sir), at least so your late mistress, miss tippet, informs me. pray, what does matty stand for?" "martha, sir." "well, martha, miss tippet gives you a very good character--which is well, because i intend you to be servant to my child--her maid; but miss tippet qualifies her remarks by saying that you are a little careless in _some_ things. what things are you careless in?" "la! sir--" "you must not say `la!' my girl," interrupted mr auberly with a frown, "nor use exclamations of any kind in my presence; what are the `some things' referred to?" "sure i don't know, sir," said the abashed matty. "i s'pose there's a-many things i ain't very good at; but, please, sir, i don't mean to do nothin' wrong, sir, i don't indeed; an' i'll try to serve you well, sir, if it wor only to plaaze my missis, as i'm leavin' against my will, for i love my--" "there, that will do," said mr auberly somewhat sternly, as the girl appeared to be getting excited. "ring that bell; now, go downstairs and hopkins will introduce you to my housekeeper, who will explain your duties to you." hopkins entered and solemnly marched martha merryon to the regions below. mr auberly locked away his papers, pulled out his watch, wound it up, and then, lighting a bedroom candle, proceeded with much gravity upstairs. he was a very stately-looking man, and strikingly dignified as he walked upstairs to his bedroom--slowly and deliberately, as though he were marching at his own funeral to the tune of something even deader than the "dead march in saul." it is almost a violation of propriety to _think_ of mr auberly doing such a very undignified thing as "going to bed!" yet truth requires us to tell that he did it; that he undressed himself as other mortals do; that he clothed himself in the wonted ghostly garment; and that, when his head was last seen--in the act of closing the curtains around him-- there was a conical white cap on it, tied with a string below the chin, and ornamented on the top with a little tassel, which waggled as though it were bidding a triumphant and final adieu to human dignity! half an hour later, mrs rose, the housekeeper, a matronly, good-looking woman, with very red cheeks, was busy in the study explaining to matty merryon her duties. she had already shown her all over the house, and was now at the concluding lesson. "look here now, merryon," began the housekeeper. "oh, please don't call me merryon--i ain't used to it. call me matty, _do_ now!" "very well, matty," continued mrs rose, with a smile, "i've no objection; you irish are a strange race! now, look here. this is master's study, and mind, he's very partikler, dreadful partikler." she paused and looked at her pupil, as if desirous of impressing this point deeply on her memory. "he don't like his papers or books touched; not even dusted! so you'll be careful not to dust 'em, nor to touch 'em even so much as with your little finger, for he likes to find 'em in the mornin' just as he left 'em at night." "yes, mrs rose," said matty, who was evidently giving up her whole soul to the instruction that was being imparted. "now," continued the housekeeper, "the arranging of this room will be your last piece of work at night. you'll just come in, rake out the grate, carry off the ashes, lay the noo fire, put the matches handy on the chimney-piece, look round to see that all's right, and then turn off the gas. the master is a early riser, and lights the fire his-self of a mornin'." "yes, 'm," said matty, with a courtesy. "now, go and do it," said mrs rose, "that i may see you understand it. begin with the grate an' the ashes." matty, who was in truth an experienced maid-of-all-work, began with alacrity to discharge the duties of her new station. she carried off the ashes, and returned with the materials for next day's fire in a shovel. here she gave a slight indication of her so-called carelessness (awkwardness would have been more appropriate) by letting two or three pieces of stick and a bit of coal fall on the carpet, in her passage across the room. "be careful, matty," said mrs rose gently. "it's all owin' to haste. take your time, an' you won't do such things." matty apologised, picked up the materials, and laid the fire. then she took her apron and approached the writing-table, evidently with the intention of taking the dust off the corners, but not by any means intending to touch the books or papers. "stop!" cried mrs rose sternly. matty stopped with a guilty look. "not a touch," said mrs rose. "not even the edges, nor the legs?" inquired the pupil. "neither edges nor legs," said the instructor. "sure it could do no harm." "matty," said mrs rose solemnly, "the great thing that your countrywomen have to learn is _obedience_." "thank 'ee, 'm," said matty, who, being overawed by the housekeeper's solemnity, felt confused, and was uncertain whether the reference to her countrywomen was complimentary or the reverse. "now," continued mrs rose, "the matches." matty placed the box of matches on the chimney-piece. "very well; now you've got to look round to see that all's right." matty looked round on the dark portraits that covered the walls (supposed to be ancestors), on the shelves of books, great and small, new and old (supposed to be read); on the vases, statuettes, chairs, tables, desks, curtains, papers, etcetera, etcetera, and, being utterly ignorant of what constituted right and what wrong in reference to such things, finally turned her eyes on mrs rose with an innocent smile. "don't you see that the shutters are neither shut nor barred, matty?" she had _not_ seen this, but she at once went and closed and barred them, in which operation she learned, first, that the bars refused to receive their respective "catches," with unyielding obstinacy for some time; and, second, that they suddenly gave in without rhyme or reason and pinched her fingers severely. "now then, what next?" inquired mrs rose. "put out the gas," suggested matty. "and leave yourself in the dark," said the housekeeper, in a tone of playful irony. "ah! sure, didn't i forgit the candle!" in order to rectify this oversight, matty laid the unlighted candle which she had brought with her to the room on the writing-table, and going to the chimney-piece, returned with the match-box. "be careful now, matty," said mrs rose earnestly. "there's nothink i've such a fear of as fire. you can't be too careful." this remark made matty, who was of an anxious temperament, extremely nervous. she struck the match hesitatingly, and lighted the candle shakily. of course it would not light (candles never do on such occasions), and a long red-hot end of burnt wood projected from the point of the match. "don't let the burnt end drop into the wastepaper basket!" exclaimed mrs rose, in an unfortunate moment. "where?" exclaimed matty with a start that sent the red-hot end into the centre of a mass of papers. "there, just at your feet; don't be so nervous, girl!" cried mrs rose. matty, in her anxiety not to drop the match, at once dropped it into the waste-paper basket, which was instantly alight. a stamp of the foot might have extinguished it, but this did not occur to either of the domestics. the housekeeper, who was a courageous woman, seized the basket in both hands and rushed with it to the fireplace, thereby fanning the flame into a blaze and endangering her dress and curls. she succeeded, however, in cramming the basket and its contents into the grate; then the two, with the aid of poker, tongs, and shovel, crushed and beat out the fire. "there! i said you'd do it," gasped mrs rose, as she flung herself, panting, into mr auberly's easy-chair; "this comes of bein' in a hurry." "i was always unfort'nit," sighed matty, still holding the shovel and keeping her eye on the grate, as if ready to make a furious attack on the smallest spark that should venture to show itself. "come, now, we'll go to bed," said mrs rose, rising, "but first look well round to see that all is safe." a thorough and most careful investigation was made of the basket, the grate, and the carpet surrounding the fireplace, but nothing beyond the smell of the burnt papers could be discovered, so the instructor and pupil put out the gas, shut the door, and retired to the servants'-hall, where hopkins, the cook, the housemaid, and a small maid-of-all-work awaited their arrival--supper being already on the table. here mrs rose entertained the company with a graphic--not to say exaggerated--account of the "small fire" in the study, and wound up with an eloquent appeal to all to "beware of fire," and an assurance that there was nothing on the face of the whole earth that she had a greater horror of. meanwhile the "little spark" among the papers--forgotten in the excitement of the succeeding blaze of the waste-paper basket--continued to do its slow but certain work. having fallen on the cloth between two bundles, it smouldered until it reached a cotton pen-wiper, which received it rather greedily in its embrace. this pen-wiper lay in contact with some old letters which were dry and tindery in their nature, and, being piled closely together in a heap, afforded enlarged accommodation, for the "spark," which in about half an hour became quite worthy of being termed a "swell." after that things went on like--"like a house on fire"--if we may venture to use that too often misapplied expression, in reference to the elegant mansion in beverly square on that raw november night. chapter two. another little "spark." whistling is a fine, free, manly description of music, which costs little and expresses much. in all its phases, whistling is an interesting subject of study; whether we regard its aptitude for expressing personal independence, recklessness, and jollity; its antiquity--having begun no doubt with adam--or its modes of production; as, when created grandly by the whistling gale, or exasperatingly by the locomotive, or gushingly by the lark, or sweetly by the little birds that "warble in the flowering thorn." the peculiar phase of this time-honoured music to which we wish to draw the reader's attention at present, is that which was exemplified one november night (the same november night of which mention has been made in the previous chapter) by a small boy who, in his progress through the streets of london, was arrested suddenly under the shadow of st. paul's by the bright glare and the tempting fare of a pastry-cook's window. being hungry, the small boy, thrusting his cold hands deep into his empty trouser-pockets, turned his fat little face and round blue eyes full on the window, and stared at the tarts and pies like a famishing owl. being poor--so poor that he possessed not the smallest coin of the realm--he stared in vain; and, being light of heart as well as stout of limb, he relieved his feelings by whistling at the food with inexpressible energy. the air selected by the young musician was jim crow--a sable melody high in public favour at that time--the familiar strains of which he delivered with shrill and tuneful precision, which intensified as he continued to gaze, until they rose above the din of cabs, vans, and 'busses; above the house-tops, above the walls of the great cathedral, and finally awakened the echoes of its roof, which, coming out, from the crevices and cornices where they usually slept, went dancing upwards on the dome, and played around the golden cross that glimmered like a ghost in the dark wintry sky. the music also awakened the interest of a tall policeman whose beat that night chanced to be st. paul's churchyard. that sedate guardian of the night, observing that the small boy slightly impeded the thoroughfare, sauntered up to him, and just as he reached that point in the chorus where mr crow is supposed to wheel and turn himself about, spun him round and gave him a gentle rap on the head with his knuckles, at the same time advising him to move on. "oh!" exclaimed the small boy, looking up with an expression of deep concern on his countenance, as he backed off the pavement, "i _hope_ i didn't hurt you, bobby; i _really_ didn't mean to; but accidents will happen, you know, an' if you won't keep your knuckles out of a feller's way, why--" "come," muttered the policeman, "shut up your potato-trap for fear you catch cold. your mother wants you; she's got some pap ready for you." "ha!" exclaimed the small boy, with his head a little on one side, as though he were critically inspecting the portrait of some curious animal, "a prophet it is--a blue-coated prophet in brass buttons, all but choked with a leather stock--if not conceit. a horacle, six fut two in its stockin's. i say, bobby, whoever brought you up carried you up much too high, both in body and notions. wot _wouldn't_ they give for 'im in the guards, or the hoss-marines, if he was only eight inches wider across the shoulders!" seeing that the policeman passed slowly and gravely on without condescending to take further notice of him, the small boy bade him an affectionate farewell; said that he would not forget to mention him favourably at head-quarters, and then continued his progress through the crowded streets at a smart pace, whistling jim crow at the top of his shrill pipe. the small boy had a long walk before him; but neither his limbs, spirits, nor lips grew weary by the way. indeed, his energies seemed to increase with every step, if one might judge from the easy swagger of his gait, and the various little touches of pleasantry in which he indulged from time to time; such as pulling the caps over the eyes of boys smaller than himself, winking at those who were bigger, uttering indian war-whoops down alleys and lanes that looked as if they could echo, and chaffing all who appeared to be worthy of his attentions. those eccentricities of humour, however, did not divert his active mind from the frequent and earnest study of the industrial arts, as these were exhibited and exemplified in shop-windows. "jolly stuff that, ain't it?" observed another small boy, in a coat much too long for him, as they met and stopped in front of a chocolate-shop at the top of holborn hill, where a steam-engine was perpetually grinding up such quantities of rich brown chocolate, that it seemed quite unreasonable, selfish, and dog-in-the-manger-ish of the young man behind the counter to stand there, and neither eat it himself, nor let anyone else touch it. "yes, it's very jolly stuff," replied the first small boy, regarding his questioner sternly. "i know you'd like some, wouldn't you? go in now an' buy two pen'orth, and i'll buy the half from you w'en you come out." "_walker_!" replied the boy in the long coat. "just so; and i'd advise you to become a walker too," retorted the other; "run away now, your master's bin askin' after you for half an hour, _i_ know, and more." without waiting for a reply, the small boy (our small boy) swaggered away whistling louder than ever. passing along holborn, he continued his way into oxford street, where the print-shop windows proved irresistibly attractive. they seemed also to have the effect of stimulating his intellectual and conceptive faculties, insomuch that he struck out several new, and, to himself, highly entertaining pieces of pleasantry, one of which consisted of asking a taciturn cabman, in the meekest of voices: "please, sir, you couldn't tell me wot's o'clock, could you?" the cabman observed a twinkle in the boy's eye; saw through him; in a metaphorical sense, and treated him with silent contempt. "oh, i beg pardon, sir," continued the small boy, in the same meek tone, as he turned to move humbly away; "i forgot to remember that cabbies don't carry no watches, no, nor _change_ neither, they're much too wide awake for that!" a sudden motion of the taciturn cabman caused the small boy to dart suddenly to the other side of the crowded street, where he resumed his easy independent air, and his interrupted tune. "can you direct me to nottin' hill gate, missus?" he inquired of an applewoman, on reaching the neighbourhood of tottenham court road. "straight on as you go, boy," answered the woman, who was busying herself about her stall. "very good indeed," said the small boy, with a patronising air; "quite correctly answered. you've learnt geography, i see." "what say?" inquired the woman, who was apparently a little deaf. "i was askin' the price o' your oranges, missus." "one penny apiece," said the woman, taking up one. "they ain't biled to make 'em puff out, are they?" to this the woman vouchsafed no reply. "come, missus, don't be cross; wot's the price o' yer apples now?" "d'you want one?" asked the woman testily. "of course i does." "well, then, they're two a penny." "two a penny!" cried the small boy, with a look of surprise; "why, i'd 'a said they was a penny apiece. good evenin', missus; i never buys cheap fruit--cheap and nasty--no, no; good evenin'." it seemed as if the current of the small boy's thoughts had been diverted by this conversation, for he walked for some time with his eyes cast on the ground, and without whistling, but whatever the feelings were that might have been working in his mind, they were speedily put to flight by a facetious butcher, who pulled his hat over his eyes as he passed him. "now then, pig-sticker, what d'ye mean by that?" he shouted, but as the butcher walked on without deigning to reply, he let off his indignation by yelling in at the open door of a tobacco-shop and making off at a brisk run. from this point in his progress, he became still more hilarious and daring in his freaks, and turned aside once or twice into narrow streets, where sounds of shouting or of music promised him fresh excitement. on turning the corner of one of those streets, he passed a wide doorway, by the side of which was a knob with the word fire in conspicuous letters above it, and the word bell below it. the small boy paused, caught his breath as if a sudden thought had struck him, and glanced round. the street was comparatively quiet; his heart beat high; he seized the bell with both hands, pulled it full out, and bolted! now it chanced that one of the firemen of the station happened to be standing close to the door, inside, at the time. he, guessing the meaning of the ring at once, darted out and gave chase. the small boy fled on the wings of terror, with his blue eyes starting from their sockets. the fireman was tall and heavy, but he was also strong and in his prime, so that a short run brought him up with the fugitive, whom he seized with a grip of iron. "now, then, young bottle-imp, what did you mean by that?" "oh! please, sir," gasped the small boy, with a beseeching look, "i _couldn't_ help it." there was such a tone of truthfulness in this "_couldn't_" that it tickled the fireman. his mouth relaxed in a quiet smile, and, releasing his intended victim, he returned to the station, while the small boy darted away in the direction of oxford street. he had scarcely reached the end of the street, however, when a man turned the corner at full speed and ran him down--ran him down so completely that he sent him head-over-heels into the kennel, and, passing on, darted at the fire-bell of the station, which he began to pull violently. the man was tall and dishevelled, partially clad in blue velvet, with stockings which had once been white, but were now covered from garter to toe with mud. one shoe clung to his left foot, the other was fixed by the heel in a grating over a cellar-window in tottenham court road. without hat or coat, with his shirt-sleeves torn by those unfortunates into whose arms he had wildly rushed, with his hair streaming backwards, his eyes blood-shot, his face pale as marble, and perspiration running down his cheeks, not even his own most intimate friends would have recognised hopkins--the staid, softspoken, polite, and gentle hopkins-- had they seen him that night pulling like a maniac at the fire-bell. and, without doubt, hopkins _was_ a maniac that night--at least he was afflicted with temporary insanity! chapter three. fire!!! "hallo, that'll do, man!" cried the same stalwart fireman who had seized the small boy, stepping out and laying his hand on hopkins's shoulder, whereabouts is it? hopkins heard him not. one idea had burnt itself into the poor man's brain, and that was the duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell! seeing this, the fireman seized him, and dragged him forcibly--almost lifted him--into the station, round the door of which an eager crowd had already begun to collect. "calm yourself," said the stalwart fireman quietly, as he thrust hopkins down into a chair. "consider now. you'll make us too late if you don't speak. where is it?" "b-b-fire!" yelled hopkins, gasping, and glaring round him on the men, who were quietly putting on their helmets. hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his captor, and, rushing out, seized the bell-handle, which he began to pull more furiously than ever. "get her out, jim," said the fireman in a low tone to one of his comrades ("her" being the engine); at the same time he went to the door, and again seizing hopkins, brought him back and forced him into a chair, while he said firmly: "now, then, out with it, man; where's the fire?" "yes, yes," screamed hopkins, "fire! fire that's it! b-! b-beverly!-- blazes!--square!--number--fire!" "that'll do," said the fireman, at once releasing the temporary maniac, and going to a book where he calmly made an entry of the name of the square, the hour of the night, and the nature of the call. two lines sufficed. then he rose, put on his helmet, and thrust a small hatchet into his belt, just as the engine was dragged to the door of the station. there was something absolutely magnificent in this scene which no pen can describe, because more than half its force was conveyed only by the eye and the ear. the strong contrast between human excitement and madness coupled with imbecility, and human calmness and self-possession coupled with vigorous promptitude, was perfect. just before poor hopkins rang his first note of alarm the station had been wrapt in profound silence--the small boy's interruption having been but a momentary affair. george dale, the fireman in charge, was seated at a desk in the watch-room (known among firemen as the "lobby"), making an entry in a diary. all the other men--about thirteen in number--had gone to their respective homes and beds in the immediate neighbourhood, with the exception of the two whose turn it was to remain on duty all night. these two (named baxmore and corney), with their coats, belts, boots, and caps on, had just lain down on two low tressel couches, and were courting sleep. the helmets of their comrades hung on the walls round the room, with belts and hatchets underneath them. several pairs of boots also graced the walls, and a small clock, whose gentle tick was the only sound that broke the silence of the night. in an outer room the dim form of a spare engine could be seen through the doorway. the instant that the bell rang, however, this state of quietude was put to flight. the two men rose from their couches, and dale stepped to the door. there was no starting up, no haste in their movements, yet there was prompt rapidity. the men, having been sailors, had been trained in the midst of alarms. the questions which were put to hopkins, as above described, were rapidly uttered. before they were answered the two men were ready, and at dale's order, "get her out!" they both vanished. one ran round the corner to the engine-house and "knocked up" the driver in passing. the other ran from door to door of the firemen's abodes, which were close at hand, and with a loud double-ring summoned the sleepers. before he got back to help the first with the engine, one and another and another door opened, and a man darted out, buttoning braces or coat as he ran. each went into the station, seized his helmet, belt, and axe, from his own peg, and in another moment all were armed _cap-a-pie_. at the same instant that the engine appeared at the door a pair of horses were trotted up. two men held them; two others fastened the traces; the driver sprang to his seat; the others leaped to their respective places. each knew what to do, and did it at once. there was no hurry, no loss of time, no excitement; some of the men, even while acting with the utmost vigour and promptitude, were yawning away their drowsiness; and in less than ten minutes from the moment the bell first rang the whip cracked and the fire-engine dashed away from the station amid the cheers of the crowd. it may be as well to remark here in passing, that the london fire brigade had, at the time of which we write, reached a high state of efficiency, although it could not stand comparison with the perfection of system and unity of plan which mark the organisation and conduct of the brigade of the present day. mr braidwood, the able superintendent, had for many years been training his men on a system, the original of which he had begun and proved in edinburgh. modifying his system to suit the peculiarities of the larger field to which he had been translated, he had brought the "fire engine establishment," (which belonged at that time to several insurance companies) to a state of efficiency which rendered it a model and a training-school for the rest of the world; and although he had not the advantage of the telegraph or the powerful aid of the land steam fire-engine of the present day, he had men of the same metal as those which compose the force now. the "metropolitan fire brigade," as it then existed under the control of the metropolitan board of works, had been carried by its chief, captain eyre massey shaw, to a condition of efficiency little if at all short of perfection, its only fault being (if we may humbly venture a remark) that it was too small both in numbers of engines and men. now, good reader, if you have never seen a london fire-engine go to a fire, you have no conception of what it is; and even if you have seen it, but have not gone with it, still you have no idea of what it is. to those accustomed to it, no doubt, it may be tame enough--we cannot tell; but to those who mount an engine for the first time and drive through the crowded thoroughfares of london at a wild tearing gallop, it is probably the most exciting drive conceivable. it beats steeple-chasing. it feels like driving to destruction--so wild and so reckless is it. and yet it is not reckless in the strict sense of that word; for there is a stern _need-be_ in the case. every _moment_ (not to mention minutes or hours) is of the utmost importance in the progress of a fire. fire smoulders and creeps at first, it may be, but when it has got the mastery, and bursts into flames, it flashes to its work and completes it quickly. at such times, one moment of time lost may involve thousands of pounds--ay, and many human lives! this is well known to those whose profession it is to fight the flames. hence the union of apparent mad desperation, with cool, quiet self-possession in their proceedings. when firemen can work in silence they do so. no unnecessary word is uttered, no voice is needlessly raised. like the movements of some beautiful steam-engine, which, with oiled pistons, cranks, and levers, does its unobtrusive work in its own little chamber in comparative stillness, yet with a power that would tear and rend to pieces buildings and machinery, so the firemen sometimes bend to their work quietly, though with mind and muscles strung to the utmost point of tension. at other times, like the roaring locomotive crashing through a tunnel or past a station, their course is a tumultuous rush, amid a storm of shouting and gesticulation. so was it on the present occasion. had the fire been distant, they would have had to commence their gallop somewhat leisurely, for fear of breaking down the horses; but it was not far off--not much more than a couple of miles--so they dashed round the corner of their own street at a brisk trot, and swept into oxford street. here they broke into a gallop, and here the noise of their progress began, for the great thoroughfare was crowded with vehicles and pedestrians, many of whom were retiring from the theatres and music-halls, and other places of entertainment. to pass through such a crowd without coming into collision with anything required not only the most dexterous driving, but rendered it necessary that some of the men on the engine should stand up and shout, or rather roar incessantly, as they whirled along, clearing everything out of their way, and narrowly escaping innumerable crashes by a mere hairbreadth. the men, as we said before, having been sailors, seemed to shout with the memory of the boatswain strong upon them, for their tones were pitched in the deepest and gruffest bass-key. sometimes there was a lull for a moment, as a comparatively clear space of a hundred yards or so lay before them; then their voices rose like the roaring of the gale as a stupid or deaf cabman got in their way, or a plethoric 'bus threatened to interrupt their furious passage. the cross streets were the points where the chief difficulties met them. there the cab and van drivers turned into or crossed the great thoroughfare, all ignorant of the thunderbolt that was rushing on like a fiery meteor, with its lamps casting a glare of light before, and the helmets of its stern charioteers flashing back the rays of street-lamps and windows; for, late though the hour was, all the gin-palaces, and tobacconists' shops, and many of the restaurants were still open and brightly illuminated. at the corner of wells street, the crowd of cabs and other vehicles was so great that the driver of the engine began to tighten his reins, and jim baxmore and joe corney raised their voices to a fierce shout. cabs, 'busses, and pedestrians scattered right and left in a marvellous manner; the driver slackened his reins, cracked his whip, and the horses stretched out again. in passing berners street, a hansom cab swept round the corner, its dashing driver smoking a cigar in sublime self-satisfaction, and looking carelessly right and left for a "fare." this exquisite almost ran into the engine! there was a terrific howl from all the firemen; the cabby turned his smart horse with a bound to one side, and lost his cigar in the act--in reference to which misfortune he was heartily congratulated by a small member of the shoe-black brigade,--while the engine went steadily and sternly on its way. "there, it shows a light," observed one of the firemen to dale, as he pointed to a luminous appearance in the sky away to the north-east. dale was already looking in that direction, and made no reply. as they reached tottenham court road the driver again checked the pace a little; yet even at the reduced speed they passed everything like a whirlwind. the traffic here was so great that it behoved them to be more cautious. of course, the more need that there was for caution, the more necessity was there for shouting; and the duty of baxmore and corney--standing as they did in front of their comrades beside the driver--became severe, but they had good lungs both of them! at the point where tottenham court road cuts oxford street, the accumulation of vehicles of all sorts, from a hand-barrow to a furniture-van, is usually very great. to one unaccustomed to the powers of london drivers, it would have seemed nothing short of madness to drive full tilt into the mass that blocked the streets at this point. but the firemen did it. they reined up a little, it is true, just as a hunter does in gathering his horse together for a rush at a stone wall, but there was nothing like an approach to stopping. "hi! hi!! hi!!!" roared the firemen, baxmore and corney high above the rest. a 'bus lumbered to the left just in time; a hansom sprang to the right, not a moment too soon; a luggage-van bolted into crown street; the pedestrians scattered right and left, and the way was clear--no, not quite clear! the engine had to turn at a right angle here into tottenham court road. round it went on the two off-wheels, and came full swing on a market-gardener and a hot-coffee woman, who were wheeling their respective barrows leisurely side by side, and chatting as they went. the roar that burst from the firemen was terrific. the driver attempted both to pull up and to turn aside. the market-gardener dropt his barrow and fled. the hot-coffee woman, being of a resolute nature, thrust her barrow by main force on the footpath, and so saved her goods and herself by a hairbreadth, while the barrow of her friend was knocked in pieces. but the effort of the engine-driver to avoid this had well-nigh resulted in serious consequences. in endeavouring to clear the market-gardener he drew so near to the footpath that in another moment a lamp-post would have been carried away, and the wheels of the engine, in all probability, knocked off, had not joe corney observed the danger. with a truly irish yell joe seized the rein next him, and pulled the horses round almost at a right angle. the nave of the hind-wheel just shaved the post as it flew by. the whole thing passed so swiftly that before the market-gardener recovered from his consternation the engine was only discernible in the distance by the sparks that flew from its wheels as it held on in its furious way. all along its course a momentary disturbance of london equanimity was created. families not yet abed rushed to their front windows, and, looking out, exclaimed, "ha! the firemen." tipplers in gin-palaces ran to the doors and said, "there they go", "that's your sort", "hurrah, my hearties!" or, "go it, ye cripples!" according to the different stages of inebriation at which they had arrived; and belated men of business stopped to gaze, and then resumed their way with thoughts and speculations on fire and fire insurance, more or less deep and serious according to temperament. but the disturbance was only temporary. the families retired to their suppers or beds, the tipplers returned to their tipple, the belated speculators to their dreams, and in a few minutes (no doubt) forgot what they had seen, and forgot; perchance, that they had any personal interest in fire raising, or fire extinction, or fire prevention, or fire in any dangerous shape or form whatever, or indulged in the comforting belief, mayhap, that whatever disasters might attend the rest of the london community, they and their houses being endued with the properties of the salamander, nothing in the shape of fire might, could, would, or should kindle upon them. so true is it that, "all men think all men mortal but themselves!" do you doubt this, reader? if so, go poll your acquaintance, and tell us how many of them have got rope-ladders, or even ropes, to escape from their houses should they take fire; how many of them have got hand-pumps, or even buckets, placed so as to be handy in case of fire; and how many of them have got their houses and furniture insured against fire. meanwhile, the fire-engine held on its way, until it turned into beverly square, and pulled short up in front of the blazing mansion of james auberly, esquire. another engine was already at work there. it had come from a nearer station, of the existence of which hopkins had been ignorant when he set out on his wild race for help. the men of this engine were already doing their work quietly, but with perceptible effect, pouring incessant streams of water in at the blazing windows, and watching for the slightest lull in the ferocity of the smoke and flame to attack the enemy at closer quarters. chapter four. a fierce fight with the flames. when the small boy--whose name, it may be as well to mention, was william (_alias_ willie) willders--saw the fire-engine start, as has been already described, his whole soul yearned to follow it, for, in the course of his short life, he had never succeeded in being at the beginning of a fire, although he had often been at the middle and end of one--not a very difficult thing in london, by the way, seeing that there are, on the average, between four and five fires every twenty-four hours! willie willders was of an enquiring disposition. he wanted to know how things were managed at a fire, from the beginning to the end, and he found that the course of true inquiry, like another course we wot of, never did run smooth. poor willie's heart was with that engine, but his legs were not. they did their best, but they failed, strong and active though they were, to keep up with the horses. so willie heaved a bursting sigh and slackened his speed--as he had often done before in similar circumstances-- resolving to keep it in sight as long as he could, and trust to his eyesight and to the flames "showing a light" for the rest. just as he came to this magnanimous resolve, a strapping young gentleman called a passing cab, leaped in, ordered the driver to follow the engine, and offered double fare if he should keep it in view up to the fire. willie, being sharp as a needle, at once stepped forward and made as though he would open the door for the gentleman. the youth was already in and the door shut, but he smiled as he shouted to the driver, "all right!" and tossed a copper to willie, with the remark, "there, you scamp!" the copper fell in the mud, and there willie left it, as he doubled nimbly behind the vehicle, and laid hold of it. the cabman did his best to earn his double fare, and thus it came to pass that willie was in time to see the firemen commencing work. as the young man leaped from the cab he uttered a cry of surprise and alarm, and rushed towards the crowd of firemen nearest to the burning house without paying his fare. willie was a little astonished at this, but losing sight of the youth in the crowd, and seeing nothing more of him at that time, he became engrossed in other matters. there were so many men on the ground, however--for just then a third engine dashed up to the scene of conflagration--that it was difficult for the excited boy to appreciate fully what he saw. he got as close to the engine, however, as the policemen would allow him, and observed that a fire-plug had been already opened, and over it had been placed a canvas cistern of about a yard long by eighteen inches broad, stretched on an iron frame. the cistern was filled with water to overflowing, and the first engine had placed its suction-pipe in it, while from the front of the engine extended the leathern hose that conveyed the water to the burning house. willie was deeply interested in this, and was endeavouring to solve certain knotty points in his own mind, when they were suddenly solved for him by a communicative dustman who stood in the crowd close by, and thus expounded the matter to his inquisitive son. "you see, tommy, the use o' the cistern is hobvious. see, here's 'ow it lies. if an ingin comes up an screwges its suction on to the plug, all the other ingins as comes after it has to stan' by an' do nuffin. but by puttin' the cistern over the plug an' lettin' it fill, another ingin or mabbe two more, can ram in its suction and drink away till it's fit to burst, d'ye see." willie drank in the information with avidity, and then turned his attention to the front of the engine, to which several lengths of hose, each forty feet long, had been attached. baxmore and corney were at the extreme end, screwing on the "branch" or nozzle by which the stream of water is directed, and dale was tumbling a half-drunk and riotous navvy head-over-heels into the crowd, in order to convince him that his services to pump were not wanted--a sufficient number having been procured. a couple of policemen walked this navvy quietly from the scene, as dale called out: "down with her, boys!" "pump away, lads!" said one of the firemen, interpreting. the volunteers bent their backs, and the white clouds of steam that issued from the burning house showed that the second engine was doing its work well. immediately after, dale and his men, with the exception of those required to attend the engine and the "branch," were ordered to get out the ladders. he who gave this order was a tall, sinewy man, middle-aged apparently, and of grave demeanour. his dress was similar to that of the other firemen, but there was an air of quiet unobtrusive authority about him, which showed that he was a leader. "we might get on the roof now, mr braidwood," suggested dale, touching his helmet as he addressed the well-known chief of the london fire-engine establishment. "not yet, dale, not yet," said braidwood; "get inside and see if you can touch the fire through the drawing-room floor. it's just fallen in." dale and his men at once entered the front door of the building, dragging the branch and hose along with them, and were lost in smoke. previous to the arrival of the fire-engines, however, a scene had been enacted which willie willders had not witnessed. a fire-escape was first to reach the burning house. this was then, and still is, usually the case, owing to the fact that escapes are far more numerous in london than engines, so that the former, being always close at hand, often accomplish their great work of saving life before the engines make their appearance. the escape in the immediate neighbourhood of beverly square was under the charge of conductor samuel forest, a man who, although young, had already saved many lives, in the service of the society for the protection of life from fire. when forest reached the field of action, mr james auberly was seen at an upper window in a state of undignified _dishabille_, shouting for help, and half suffocated with smoke, with mrs rose hanging round his neck on one side and matty merryon at the other. poor auberly, having tried the staircase on the first alarm, was driven back by smoke, and rushed wildly to the window, where the two domestics, descending in terror from their attic, clung to him and rendered him powerless. forest at once pitched his escape--which was just a huge scientifically-constructed ladder, set on wheels. the head of it reached to the windows of the second floor. by pulling a rope attached to a lever, he raised a second ladder of smaller size, which was fitted to the head of the large one. the top of this second ladder was nearly sixty feet from the ground, and it reached the window at which mr auberly was still shouting. forest at once sprang up. "leave me; save the women," gasped auberly, as a man entered the room, but the dense smoke overpowered him as he spoke, and he fell forward. the women also sank to the ground. forest instantly seized mrs rose in his powerful arms, and hurrying down the ladder to the top of the escape, put her into the canvas trough or sack which was suspended below the ladder all the way. down this she slid somewhat violently but safely to the ground, while forest ran up again and rescued matty in the same way. mr auberly was more difficult to manage, being a heavy man, and his rescuer was almost overpowered by the thick smoke in the midst of which all this was done. he succeeded, however, but fainted on reaching the ground. it was at this point that the first engine arrived, and only a few minutes elapsed when the second made its appearance, followed by the cab from which the young man leapt with the exclamation of surprise and alarm that had astonished willie willders. pushing his way to the place where mr auberly and the others lay, the youth fell on his knees. "my father!" he exclaimed wildly. "he's all right, lad," said mr braidwood, coming up at that moment, and laying his hand kindly on the youth's shoulder; "he's only choked with smoke, and will be better in a minute. any more in the house?" he added quickly. young auberly leaped up with a shout. "my sister! is she not saved? are _all_ here?" he waited not for a reply, but in another moment was on the fire-escape. "after him, two of you," said braidwood, turning to his men. two at once obeyed. in fact, they had leaped forward almost before the brief command was uttered. one of these firemen was conspicuous for his height and strength. he was first up the ladder. close upon him followed baxmore with a lantern. nothing but smoke had yet reached the room into which young auberly entered, so that he instantly found himself in impenetrable darkness, and was almost choked as well as blinded. "have a care, frank; the floor must be about gone by this time," said baxmore, as he ran after his tall comrade. the man whom he called frank knew this. he also knew that it was not likely any one had been left in the room from which the master of the house had been rescued, and he thought it probable that his daughter would occupy a room on the same floor with her father. acting on this supposition, and taking for granted that the room they were about to enter was mr auberly's bedroom, the tall fireman dashed at once through the smoke, and tumbled over the prostrate form of young auberly. "look after him, baxmore," he gasped, as he seized the lamp from his comrade's hand, and darted across the room and out into the passage, where he went crash against a door and burst it open. here the smoke was not so dense, so that he could breathe, though with difficulty. one glance showed him where the bed was. he felt it. a female form was lying on it. the light weight and the long hair which swept across his face as he raised it gently but swiftly on his shoulder, told him that it was that of a girl. at that moment he heard a loud shout from the crowd, which was followed by a crash. dashing once more across the passage, he saw that a lurid flame was piercing the smoke in the other room. the staircase he knew was impassable; probably gone by that time; but he had not time to think, so he drew the blanket over the girl's head and bounded towards the window. there was a feeling of softness under his feet, as if the floor were made of pasteboard. he felt it sinking beneath him. down it went, just as he laid hold of the head of the fire-escape, from which he hung suspended in the midst of the smoke and sparks that rose from the falling ruin. strong though the young fireman was, he could not raise himself by one arm, while the other was twined round louisa auberly. at that moment, baxmore, having carried young auberly down in safety, again ascended and appeared at the window. he seized frank by the hair of the head. "let go my hair, and catch the girl!" shouted frank. "all right," said baxmore, seizing loo and lifting her over the window sill. frank being thus relieved, swung himself easily on the sill, and grasping loo once more, descended to the street, where he was met by mr auberly, who had recovered from his state of partial suffocation, and who seized his child and hurried with her into a neighbouring house. thither he was followed by mrs rose and matty, who had also recovered. during these episodes, the firemen had continued at their work with cool and undistracted attention. and here the value of organisation was strikingly and beautifully brought out; for, while the crowd swayed to and fro, now breathless with anxiety lest the efforts of the bold conductor of the fire-escape should fail; anon wild with excitement and loud in cheers when he succeeded, each fireman paid devoted and exclusive attention to his own prescribed piece of duty, as if nothing else were going on around him, and did it with all his might--well knowing that every other piece of work was done, or point of danger guarded, by a comrade, while the eagle eyes of mr braidwood and his not less watchful foremen superintended all, observed and guided, as it were, the field of battle. and truly, good generalship was required, for the foe was fierce and furious. the "devouring element" rushed onward like a torrent. the house was large and filled with rich furniture, which was luxurious food for the flames as they swept over the walls, twined round the balustrades, swallowed the paintings, devoured the woodwork, and melted the metal in their dread progress. but the foe that met them was, on this occasion, more than a match for the flames. it was a hand-to-hand encounter. the men followed them foot by foot, inch by inch--sometimes almost singeing their beards or being well-nigh choked and blinded by dense volumes of smoke, but, if driven back, always returning to the charge. the heat at times beat on their helmets so fiercely that they were forced to turn their faces aside and half-turn their backs on the foe, but they _always_ kept their weapons--the "branches"--to the front, and continued to discharge upon him tons and tons of aqueous artillery. "get up to the windows now; use the escape," said mr braidwood; and as he said this he passed through the doorway of the burning house. some of the men rushed up the escape and let down a line, to which one of the branches was made fast. "avast pumpin', number two!" shouted baxmore from the midst of clouds of smoke that were bursting out from the window. number two engine was stopped. its branch was pulled up and pointed inside _straight at the fire_; the signal given, "down with number two!" and a hiss was followed by volumes of steam. the work of extinction had at last begun in real earnest. as long as they could only stand in the street and throw water in through the windows at haphazard, they might or might not hit the fire--and at all events they could not attack its strong points; but now, baxmore at one window, and one of the men of the first engine at another, played point-blank into the flames, and, wherever the water hit, they were extinguished. presently they got inside and began to be able to see through the smoke; a blue glimmer became visible, the branch was pointed, and it was gone. by this time the second floor had partly given way, and fire was creeping down the rafters to the eaves of the house. baxmore observed this; and pointed the branch straight up. the fire at that part was put out, and a heavy shower of water fell back on the fireman, drenching him to the skin. the attack had now become general. the firemen swarmed in at the doors and windows the moment that it was possible for a human being to breathe the smoke and live. one of the engines attached two additional lengths of hose, dragged the branch through the first floor to the back of the house, got upon an outhouse, in at a back window, and attacked the foe in rear. on the roof, frank and dale were plying their hatchets, their tall figures sharply defined against the wintry sky, and looking more gigantic than usual. the enemy saved them the trouble of cutting through, however, for it suddenly burst upwards, and part of the roof fell in. it would certainly have taken frank prisoner had not dale caught him by the collar, and dragged him out of danger. instantly a branch was pointed downwards, and the foe was beaten back; from above, below, before, and behind, it was now met with deluges of water, which fell on the shoulders of the men in the lower floor in a continuous hot shower, while they stood ankle-deep in hot water. in ten minutes after this the fire was effectually subdued, the lower floor having been saved, although its contents were severely damaged by water. it was only necessary now, that one of the engines should remain for a time, to make good the victory. the others rolled up their hose, and prepared to depart. the king street engine was the first to quit the field of battle. while the men were getting ready, mr auberly, muffled in a long cloak, stepped from the crowd and touched frank, the tall fireman, on the shoulder. "sir," said he in a low voice, "you saved my child. i would show my sense of gratitude. will you accept of this purse?" frank shook his head and a smile played on his smoke-begrimed countenance as he said: "no, mr auberly. i am obliged to you, but i cannot accept of it. i do not want it, and besides, the men of the brigade are not allowed to take money." "but you will let me do something for you?" urged mr auberly. "is there nothing that i can do?" "nothing, sir," said frank. he paused for a moment, and then resumed--"well, there _is_ something that perhaps you could do, sir. i have a little brother out of employment; if you could get him a situation, sir." "i will," said mr auberly with emotion. "send him to me on thursday forenoon. he will find me living next door to my--to my late home. i shall stay with a friend there for some time. good-night." "men of king street engine get up," cried dale. "stay--what is your name?" said mr auberly turning round. but frank was gone. he had leaped to his place on the engine and was off at a rattling pace through the now silent and deserted streets of the sleeping city. although they drove on at great speed there was no shouting now, for neither 'bus, cab, nor foot-passenger blocked up the way, and the men, begrimed with smoke and charcoal, wet, and weary with two hours of almost uninterrupted labour of a severe as well as dangerous character, sat or stood in their places in perfect silence. on reaching the fire-station they leaped to the ground, and all went quickly and silently to their neighbouring homes and beds, except the two men on duty. these, changing their coats and boots, lay down on the trestles, and at once fell fast asleep--the engine and horses having been previously housed--and then dale sat down to make an entry of the event in his day-book. the whole thing might have been only a vivid dream, so silent was the room and so devoid of any evidence of recent excitement, while the reigning tranquillity was enhanced rather than decreased by the soft breathing of the sleepers, the ticking of the clock, and the scratching of dale's pen as he briefly recorded the facts of the fire that night in beverly square. chapter five. willie willders in difficulties. during the progress of the fire, small willie willders was in a state of the wildest, we might almost say hilarious, excitement; he regarded not the loss of property; the fire never struck him in _that_ light. his little body and big spirit rejoiced in the whole affair as a magnificent display of fireworks and heroism. when the fire burst through the library windows he shouted; when sam forest, the conductor of the fire-escape, saved mr auberly and the women, he hurrahed; when the tall fireman and baxmore rescued louisa auberly he cheered and cheered again until his shrill voice rose high above the shouting of the crowd. when the floors gave way he screamed with delight, and when the roof fell in he shrieked with ecstasy. sundry and persevering were the efforts he made to break through the police by fair means and foul; but, in his energy, he over-reached himself, for he made himself so conspicuous that the police paid special attention to him, and wherever he appeared he was snubbed and thrust back, so that his great desire to get close to the men while they were at work was frustrated. willie had a brother who was a fireman, and he wished earnestly that he might recognise him, if present; but he knew that, being attached to the southern district of the city, he was not likely to be there, and even if he were, the men were all so much alike in their uniform, that it was impossible at a distance to distinguish one from another. true it is that his brother was uncommonly tall, and very strong; but as the london firemen were all picked men, many of them were very tall, and all of them were strong. not until the last engine left the ground, did willie willders think it advisable to tear himself away, and hasten to his home in notting hill, where he found his mother sitting up for him in a state of considerable anxiety. she forebore to question him that night, however. when willie appeared next morning--or rather, the same morning, for it was nearly four o'clock when he went to bed--he found his mother sitting by the fire knitting a sock. mrs willders was a widow, and was usually to be found seated by the fire, knitting a sock, or darning one, or mending some portion of male attire. "so you were at a fire last night, willie?" said the widow. "yes, i was," replied the boy, going up to his mother, and giving her what he styled a "roystering" kiss, which she appeared to like, although she was scarcely able to bear it, being thin and delicately formed, and somewhat weak from bad health. "no lives lost, i hope, willie?" "no; there ain't often lives lost when sam forest, the fire-escape-man, is there. you know forest, mother, the man that we've heard so much of? ah, it _was_ sitch fun! you've no notion! it would have made you split your sides wi' laughin' if you'd seen sam come out o' the smoke carryin' the master o' the house on his shoulder in his shirt and drawers, with only one sock on, an' his nightcap tied so tight under his chin that they had to cut it off--him in a swound, too, hangin' as limp as a dead eel on sam's shoulder, with his head down one side, an' his legs down the other. oh, it _was_ a lark!" the boy recalled "the lark" to his own mind so vividly, that he had to stop at this point, in order to give vent to an uproarious fit of laughter. "was frank there?" inquired the widow, when the fit subsided. "not that i know of, mother; i looked hard for him, but didn't see him. there was lots o' men big enough to be him; but i couldn't get near enough to see for the bobbies. i wonder what them bobbies were made for!" continued willie, with a look of indignation, as he seated himself at the table, and began to eat a hearty breakfast; "the long lamp-posts! that are always in the way when nobody wants 'em. i do believe they was invented for nothin' else than to aggravate small boys and snub their inquiring minds." "where was the fire, willie?" "in beverly square. i say, mother, if that there grocer don't send us better stuff than this here bacon in future, i'll--i'll have to give him up." "i can't afford to get better, dear," said the widow meekly. "i know that, mother; but _he_ could afford to _give_ better. however, it's down now, so it don't much matter." "did you hear whose house was burned, willie?" "a mr oberly, or somethin' like that." "auberly!" exclaimed the widow, with a start. "well, p'raps it is auberly; but whichever it is, he's got a pretty kettle o' fish to look after this mornin'. you seem to have heard of him before, mother?" "yes, willie, i--i know him a--at least i have met with him often. you see i was better off once, and used to mingle with--but i need not trouble you with that. on the strength of our former acquaintance, i thought i would write and ask him to get you a situation in an office, and i have got a letter from him, just before you came down to breakfast, saying that he will do what he can, and bidding me send you to him between eleven and twelve to-morrow." "whew!" whistled willie, "an' he burnt out o' house and home, without a coat to his back or a shoe to his foot. it strikes me i'll have to try to get _him_ a situation." "he won't be found at the house, now, i dare say, my son, so we'll have to wait a little; but the burning of his house and furniture won't affect him much, for he's rich." "humph! p'raps not," said willie; "but the burnin' of his little girl might have--" "you said that _no_ lives were lost," cried mrs willders, turning pale. "no more there was, mother; but if it hadn't bin for one o' the firemen that jumped in at a blazin' winder an' brought her out through fire an' smoke, she'd have bin a cinder by this time, an' money wouldn't have bought the rich man another daughter, _i_ know." "true, my son," observed mrs willders, resting her forehead on her hand; then, as if suddenly recollecting something, she looked up and said, "willie, i want you to go down to the city with these socks to frank. this is his birthday, and i sat late last night on purpose to get them finished. his station is a long way _off_, i know, but you've nothing else to do, so--" "nothin' else to do, mother!" exclaimed willie; with an offended look. "haven't i got to converse in a friendly way with all the crossin'-sweepers an' shoeblacks an' stall-women as i go along, an' chaff the cabbies, an' look in at all the shop-windows, and insult the bobbies? i _always_ insult the bobbies. it does me good. i hurt 'em, mentally, as much as i can, an' i'd hurt 'em bodily if i could. but every dog has his day. when i grow up _won't_ i pitch into 'em!" he struck the table with his fist, and, shaking back his curly hair, lifted his blue eyes to his mother's face with a stern expression, which gradually relaxed into a smile. "ah, you needn't grin, mother, an' tell me that the `_policemen_' are a fine set of men, and quite as brave and useful in their way as the firemen. i know all you respectable sort of people think that; but _i_ don't. they're my natural enemies, and i hate 'em. come, mother, give me the socks and let me be off." soon the vigorous urchin was on his way to the city, whistling, as usual, with all his might. as he passed the corner of the british museum a hand touched him on the shoulder, and its owner said: "how much are ye paid a week, lad, for kicking up such a row?" willie looked round, and his eyes encountered the brass buckle of the waist-belt of a tall, strapping fellow in a blue uniform. glancing upwards, he beheld the handsome countenance of his brother frank looking down at him with a quiet smile. he wore no helmet, for except when attending a fire the firemen wear a sailor-like blue cloth cap. "hallo, blazes! is that you?" cried the boy. "just so, willie; goin' down to watling street to attend drill." willie (who had styled his brother "blazes" ever since he joined the fire brigade) observed that he happened to be going in the same direction to deliver a message from his mother to a relation, which he would not speak about, however, just then, as he wished to tell him of a fire he had been at last night. "a fire, lad; was it a big one?" "ay, that it was; a case o' burnin'-out almost; _and there were lives saved_," said the boy with a look of triumph; "and that's more than you can say you've seen, though you _are_ a fireman." "well, you know i have not been long in the brigade, willie, and as the escapes often do their work before the engines come up, i've not had much chance yet of seeing lives saved. how was it done?" with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks willie at once launched out into a vivid description of the scene he had so recently witnessed, and dwelt particularly on the brave deeds of conductor forest and the tall fireman. suddenly he looked up at his brother. "why, what are you chucklin' at, blazes?" "nothing, lad. was the fireman _very_ tall?" "that he certainly was--uncommon tall." "something like _me_?" said frank. a gleam of intelligence shot across the boy's face as he stopped and caught his brother by the sleeve, saying earnestly: "it wasn't _you_, frank, _was_ it?" "it was, willie, and right glad am i to have been in such good luck as to save miss auberly." willie grasped his brother's hand and shook it heartily. "you're a brick, blazes," said he, "and this is your birthday, an' i wish you luck an' long life, my boy. you'll do me credit yet, if you go on as you've begun. now, i'll go right away back an' tell mother. won't she be fit to bu'st?" "but what about your message to the relation in the city?" inquired frank. "that relation is yourself, and here's the message, in the shape of a pair o' socks from mother; knitted with her own hands; and, by the way, that reminds me--how came you to be at the fire last night? it's a long way from your station." "i've been changed recently," said frank; "poor grove was badly hurt about the loins at a fire in new bond street last week, and i have been sent to take his place, so i'm at the king street station now. but i have something more to tell you before you go, lad, so walk with me a bit farther." willie consented, and frank related to him his conversation with mr auberly in reference to himself. "i thought of asking leave and running out this afternoon to tell you, so it's as well we have met, as it will--why, what are _you_ chuckling at, willie?" this question was put in consequence of the boy's eyes twinkling and his cheeks reddening with suppressed merriment. "never mind, blazes. i haven't time to tell you just now. i'll tell you some other time. so old auberly wants to see me to-morrow forenoon?" "that's what he said to me," returned frank. "very good; i'll go. adoo, blazes--farewell." so saying, willie willders turned round and went off at a run, chuckling violently. he attempted to whistle once or twice, but his mouth refused to retain the necessary formation, so he contented himself with chuckling instead. and it is worthy of record that that small boy was so much engrossed with his own thoughts on this particular occasion that he did not make one observation, bad, good, or indifferent, to any one during his walk home. he even received a question from a boy smaller than himself as to whether "his mother knew he was out," without making any reply, and passed innumerable policemen without even a thought of vengeance! "let me see," said he, muttering to himself as he paused beside the marble arch at hyde park, and leaned his head against the railings of that structure; "mr auberly has been an' ordered two boys to be sent to him to-morrow forenoon--ha! he! sk!" (the chuckling got the better of him here)--"very good. an' my mother has ordered one o' the boys to go, while a tall fireman has ordered the other. now, the question is, which o' the two boys am i--the _one_ or the _t'other_--ha! sk! ho! well, of course, _both_ o' the boys will go; they can't help it, there's no gittin' over that; but, then, which of 'em will git the situation? there's a scruncher for you, mr auberly. you'll have to fill your house with tar an' turpentine an' set fire to it over again 'afore you'll throw light on _that_ pint. s'pose i should go in for _both_ situations! it _might_ be managed. the first boy could take a well-paid situation as a clerk, an the second boy might go in for night-watchman at a bank." (chuckling again interrupted the flow of thought.) "p'raps the two situations might be got in the same place o' business; that would be handy! oh! if one o' the boys could only be a girl, _what_ a lark that would--sk! ha! ha!" he was interrupted at this point by a shoe-black, who remarked to his companion: "i say, bob, 'ere's a lark. 'ere's a feller bin an got out o' bedlam, a larfin' at nothink fit to burst hisself!" so willie resumed his walk with a chuckle that fully confirmed the member of the black brigade in his opinion. he went home chuckling and went to bed chuckling, without informing his mother of the cause of his mirth. chuckling he arose on the following morning, and, chuckling still, went at noon to beverly square, where he discovered mr auberly standing, gaunt and forlorn, in the midst of the ruins of his once elegant mansion. chapter six. "when one is another who is which?" "well, boy, what do you want? have you anything to say to me?" mr auberly turned sharp round on willie, whose gaze had gone beyond the length of simple curiosity. in fact, he was awe-struck at the sight of such a very tall and very dignified man standing so grimly in the midst of such dreadful devastation. "please, sir, i was sent to you, sir, by--" "oh, you're the boy, the son of--that is to say, you were sent to me by your mother," said mr auberly with a frown. "well, sir," replied willie, hesitating, "i--i--was sent by--by--" "ah, i see," interrupted mr auberly with a smile that was meant to be gracious, "you were sent by a fireman; you are not the--the--i mean you're the _other_ boy." poor willie, being of a powerfully risible nature, found it hard to contain himself on hearing his own words of the previous evening re-echoed thus unexpectedly. his face became red, and he took refuge in blowing his nose, during which process--having observed the smile on mr auberly's face--he resolved to be "the other boy." "yes, sir," he said, looking up modestly, "i was sent by a fireman; i _am_ the other boy." mr auberly smiled again grimly, and said that the fireman was a brave fellow, and that he had saved his daughter's life, and that he was very glad to do anything that lay in his power for him, and that he understood that willie was the fireman's brother; to which the boy replied that he was. "well, then, come this way," continued mr auberly, leading willie into the library of the adjoining house, which his friend had put at his disposal, and seating himself at a writing-table. "you want a situation of some sort--a clerkship, i suppose?" willie admitted that his ambition soared to that tremendous height. "let me see," muttered mr auberly, taking up a pen and beginning to write; "yes, she will be able to help me. what is your name, boy?" "willie, sir." "just so, william; and your surname--your other name?" "willders, sir." mr auberly started, and looked willie full in the eyes. willie, feeling that he was playing a sort of double part without being able to avoid it, grew red in the face. "what did you say, boy?" "willders," replied willie stoutly. "then you're _not_ the other boy," said mr auberly, laying down his pen, and regarding willie with a frown. "please, sir," replied willie, with a look of meekness which was mingled with a feeling of desperation, for his desire to laugh was strong upon him, "please, sir, i don't rightly know _which_ boy i am." mr auberly paused for a moment. "boy, you're a fool!" "thank 'ee, sir," said willie. this reply went a long way in mr auberly's mind to prove the truth of his assertion. "answer me, boy," said mr auberly with an impressive look and tone; "were you sent here by a fireman?" "yes, sir," replied willie. "what is his name?" "same as mine, sir--willders." "of course, of course," said mr auberly, a little confused at having put such an unnecessary question. "does your _mother_ know you're here?" this brought the slang phrase, "does your mother know you're out?" so forcibly to the boy's mind, that he felt himself swell internally, and had recourse again to his pocket-handkerchief as a safety-valve. "yes, sir," said he, on recovering his composure; "arter i saw blazes-- frank, i mean, that's my brother, sir--i goes right away home to bed. i stops with my mother, sir, an' she saw me come off here this mornin', sir. she knows i was comin' here." "of course; yes, yes, i see," muttered mr auberly, again taking up his pen. "i see; yes, yes; same name--strange coincidence, though; but, after all, there are many of that name in london. i suppose the _other_ boy will be here shortly. very odd, very odd indeed." "please, sir," observed willie, in a gentle tone, "you said _i_ was the other boy, sir." mr auberly seemed a little annoyed at his muttered words being thus replied to, yet he condescended to explain that there was another boy of the same name whom he expected to see that morning. "oh, then there's _another_ other boy, sir?" said willie with a look of interest. "hold your tongue!" said mr auberly in a sharp voice; "you're a fool, and you're much too fond of speaking. i advise you to keep your tongue quieter if you wish to get on in life." willie once more sought relief in his pocket-handkerchief, while his patron indited and sealed an epistle, which he addressed to "miss tippet, number , poorthing lane, beverly square." "here, boy, take this to the lady to whom it is addressed--the lane is at the opposite corner of the square--and wait an answer." "am i to bring the answer back to you, sir?" asked willie with much humility. "no; the answer is for yourself," said mr auberly testily; "and hark 'ee, boy, you need not trouble me again. that note will get you all you desire." "thank you, sir," said willie, making a bow, and preparing to retire; "but please, sir, i don't very well know, that is to say--ahem!" "well, boy?" said the patron sternly. "excuse me, sir; i can't help it, you know; but please, sir, i wish to explain about that other boy--no, that's me, but the _other_ other boy, you know--" "begone, boy!" cried mr auberly in a voice so stern that willie found himself next moment in the street, along which he ran chuckling worse than ever. a little reflection might have opened mr auberly's eyes to the truth in regard to willie, but a poor relation was to him a disagreeable subject of contemplation, and he possessed the faculty, in an eminent degree, of dismissing it altogether from his mind. having care enough on his mind at that time, poor man, he deliberately cast the confusion of the two boys out of his thoughts, and gave himself up to matters more interesting and personal. we may add here that mrs willders was faithful to her promise, and never more addressed her brother-in-law by word or letter. when willie afterwards told her and frank of the absurdity of his interview, and of the violent manner in which mr auberly had dismissed him when he was going to explain about the "other" boy, his mother thought it best to let things rest as they stood, yet she often wondered in her own quiet way what mr auberly would think of her and of the non-appearance of the "other" boy; and she felt convinced that if he only put things together he _must_ come to understand that willie and frank were her sons. but mrs willders did not know of the before-mentioned happy facility which her kinsman possessed of forgetting poor relations; so, after wondering on for a time, she ceased to wonder or to think about it at all. chapter seven. thoughts in regard to men. miss emelina tippet was a maiden lady of pleasing countenance and exceedingly uncertain age. she was a poor member of a poor branch of an aristocratic family, and feeling an unconquerable desire to breathe, if not the pure unadulterated atmosphere of beverly square, at least as much of it as was compatible with a very moderate income, she rented a small house in a very dark and dismal lane leading out of that great centre of refinement. it is true that beverly square was not exactly the "west end," but there are many degrees of west-endiness, so to speak, in the western neighbourhood of london, and this square was, in the opinion of miss tippet, the west-endiest place she knew, because there dwelt in it, not only a very genteel and uncommonly rich portion of the community, but several of her own aristocratic, though distant, relations, among whom was mr auberly. the precise distance of the relationship between them had never been defined, and all records bearing on it having been lost in the mists of antiquity, it could not now be ascertained; but miss tippet laid claim to the relationship, and as she was an obliging, good-humoured, chatty, and musical lady, mr auberly admitted the claim. miss tippet's only weakness--for she was indeed a most estimable woman-- was a tendency to allow rank and position to weigh too much in her esteem. she had also a sensitive abhorrence of everything "low and vulgar," which would have been, of course, a very proper feeling had she not fallen into the mistake of considering humble birth lowness, and want of polish vulgarity--a mistake which is often (sometimes even wilfully) made by persons who consider themselves much wiser than miss tippet, but who are not wise enough to see a distinct shade of true vulgarity in their own sentiments. the dark, dismal lane, named poorthing lane, besides forming an asylum for decayed and would-be aristocrats, and a vestibule, as it were, to beverly square, was a convenient retreat for sundry green-grocers and public-house keepers and small trades-people, who supplied the densely-peopled surrounding district, and even some of the inhabitants of beverly square itself, with the necessaries of life. it was also a thoroughfare for the gay equipages of the square, which passed through it daily on their way to and from the adjoining stables, thereby endangering the lives of precocious babies who could crawl, but could not walk away from home, as well as affording food for criticism and scandal, not to mention the leaving behind of a species of secondhand odour of gentility such as coachmen and footmen can give forth. miss tippet's means being small, she rented a proportionately small residence, consisting of two floors, which were the upper portion of a house, whose ground floor was a toy-shop. the owner of the toy-shop, david boone, was miss tippet's landlord; but not the owner of the tenement. he rented the whole, and sublet the upper portion. miss tippet's parlour windows commanded a near view of the lodging opposite, into every corner and crevice of which she could have seen, had not the windows been encrusted with impenetrable dirt. her own domestic arrangements were concealed from view by small green venetian blinds, which rose from below, and met the large venetians which descended from above. the good lady's bedroom windows in the upper floor commanded a near view--much too near--of a stack of chimneys, between which and another stack, farther over, she had a glimpse of part of the gable end of a house, and the topmost bough of a tree in beverly square. it was this prospect into paradise, terrestrially speaking, that influenced miss tippet in the choice of her abode. when william willders reached the small door of number , poorthing lane, and raised his hand to knock, the said door opened as if it had been trained to admit visitors of its own accord, and miss matty merryon issued forth, followed by a bright blue-eyed girl of about twelve years of age. "well, boy, was ye comin' here?" inquired matty, as the lad stepped aside to let them pass. "yes, i was. does miss tippet live here?" "she does, boy, what d'ye want with her?" "i want to see her, young 'ooman, so you'd better cut away up an' tell her a gen'lm'n requests a few words private conversation with her." the little girl laughed at this speech, and matty, addressing willie as a "dirty spalpeen," said he had better go with her to a shop first, and she'd then take him back and introduce him to miss tippet. "you see i can't let ye in all be yer lone, cushla; for what would the neighbours say, you know! i'm only goin' to the toy-shop, an' won't kape ye a minit, for miss emma don't take long to her bargains." willie might probably have demurred to this delay; but on hearing that the blue-eyed girl wanted to make purchases, he at once agreed to the proposal, and followed them into the toy-shop. david boone, who stepped out of the back-shop to serve them, was, if we may say so, very unlike his trade. a grave, tall, long-legged, long-nosed, raw-boned, melancholy-looking creature such as he, might have been an undertaker, or a mute, or a sexton, or a policeman, or a horse-guardsman, or even a lawyer; but it was the height of impropriety to have made him a toy-shopman, and whoever did it had no notion whatever of the fitness of things. one could not resist the idea that his clumsy legs would certainly upset the slender wooden toys with which the floor and counters were covered, and his fingers seemed made to break things. the figure of punch which hung from the ceiling appeared inclined to hit him as he passed to and fro, and the pretty little dolls with the sweet pink faces, and very flaxen hair and cerulean eyes were evidently laughing at him. nevertheless, david boone was a kind-hearted man, very fond of children, and extremely unlike, in some respects, what people imagined him at first sight to be. "well, miss ward, what can i supply you with to-day?" said he blandly. "please, mr boone, i want a slate and a piece of slate-pencil." emma looked up with a sweet smile at the tall shopman, who looked down upon her with grave benignity, as he produced the articles required. "d'you kape turpentine?" said matty, as they were about to quit the shop. boone started, and said almost testily, "no, i _don't_. why do you ask?" "sure, there's no sin in askin'," replied matty in surprise at the man's changed manner. "of course--of course not," rejoined boone with a slight look of confusion, as he made a sudden assault with his pocket-handkerchief on the cat, which was sleeping innocently in the window; "git out o' that, you brute; you're always agoin' in the winder, capsizin' things. there! you've been an' sat on the face o' that 'ere wax doll till you've a'most melted it. out o' that with you! no, miss merryon," he added, turning to the girl with his wonted urbanity, "i don't keep turpentine, and i was only surprised you should ask for it in a toy-shop; but you'll get it of mr white next door. i don't believe there's anythink in the world as he can't supply to his customers." david boone bowed them out, and then re-entered the back-shop, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "i don't like it--i don't even like to think of it, gorman," he said to a big low-browed man who sat smoking his pipe beside the little fireplace, the fire in which was so small that its smoke scarcely equalled in volume that of the pipe he smoked: "no, i _don't_ like it, and i _won't do it_." "well, well, you can please yourself," said gorman, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and placing it in his vest pocket as he rose and buttoned his thick pea-jacket up to the chin; "but i'll tell you what it is, if you _are_ a descendant of the hunter of the far west that you boast so much about, it's precious little of his pluck that you've got; an' so i tell 'ee to your face, david boone. all i've got to say is, that you'd better be wise and take my advice, and think better of it." so saying, gorman went out, and slammed the door after him. meanwhile, miss matty merryon, having purchased a small phial of turpentine, returned to number , and ushered willie willders into the presence of her mistress. miss emelina tippet was neither tall nor stiff, nor angular nor bony; on the contrary, she was little and plump, and not bad-looking. and people often wondered why miss tippet _was_ miss tippet and was not mrs somebody-else. whatever the reason was, miss tippet never divulged it, so we won't speculate about it here. "a note, boy, from mr auberly?" exclaimed miss tippet, with a beaming smile; "give it me--thank you." she opened it and read attentively, while master willie glanced round the parlour and took mental notes. miss emma ward sat down on a stool in the window, ostensibly to "do sums," but really to draw faces, all of which bore a strong caricatured resemblance to willie, at whom she glanced slyly over the top of her slate. matty remained standing at the door to hear what the note was about. she did not pretend to busy herself about anything. there was no subterfuge in matty. she had been miss tippet's confidential servant before entering the service of mr auberly, and her extremely short stay in beverly square had not altered that condition. she had come to feel that she had a right to know all miss tippet's affairs, and so waited for information. "ah!" exclaimed miss tippet, still reading, "yes; `get him a situation in your brother's office,' (oh, certainly, i'll be sure to get that); `he seems smart, i might almost say impu--' ahem! yes, well--." "boy," said miss tippet, turning suddenly to willie, "your name is william willders, i believe?" "yes, ma'am." "well, william, mr auberly, my relative, asks me to get you into my brother's--my brother's, what's 'is name--office. of course, i shall be happy to try. i am always extremely happy to do anything for--yes, i suppose of course you can write, and, what d'ye call it--count--you can do arithmetic?" "yes, ma'am," replied willie. "and you can spell--eh? i hope you can _spell_, edward, a--i mean thomas--is it, or william?" miss tippet looked at willie so earnestly and put this question in tones so solemn that he was much impressed, and felt as if all his earthly hopes hung on his reply, so he admitted that he could spell. "good," continued miss tippet. "you are, i suppose, in rather poor circumstances. is your father poor?" "he's dead, ma'am; was drowned." "oh! shocking, that's very sad. was your mother drowned, too?" "no, ma'am, she's alive and well--at least she's well for _her_, but she an't over strong. that's why i want to get work, that i may help her; and she wants me to be a clerk in a office, but i'd rather be a fireman. you couldn't make me a fireman, could you, ma'am?" at this point willie caught miss ward gazing intently at him over the top of her slate, so he threw her into violent confusion by winking at her. "no, boy, i can't make you a fireman. strange wish--why d'you want to be one?" "'cause it's such jolly fun," replied willie; with real enthusiasm, "reg'lar bangin' crashin' sort o' work--as good as fightin' any day! an' my brother frank's a fireman. such a one, too, you've no notion; six fut four he is, an' as strong as--oh, why, ma'am, he could take you up in one hand, ma'am, an' twirl you round his head like an old hat! he was at the fire in beverly square last night." this speech was delivered with such vehemence, contained so many objectionable sentiments, and involved such a dreadful supposition in regard to the treatment of miss tippet's person, that the worthy lady was shocked beyond all expression. the concluding sentence, however, diverted her thoughts. "ah! was he indeed at that sad fire, and did he help to put it out?" "sure, an' he did more than that," exclaimed matty, regarding the boy with sudden interest. "if that was yer brother that saved miss loo he's a ra'al man--" "saved loo!" cried miss tippet; "was it _your_ brother that saved loo?" "yes, ma'am, it was." "bless him; he is a noble fellow, and i have great pleasure in taking you by the hand for his sake." miss tippet suited the action to the word, and seized willie's hand, which she squeezed warmly. matty merryon, with tears in her eyes, embraced him, and said that she only wished she had the chance of embracing his brother, too. then they all said he must stay to lunch, as it was about lunchtime, and miss tippet added that he deserved to have been born in a higher position in life--at least his brother did, which was the same thing, for he was a true what's-'is-name, who ought to be crowned with thingumyjigs. emma, who had latterly been looking at willie with deepening respect, immediately crowned him with laurels on the slate, and then matty rushed away for the lunch-tray--rejoicing in the fire, that had sent her back so soon to the old mistress whom she never wanted to leave; that had afforded scope for the display of such heroism, and had brought about altogether such an agreeable state of unwonted excitation. just as the party were on the point of sitting down to luncheon, the street-door knocker was applied to the door with an extremely firm touch. "miss deemas!" exclaimed miss tippet. "oh! i'm _so_ glad. rush, matty." matty rushed, and immediately there was a sound on the wooden passage as of a gentleman with heavy boots. a moment later, and matty ushered in a very tall, broad-shouldered, strapping lady; if we may venture to use that expression in reference to one of the fair sex. miss deemas was a sort of human eagle. she had an eagle eye, an aquiline nose, an eagle flounce, and an eagle heart. going up to miss tippet, she put a hand on each of her shoulders, and stooping down, pecked her, so to speak, on each cheek. "how are you, my dear?" said miss deemas, not by any means tenderly; but much in the tone in which one would expect to have one's money or one's life demanded. "quite well, dear julia, and _so_ glad to see you. it is _so_ good of you to take me by surprise this way; just at lunch-time, too. another plate and knife, matty. this is a little boy--a friend--not exactly a friend, but a--a thingumy, you know." "no, i _don't_ know, emelina, what is the precise `thingumy' you refer to this time," said the uncompromising and matter-of-fact miss deemas. "you're _so_ particular, dear julia," replied miss tippet with a little sigh; "a what's-'is-n-, a _protege_, you know." "indeed," said miss deemas, regarding willie with a severe frown, as if in her estimation all _proteges_ were necessarily villains. "yes, dear julia, and, would you believe it, that this boy's brother-in-law--" "brother, ma'am," interrupted willie. "yes, brother, actually saved my darling's life last night, at the--the thing in beverly square." "what `darling's life,' and what `thing' in beverly square?" demanded miss deemas. "what! have you not heard of the fire last night in beverly square--my relative, james auberly--living there with his family--all burnt to ashes--and my sweet loo, too? a what's-'is-name was brought, and a brave fireman went up it, through fire and water and smoke. young auberly went up before him and fell--heat and suffocation--and saved her in his arms, and his name is frank, and he's this boy's brother-in-law!" to this brief summary, given with much excitement, miss deemas listened with quiet composure, and then said with grim sarcasm, and very slowly: "let me see; there was a fire in beverly square last night, and james auberly, living there with his family, were all burned to ashes." miss tippet here interrupted with, "no, no;" but her stern friend imposing silence, with an eagle look, continued: "all burned to ashes, and also your sweet loo. a `what's-his-name' having been brought, a brave fireman goes up it, and apparently never comes down again (burned to ashes also, i fancy); but young auberly, who went up before him, and fell--heat and suffocation being the result-- saved some one named `her' in his arms; his name being frank (owing no doubt to his having been re-baptised, for ever since i knew him he has been named frederick), and he is this boy's brother-in-law!" by way of putting an extremely fine point on her sarcasm, miss deemas turned to willie, with a very condescending air, and said: "pray, when did your sister marry mr frederick auberly?" willie, with a face of meekness, that can only be likened to that of a young turtle-dove, replied: "please, ma'am, it isn't my sister as has married mr auberly; but it's my brother, frank willders, as hopes to marry miss loo auberly, on account o' havin' saved her life, w'en she comes of age, ma'am." miss deemas stood aghast, or rather sat aghast, on receiving this reply, and scanned willie's face with one of her most eagle glances; but that small piece of impudence wore an expression of weak good-nature, and winked its eyes with the humility of a subdued pup, while miss tippet looked half-horrified and half-amused; matty grinned, and emma squeaked through her nose. "boy," said miss deemas severely, "your looks belie you." "yes, ma'am," answered willie, "my mother always said i wasn't half so bad as i looked; and she's aware that i'm absent from home." at this point willie allowed a gleam of intelligence to shoot across his face, and he winked to emma, who thereupon went into private convulsions in her handkerchief. "emelina," said miss deemas solemnly, "let me warn you against that boy. he is a bad specimen of a bad sex. he is a precocious type of that base, domineering, proud and perfidious creature that calls itself `lord of creation,' and which, in virtue of its superior physical power, takes up every position in life worth having," ("except that of wife and mother," meekly suggested miss tippet), "_worth having_" (repeated the eagle sternly, as if the position of wife and mother were _not_ worth having), "worth having, and leaves nothing for poor weak-bodied, though not weak-minded woman to do, except sew and teach brats. bah! i hate men, and they hate _me_, i know it, and i would not have it otherwise. i wish they had never been made. i wish there had been none in the world but women. what a blessed world it would have been _then_!" miss deemas hit the table with her hand, in a masculine manner, so forcibly, that the plates and glasses rattled, then she resumed, for she was now on a favourite theme, and was delivering a lecture to a select audience. "but, mark you, _i'm_ not going to be put down by men. i mean to fight 'em with their own weapons. i mean to--" she paused suddenly at this point, and, descending from her platform, advised miss tippet to dismiss the boy at once. poor miss tippet prepared to do so. she was completely under the power of miss deemas, whom, strange to say, she loved dearly. she really believed that they agreed with each other on most points, although it was quite evident that they were utterly opposed to each other in everything. wherein the bond lay no philosopher could discover. possibly it lay in the fact that they were absolute extremes, and, in verification of the proverb, had met. be this as it may, a note was quickly written to her brother, thomas tippet, esquire, which was delivered to willie, with orders to take it the following evening to london bridge, in the neighbourhood of which mr tippet dwelt and carried on his business. chapter eight. a hidden fire. in the afternoon of the following day willie set off to the city in quest of mr thomas tippet. having to pass the king street fire station, he resolved to look in on his brother. the folding-doors of the engine-house were wide open, and the engine itself, clean and business-like, with its brass-work polished bright, stood ready for instant action. two of the firemen were conversing at the open door, while several others could be seen lounging about inside. in one of the former willie recognised the strong man who had collared him on a well-remembered occasion. "please, sir," said willie, going up to him, "is frank willders inside?" "why, youngster," said dale, laying his hand on willie's head, "ain't you the boy that pulled our bell for a lark the other night?" "yes, sir, i am; but you let me off, you know, so i hope you won't bear me ill-will _now_." "that depends on how you behave in future," said dale with a laugh; "but what d'you want with frank willders?" "i want to see him. he's my brother." "oh, indeed! you'll find him inside." willie entered the place with feelings of interest, for his respect for firemen had increased greatly since he had witnessed their recent doings at the beverly square fire. he found his brother writing at the little desk that stood in the window, while five or six of his comrades were chatting by the fire, and a group in a corner were playing draughts, and spinning yarns of their old experiences. all assisted in loading the air with tobacco-smoke. the round cloth caps worn by the men gave them a much more sailor-like and much less fireman-like appearance than the helmets, which, with their respective hatchets, hung on the walls, rendering the apartment somewhat like a cavalry guard-room. this change in the head-piece, and the removal of the hatchet, was the only alteration in their costume in what may be styled "times of peace." in other respects they were at all times accoutred, and in readiness to commence instant battle with the flames. "hallo, blazes! how are ye?" said willie, touching his brother on the shoulder. "that you, willie?" said frank, without looking up from his work. "where away now?" "come to tell ye there's a _fire_," said willie, with a serious look. "eh? what d'ye mean?" asked frank, looking at his brother, as if he half believed he was in earnest. "i mean what i say--a fire here," said willie, solemnly striking his breast with his clenched fist, "here in heart street, buzzum square, ragin' like fury, and all the ingins o' the fire brigade, includin' the float, couldn't put it out, no, nor even so much as squeanch it!" "then it's of no use our turning out, i suppose?" said frank with a smile, as he wiped his pen; "what set it alight, lad?" "a wax doll with flaxen hair and blue eyes," answered willie; "them's the things as has all along done for me. when i was a boy i falled in love with a noo wax doll every other day. not that i ever owned one myself; i only took a squint at 'em in toy-shop winders, and they always had flaxen hair and blue peepers. now that i've become a man, i've bin an' falled in love with a livin' wax doll, an' she's got flaxen hair an' blue eyes; moreover, she draws." "draws--boy! what does she draw--corks?" inquires frank. "_no_!" replied willie, with a look of supreme contempt; "nothin' so low; she draws faces an' pictures like--like--a schoolmaster, and," added willie, with a sigh, "she's bin an' drawed all the spirit out o' this here buzzum." "she must have left a good lot o' combustible matter behind, however, if there's such a fire raging in it. who may this pretty fire-raiser be?" "her name is emma ward, and she b'longs to a miss tippet, to whom she's related somehow, but i don't know where she got her, nor who's her parents. this same miss tippet is some sort of a relation o' mr auberly, who sent me to her with a note, and she has sent me with another note to her brother near london bridge, who, i s'pose, will send me with another note to somebody else, so i'm on my way down to see him. i thought i'd look in to ask after you in passin', and cheer you on to dooty." a violent fit of somewhat noisy coughing from one of the men at the fireplace attracted willie's attention at this point in the conversation. "wot a noisy feller you are, corney," remarked one of the men. "faix," retorted corney, "it's noisy you'd be too av ye had the cowld in yer chist that i have. sure, if ye had bin out five times in wan night as i wos on widsenday last, wid the branch to howld in a smoke as 'ud choke baxmore hisself (an' it's well known _he_ can stand a'most anything), not to spake o' the hose bu'stin' right betune me two feet." "come, come, paddy," said dale, interrupting; "don't try to choke us, now; you know very well that one of the fires was only a cut-away affair; two were chimneys, and one was a false alarm." "true for ye!" cried corney, who had a tendency to become irascible in argument, or while defending himself; "true for ye, mister dale, but they _was_ alarms for all that, false or thrue, was they not now? anyhow they alarmed me out o' me bed five times in a night as cowld as the polar ragions, and the last time was a raale case o' two flats burnt out, an' four hours' work in iced wather." there was a general laugh at this point, followed by several coughs and sneezes, for the men were all more or less afflicted with colds, owing to the severity of the weather and the frequency of the fires that had occurred at that time. "there's some of us can sing chorus to corney," observed one of the group. "i never saw such weather; and it seems to me that the worse the weather the more the fires, as if they got 'em up a purpose to kill us." "bill moxey!" cried another, "you're _always_ givin' out some truism with a face like solomon." "well, jack williams," retorted moxey, "it's more than i can say of you, for you never say anything worth listenin' to, and you couldn't look like solomon if you was to try ever so much.--you're too stoopid for that." "i say, lads," cried frank willders, "what d'ye say to send along to the doctor for another bottle o' cough mixture, same as the first?" this proposal was received with a general laugh. "he'll not send us more o' _that_ tipple, you may depend," said williams. "no, not av we wos dyin'," said corney, with a grin. "what was it?" asked williams. "didn't you hear about it?" inquired moxey. "oh, to be sure not; you were in hospital after you got run over by the baker street engine. tell him about it, corney. it was you that asked the doctor, wasn't it, for another bottle?" corney was about to speak, when a young fireman entered the room with his helmet hanging on his arm. "is it go on?" he inquired, looking round. "no, it's go back, young rags," replied baxmore, as he refilled his pipe; "it was only a chimney, so you're not wanted." "can any o' you fellers lend me a bit o' baccy?" asked rags. "i've forgot to fetch mine." "here you are," said dale, offering him a piece of twist. "han't ye got a bit o' hard baccy for the tooth?" said rags. "will that do?" asked frank willders, cutting off a piece from a plug of cavendish. "thank'ee. good afternoon." young rags put the quid in his cheek, and went away humming a tune. in explanation of the above incident, it is necessary to tell the reader that when a fire occurred in any part of london at the time of which we write, the fire-station nearest to it at once sent out its engines and men, and telegraphed to the then head or centre station at watling street. london was divided into four districts, each district containing several fire stations, and being presided over by a foreman. from watling street the news was telegraphed to the foremen's stations, whence it was transmitted to the stations of their respective districts, so that in a few minutes after the breaking out of a fire the fact was known to the firemen _all over london_. as we have said, the stations nearest to the scene of conflagration turned out engines and men; but the other stations furnished a man each. thus machinery was set in motion which moved, as it were, the whole metropolis; and while the engines were going to the fire at full speed, single men were setting out from every point of the compass to walk to it, with their sailors' caps on their heads and their helmets on their arms. and this took place in the case of every alarm of fire, because fire is an element that will not brook delay, and it does not do to wait to ascertain whether it is worth while to turn out such a force of men for it or not. in order, however, to prevent this unnecessary assembling of men when the fire was found to be trifling, or when, as was sometimes the case, it was a false alarm, the fireman in charge of the engine that arrived first, at once sent a man back to the station with a "stop," that is, with an order to telegraph to the central station that the fire turns out to be only a chimney or a false alarm, and that all hands who have started from the distant stations may be "stopped." the "stop" was at once telegraphed to the foremen, from whom it was passed (just as the "call" had been) to the outlying stations, and this second telegram might arrive within quarter of an hour of the first. of course the man from each station had set out before that time, and the "stop" was too late for _him_, but it was his duty to call at the various fire stations he happened to pass on the way, where he soon found out whether he was to "go on" or to "go back." if no telegram had been received, he went on to the fire; sometimes walking four or five miles to it, "at not less than four miles an hour." on coming up to the scene of conflagration, he put on his helmet, thrust his cap into the breast of his coat, and reported himself to the chief of the fire brigade (who was usually on the spot), or to the foreman in command, and found, probably, that he had arrived just in time to be of great service in the way of relieving the men who first attacked the flames. if, on the other hand, he found that the "stop" had been telegraphed, he turned back before having gone much more than a mile from his own station, and so went quietly home to bed. in the days of which we write the effective and beautiful system of telegraphy which now exists had not been applied to the fire stations of london, and the system of "stops" and "calls," although in operation, was carried out much less promptly and effectively by means of messengers. some time before the entrance of willie willders into the king street station the engine had been turned out to a fire close at hand, which proved to be only a chimney on fire, and which was put out by means of a hand-pump and a bucket of water, while moxey was sent back with the "stop" to the station. the affair was over and almost forgotten, and the men had resumed their pipes, as we have seen, when young rags entered and was told to go back. apologising for this necessary digression, we return to joe corney. "the fact was," said he, "that we had had a fearful time of it that winter--blowin' great guns an' snow nearly every night, an' what wi' heat at the fires an' cowld i' the streets, an' hot wather pourin' on us at wan minnit an' freezin' on us the nixt, a'most every man jack of us was coughin' an' sneezin', and watherin' so bad at our eyes an' noses, that i do belave if we'd held 'em over the suction-pipes we might ha' filled the ingins without throublin' the mains at all. so the doctor he said, says he, `lads, i'll send ye a bottle o' stuff as'll put ye right.' an' sure enough down comes the bottle that night when we was smokin' our pipes just afther roll-call. it turned out to be the best midcine ever was. `musha!' says i, `here's the top o' the marnin' to ye, boys!' baxmore he smacks his lips when he tastes it, opens his eyes, tosses off the glass, and holds it out for another. `howld on; fair play!' cried jack williams, so we all had a glass round. it was just like lemonade or ginger-beer, it was. so we sat down an' smoked our pipes over it, an' spun yarns an' sung songs; in fact we made a jollification of it, an' when we got up to turn in there warn't a dhrop left i' the bottle. "`you'd better go to the doctor for another bottle,' says moxey, as he wint out. "`i will,' says i; `i'll go i' the marnin'.' "sure enough away i goes i' the marnin' to doctor offley. `doctor,' says i, howldin' out the bottle, `we all think our colds are much the better o' this here midcine, an' i comed, av ye plaze, for another o' the same.' "musha! but ye should ha' seen the rage he goes off into. `finished it all?' says he. `ivery dhrop, doctor,' says i, `at wan sittin'.' at that he stamped an' swore at me, an' ordered me away as if i'd bin a poor relation; an' says he, `i'll sind ye a bottle to-night as'll cure ye!' sure so he did. the second bottle would have poison'd a rat. it lasted us all six months, an' i do belave ye'll find the most of it in the cupboard at this minnit av ye look." "come, willie," said frank, while the men were laughing at the remembrance of this incident. "i'm going down your way and will give you a convoy. we can take a look in at the gymnastics as we pass, if you choose." "all right, blazes, come along." so saying they left the station, and set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the city. chapter nine. auctions and gymnastics. as the brothers drew near to the busy region of the city which lies to the north of london bridge; frank turned aside into one of the narrow streets that diverge from the main thoroughfare. "where are ye goin'?" inquired willie. "there was a fire here last night," said frank; "i want to have a look at the damage." "a fire!" exclaimed willie. "why, blazes, it strikes me there's bin more fires than usual last night in london." "only two, lad." "_only_ two! how many would you have?" asked willie with a laugh. "don't you know," said frank, "that we have about four fires _every_ night? sometimes more, sometimes fewer. of course, we don't _all_ of us turn out to them; but some of the brigade turn out to that number, on an average, every night of the year." "are ye jokin', frank?" "indeed i am not. i wish with all my heart i could say that i was joking. it's a fact, boy. you know i have not been long in the force, yet i've gone to as many as six fires in one night, and we _often_ go to two or three. the one we are going to see the remains of just now was too far from us for our engine to turn out; but we got the call to send a man on, and i was sent. when i arrived and reported myself to mr braidwood, the two top floors were burnt out, and the fire was nearly got under. there were three engines, and the men were up on the window-sills of the second-floor with the branches, playin' on the last of the flames, while the men of the salvage-corps were getting the furniture out of the first floor. conductor brown was there with his escape, and had saved a whole family from the top floor, just before i arrived. he had been changed from his old station at the west end that very day. he's a wonderful fellow, that conductor! many a life he has saved; but, indeed, the same may be said of most of the men in the force, especially the old hands. here we are, lad. this is the house." frank stopped, as he spoke, in front of a ruined tenement, or rather, in front of the gap which was now strewn with the charred and blackened _debris_ of what had once been a house. the street in which it stood was a narrow, mean one, inhabited by a poor, and, to judge from appearance, a dissipated class. the remains of the house were guarded by policemen, while a gang of men were engaged in digging among the ruins, which still smoked a little here and there. "what are they diggin' for?" asked willie. "i fear they are looking for dead bodies. the house was let out to lodgers, and swarmed with people. at first it was thought that all were saved; but just before i was ordered home after the fire was got under, some one said that an old man and his grandchild were missing. i suppose they're looking for them now." on inquiring of a policeman, however, frank learned that the remains of the old man and his grandchild had already been found, and that they were searching for the bodies of others who were missing. a little beyond the spot where the fire had occurred, a crowd was gathered round a man who stood on a chair haranguing them, with apparently considerable effect, for ever and anon his observations were received with cries of "hear, hear," and laughter. going along the middle of the narrow street, in order to avoid the smell of the old-clothes'-shops and pawnbrokers, as well as the risk of contact with their wares, frank and willie elbowed their way through the crowd to within a few yards of the speaker. "what is he?" inquired frank of a rather dissipated elderly woman. "he's a clown or a hacrobat, or somethink of that sort, in one of the theatres or music-'alls. he's bin burnt out o' his 'ome last night, an's a-sellin' off all he's been able to save, by hauction." "come; now, ladies an' gents," cried the clown, taking up a rather seedy-looking great-coat, which he held aloft with one hand, and pointed to it with the other, "who's agoin' to bid for this 'ere garment--a hextra superfine, double-drilled, kershimere great-coat, fresh from the looms o' tuskany--at least it was fresh from 'em ten years ago (that was when my grandfather was made lord mayor of london), an' its bin renewing its youth (the coat, not the lord mayor) ever since. it's more glossy, i do assure you, ladies and gents, than w'en it fust comed from the looms, by reason of the pile havin' worn off; and you'll obsarve that the glossiness is most beautiful and brightest about the elbows an' the seams o' the back. who bids for this 'ere venerable garment? six bob? come now, don't all bid at once. who said six bob?" no reply being made to this, except a laugh, the clown (who, by the way, wore a similarly glossy great-coat, with a hat to match) protested that his ears must have deceived him, or his imagination had been whispering hopeful things--which was not unlikely, for his imagination was a very powerful one--when he noticed frank's tall figure among the crowd. "come now, fireman, this is the wery harticle you wants. you comed out to buy it, i know, an' 'ere it is, by a strange coincidence, ready-made to hand. what d'ye bid? six bob? or say five. i know you've got a wife an' a large family o' young firemen to keep, so i'll let it go cheap. p'raps it's too small for you; but that's easy put right. you've only got to slit it up behind to the neck, which is a' infallible cure for a tight fit, an' you can let down the cuffs, which is double, an' if it's short you can cut off the collar, an' sew it on to the skirts. it's water-proof, too, and fire-proof, patent asbestos. w'en it's dirty you've got nothin' to do but walk into the fire, an' it'll come out noo. w'en it's thoroughly wet on the houtside, turn it hinside hout, an' there you are, to all appearance as dry as bone. what! you won't have it at no price? well, now, i'll tempt you. i'll make it _two_ bob." "say one," cried a baker, who had been listening to this, with a broad grin on his floury countenance. "ladies and gents," cried the clown, drawing himself up with dignity; "there's an individual in this crowd--i beg parden, this assemblage--as asks me to say `one.' i _do_ say `one,' an' i say it with melancholy feelin's as to the liberality of my species. one bob! a feller-man as has bin burnt hout of 'is 'ome an' needs ready money to keep 'im from starvation, offers his best great-coat--a hextra superfine, double-drilled (or milled, i forget w'ich) kershimere, from the looms o' tuskany--for one bob!" "one-an'-six," muttered an old-clothes-man, with a black cotton sack on his shoulder. "one-an'-six," echoed the clown with animation; "one-an'-six bid; one-an'-six. who said one-an'-seven? was it the gent with the red nose?--no, one-an'-six; goin' at the ridiculously low figure of one-an'-six--gone! as the old 'ooman said w'en her cat died o' apple-plexy. here you are; hand over the money. i can't knock it down to you, 'cause i haven't a hauctioneer's 'ammer. besides, it's agin' my principles. i've never knocked nothin' down, not even a skittle, since i joined the peace society. "now, ladies an' gents, the next thing i've got to hoffer is a harm-chair. hand up the harmchair, jim." a very antique piece of furniture was handed up by a little boy, whom willie recognised as the little boy who had once conversed with him in front of the chocolate-shop in holborn hill. "thank you, my son," said the clown, taking the chair with one hand and patting the boy's head with the other; "this, ladies and gents," he added in a parenthetical tone, "is my son; _he's_ bin burnt hout of 'ouse an' 'ome, too! now, then, who bids for the old harm-chair? the wery identical harm-chair that the song was written about. in the embrace o' this 'ere chair has sat for generations past the family o' the cattleys--that's _my_ name, ladies an gents, at your service. here sat my great-great-grandfather, who was used to say that his great-grandfather sat in it too. here sat his son, and his son's son-- the lord mayor as was--and his son, my father, ladies and gents, who died in it besides, and whose son now hoffers it to the 'ighest bidder. you'll observe its antiquity, ladies an' gents. that's its beauty. it's what i may call, in the language of the haristocracy, a harticle of _virtoo_, w'ich means that it's a harticle as is surrounded by virtuous memories in connection with the defunct. now then, say five bob for the hold harm-chair!" while the clown was endeavouring to get the chair disposed of, willie pushed his way to the side of jim cattley. "i say, youngster, would you like a cup o' chocolate?" began willie by way of recalling to the boy their former meeting. jim, whose face wore a sad and dispirited look, turned angrily and said, "come, i don't want none o' your sauce!" "it ain't sauce i'm talkin' of, it's chocolate," retorted willie. "but come, jim, i don't want to bother ye. i'm sorry to see you an yer dad in sitch a fix. have you lost much?" "it's not what we've lost that troubles us," said jim, softened by willie's sympathetic tone more than by his words; "but sister ziza is took bad, an' she's a fairy at drury lane, an' takin' her down the fire-escape has well-nigh killed her, an' we've got sitch a cold damp cellar of a place to put her in, that i don't think she'll get better at all; anyhow, she'll lose her engagement, for she can't make two speeches an' go up in a silver cloud among blue fire with the 'flooenzer, an 'er 'air all but singed off 'er 'ead." jim almost whimpered at this point, and willie, quitting his side abruptly, went back to frank (who was still standing an amused auditor of the clown), and demanded a shilling. "what for, lad?" "never you mind, blazes; but give me the bob, an' i'll pay you back before the week's out." frank gave him a shilling, with which he at once returned to jim, and thrusting it into his hand, said: "there, jim, your dad's hard up just now. go you an' get physic with that for the fairy. them 'floo-enzers is ticklish things to play with. where d'ye stop?" "well, you _are_ a queer 'un; thank'ee all the same," said jim, pocketing the shilling. "we've got a sort o' cellar just two doors east o' the burnt 'ouse. why?" "'cause i'll come an' see you, jim. i'd like to see a live fairy in plain clo'se, with her wings off--" the rest of the sentence was cut short by the clown, who, having disposed of the old arm-chair to a chimney-sweep, ordered jim to "'and up another harticle." at the same moment frank touched willie on the shoulder, and said, "let's go, lad; i'll be late, i fear, for the gymnastics." at the period of which we write, the then chief of the london fire brigade, mr braidwood, had introduced a system of gymnastic training among the firemen, which he had found from experience to be a most useful exercise to fit the men for the arduous work they had to perform. before going to london to take command of and reorganise the brigade which then went by the name of the london fire-engine establishment, and was in a very unsatisfactory condition, mr braidwood had, for a long period, been chief of the edinburgh fire brigade, which he had brought to a state of great efficiency. taking the requirements and conditions of the service in edinburgh into consideration, he had come to the conclusion that the best men for the work in that city were masons, house-carpenters, slaters, and suchlike; but these men, when at their ordinary employments, being accustomed to bring only certain muscles into full play, were found to have a degree of stiffness in their general movements which prevented them from performing their duty as firemen with that ease and celerity which are so desirable. to obviate this evil he instituted the gymnastic exercises, which, by bringing all the muscles of the body into action, and by increasing the development of the frame generally, rendered the men lithe and supple, and in every way more fitted for the performance of duties in which their lives frequently depended on their promptitude and vigour. in addition to these advantages, it was found that those exercises gave the men confidence when placed in certain situations of danger. "for example," writes mr braidwood, "a fireman untrained in gymnastics, on the third or fourth floor of a burning house, with the branch in his hands, who is uncertain as to his means of escape, in the event of his return by the stair being cut off, will be too much concerned about his own safety to render much service, and will certainly not be half so efficient as the experienced gymnast, who, with a hatchet and eighty feet of rope at his waist, and a window near him, feels himself in comparative security, knowing that he has the means and the power of lowering himself easily and safely into the street"--a knowledge which not only gives him confidence, but enables him to give his undistracted attention to the exigencies of the fire. it was to attend this gymnastic class that frank now turned aside, and proposed to bid willie goodbye; but willie begged to be taken into the room. frank complied, and the boy soon found himself in an apartment fitted up with all the appliances of a gymnasium, where a number of powerful young men were leaping, vaulting, climbing, and in other ways improving their physical powers. frank joined them, and for a long time willie stood in rapt and envious contemplation of the busy scene. at first he could not avoid feeling that there seemed a good deal more of play than business in their doings; but his admiration of the scene deepened when he remembered the bold acts of the firemen at beverly square, and recognised some of the faces of the men who had been on duty there, and reflected that these very men, _who seemed thus to be playing themselves_, would on that very night, in all probability, be called upon to exert these powers sternly and seriously, yet coolly, in the midst of scenes of terror and confusion, and in the face of imminent personal danger. brooding over these things, willie, having at length torn himself away, hastened on his pilgrimage to london bridge. chapter ten. difficulties and dissipations. in a very small office, situate in a very large warehouse, in that great storehouse of the world's wealth, tooley street, sat a clerk named edward hooper. among his familiar friends edward was better known by the name of ned. he was seated on the top of a tall three-legged stool, which, to judge from the uneasy and restless motions of its occupant, must have been a peculiarly uncomfortable seat indeed. there was a clock on the wall just opposite to ned's desk, which that young gentleman was in the habit of consulting frequently--very frequently--and comparing with his watch, as if he doubted its veracity. this was very unreasonable, for he always found that the two timepieces told the truth; at least, that they agreed with each other. nevertheless, in his own private heart, ned hooper thought that clock-- and sometimes called it--"the slowest piece of ancient furniture he had ever seen." during one of ned's comparisons of the two timepieces the door opened, and mr auberly entered, with a dark cloud, figuratively speaking, on his brow. at the same moment the door of an inner office opened, and mr auberly's head clerk, who had seen his employer's approach through the dusty window, issued forth and bowed respectfully, with a touch of condolence in his air, as he referred with much regret to the fire at beverly square, and hoped that miss auberly was not much the worse of her late alarm. "well, she is not the better for it," said mr auberly; "but i hope she will be quite well soon. indeed, the doctor assures me of this, if care is taken of her. i wish that was the only thing on my mind just now; but i am perplexed about another matter, mr quill. are you alone?" "quite alone, sir," said quill, throwing open the door of the inner office. "i want to consult with you about frederick," said mr auberly as he entered. the door shut out the remainder of the consultation at this point, so edward hooper consulted the clock again and sighed. if sighs could have delivered hooper from his sorrows, there is no doubt that the accumulated millions of which he was delivered in that office, during the last five years, would have filled him with a species of semi-celestial bliss. at last, the hands of the clock reached the hour, _the_ hour that was wont to evoke ned's last sigh and set him free; but it was an aggravating clock. nothing would persuade it to hurry. it would not, for all the untold wealth contained in the great stores of tooley street, have abated the very last second of the last minute of the hour. on the contrary, it went through that second quite as slowly as all the others. ned fancied it went much slower at that one on purpose; and then, with a sneaking parade of its intention to begin to strike, it gave a prolonged hiss, and did its duty, and nothing _but_ its duty; by striking the hour at a pace so slow, that it recalled forcibly to ned hooper's imaginative mind, "the minute-gun at sea." there was a preliminary warning given by that clock some time before the premonitory hiss. between this harbinger of coming events, and the joyful sound which was felt to be "an age," ned was wont to wipe his pen and arrange his papers. when the hiss began, he invariably closed his warehouse book and laid it in the desk, and had the desk locked before the first stroke of the hour. while the "minute-gun at sea" was going on, he changed his office-coat for a surtout, not perfectly new, and a white hat with a black band, the rim of which was not perfectly straight. so exact and methodical was ned in these operations, that his hand usually fell on the door-latch as the last gun was fired by the aggravating clock. on occasions of unusual celerity he even managed to drown the last shot in the bang of the door, and went off with a sensation of triumph. on the present occasion, however, ned hooper deemed it politic to be so busy, that he could not attend to the warnings of the timepiece. he even sat on his stool a full quarter of an hour beyond the time of departure. at length, mr auberly issued forth. "mr quill," said he, "my mind is made up, so it is useless to urge such considerations on me. good-night." mr quill, whose countenance was sad, looked as though he would willingly have urged the considerations referred to over again, and backed them up with a few more; but mr auberly's tone was peremptory, so he only opened the door, and bowed the great man out. "you can go, hooper," said mr quill, retiring slowly to the inner office, "i will lock up. send the porter here." this was a quite unnecessary permission. quill, being a good-natured, easy-going man, never found fault with ned hooper, and ned being a presumptuous young fellow, though good-humoured enough, never waited for mr quill's permission to go. he was already in the act of putting on the white hat; and, two seconds afterwards, was in the street wending his way homeward. there was a tavern named the "angel" at the corner of one of the streets off tooley street, which edward hooper had to pass every evening on his way home. ned, we grieve to say, was fond of his beer; he always found it difficult to pass a tavern. yet, curiously enough, he never found any difficulty in passing this tavern; probably because he always went in and slaked his thirst _before_ passing it. "good evening, mr hooper," said the landlord, who was busy behind his counter serving a motley and disreputable crew. hooper nodded in reply, and said good evening to mrs butler, who attended to the customers at another part of the counter. "good evenin', sir. w'at'll you 'ave to-night, sir?" "pot o' the same, mrs b," replied ned. this was the invariable question and reply, for ned was a man of regularity and method in everything that affected his personal comforts. had he brought one-tenth of this regularity and method to bear on his business conduct, he would have been a better and a happier man. the foaming pot was handed, and ned conversed with mrs butler while he enjoyed it, and commenced his evening, which usually ended in semi-intoxication. meanwhile, edward hooper's "chum" and fellow-lodger sat in their mutual chamber awaiting him. john barret did not drink, but he smoked; and, while waiting for his companion, he solaced himself with a pipe. he was a fine manly fellow, very different from ned; who, although strong of limb and manly enough, was slovenly in gait and dress, and bore unmistakable marks of dissipation about him. "very odd; he's later than usual," muttered barret, as he glanced out at the window, and then at the tea-table, which, with the tea-service, and, indeed everything in the room, proved that the young men were by no means wealthy. "he'll be taking an extra pot at the `angel,'" muttered john barret, proceeding to re-light his pipe, while he shook his head gravely; "but he'll be here soon." a foot on the stair caused barret to believe that he was a true prophet; but the rapidity and firmness of the step quickly disabused him of that idea. the door was flung open with a crash, and a hearty youth with glowing eyes strode in. "fred auberly!" exclaimed barret in surprise. "won't you welcome me?" demanded fred. "welcome you? of course i will, most heartily, old boy!" cried barret, seizing his friend's hand and wringing it; "but if you burst in on a fellow unexpectedly in this fashion, and with such wild looks, why--" "well, well, don't explain, man; i hate explanations. i have come here for sympathy," said fred auberly, shutting the door and sitting down by the fire. "sympathy, fred?" "ay, sympathy. when a man is in distress he naturally craves for sympathy, and he turns, also naturally, to those who can and will give it--not to _everybody_, john barret--only to those who can feel _with_ him as well as _for_ him. i am in distress, john, and ever since you and i fought our first and last battle at eton, i have found you a true sympathiser. so now, is your heart ready to receive the flood of my sorrows?" young auberly said the latter part of this in a half-jesting tone, but he was evidently in earnest, so his friend replied by squeezing his hand warmly, and saying, "let's hear about it, fred," while he re-lighted his pipe. "you have but a poor lodging here, john," said auberly, looking round the room. barret turned on his friend a quick look of surprise, and then said, with a smile: "well, i admit that it is not _quite_ equal to a certain mansion in beverly square that i wot of, but it's good enough for a poor clerk in an insurance office." "you are right," continued auberly; "it is _not_ equal to that mansion, whose upper floors are at this moment a _chevaux-de-frise_ of charcoal beams and rafters depicted on a dark sky, and whose lower floors are a fantastic compound of burned bricks and lime, broken boards, and blackened furniture." "you don't mean to say there's been a fire?" exclaimed barret. "and _you_ don't mean to tell me, do you, that a clerk in a fire insurance office does not know it?" "i have been ill for two days," returned barret, "and have not seen the papers; but i'm very sorry to hear of it; indeed i am. the house is insured, of course?" "i believe it is," replied fred carelessly; "but _that_ is not what troubles me." "no?" exclaimed his friend. "no," replied the other. "if the house had not been insured my father has wealth enough in those abominably unpicturesque stores in tooley street to rebuild the whole of beverly square if it were burnt down. the fire costs me not a thought, although, by the way, it nearly cost me my life, in a vain attempt i made to rescue my poor dear sister loo--" "_vain_ attempt!" exclaimed barret, with a look of concern. "ay, vain, as far as i was concerned; but a noble fireman--a fellow that would make a splendid model for hercules in the life academy--sprang to the rescue after me and saved her. god bless him! dear loo has got a severe shake, but the doctors say that we have only to take good care of her, and she will do well. but to return to my woes. listen, john, and you shall hear." fred auberly paused, as though meditating how he should commence. "you know," said he, "that i am my father's only son, and loo his only daughter." "yes." "well, my father has disinherited me and left the whole of his fortune to loo. as far as dear loo is concerned i am glad; for myself i am sad, for it is awkward, to say the least of it, to have been brought up with unlimited command of pocket-money, and expectations of considerable wealth, and suddenly to find myself all but penniless, without a profession and without expectations, at the age of twenty-two." he paused and looked at his friend, who sat in mute amazement. "failing loo," continued fred calmly, "my father's fortune goes to some distant relative." "but why? wherefore?" exclaimed barret. "you shall hear," continued auberly. "you are aware that ever since i was able to burn the end of a stick and draw faces on the nursery-door, i have had a wild, insatiable passion for drawing; and ever since the memorable day on which i was whipped by my father, and kissed, tearfully, by my beloved mother, for caricaturing our cook on the dining-room window with a diamond-ring, i have had an earnest, unextinguishable desire to become a--a painter, an artist, a dauber, a dirtier of canvas. d'ye understand?" "perfectly," said barret. "well, my father has long been resolved, it seems, to make me a man of business, for which i have no turn whatever. you are aware that for many years i have dutifully slaved and toiled at these heavy books in our office--which have proved so heavy that they have nearly squeezed the soul out of me--and instead of coming to like them better (as i was led to believe i should), i have only come to hate them more. during all this time, too, i have been studying painting late and early, and although i have not gone through the regular academical course, i have studied much in the best of all schools, that of nature. i have urged upon my father repeatedly and respectfully, that it is possible for me to uphold the credit of the family as a painter; that, as the business can be carried on by subordinates, there is no necessity for me to be at the head of it; and that, as he has made an ample fortune already, the half of which he had told me was to be mine, i would be quite satisfied with my share, and did not want any more. but my father would never listen to my arguments. the last time we got on the subject he called me a mean-spirited fellow, and said he was sorry i had ever been born; whereupon i expressed regret that he had not been blessed with a more congenial and satisfactory son, and tried to point out that it was impossible to change my nature. then i urged all the old arguments over again, and wound up by saying that even if i were to become possessor of the whole of his business to-morrow, i would sell it off, take to painting as a profession, and become the patron of aspiring young painters from that date forward! "to my surprise and consternation, this last remark put him in such a towering rage, that he vowed he would disinherit me, if i did not then and there throw my palette and brushes into the fire. of course, i declined to do such an act, whereupon he dismissed me from his presence for ever. this occurred on the morning of the day of the fire. i thought he might perhaps relent after such an evidence of the mutability of human affairs. i even ventured to remind him that tooley street was not made of asbestos, and that an _occasional_ fire occurred there! but this made him worse than ever; so i went the length of saying that i would, at all events, in deference to his wishes, continue to go to the office at least for some time to come. but, alas! i had roused him to such a pitch that he refused to hear of it, unless i should `_throw my palette and brushes into the fire_!' flesh and blood, you know, could not do that, so i left him, and walked off twenty miles into the country to relieve my feelings. there i fell in with _such_ a splendid `bit;' a sluice, with a stump of a tree, and a winding bit of water with overhanging willows, and a peep of country beyond! i sat down and sketched, and forgot my woes, and _rejoiced_ in the fresh air and delightful sounds of birds, and cows, and sheep, and _hated_ to think of tooley street. then i slept in a country inn, walked back to london next day, and, _voila_! here i am!" "don't you think, fred, that time will soften your father?" "no, i don't think it. on the contrary, i know it won't. he is a good man; but he has an iron will, which i never saw subdued." "then, my dear fred, i advise you to consider the propriety of throwing your palette and brushes into--" "my dear john, i did not come here for your advice. i came for your sympathy." "and you have it, fred," cried barret earnestly. "but have you really such an unconquerable love for painting?" "have i really!" echoed fred. "do you think i would have come to such a pass as this for a trifle? why, man, you have no idea how my soul longs for the life of a painter, for the free fresh air of the country, for the poetry of the woods, the water, and the sky, for the music of bird and beast and running brook. you know the true proverb, `man made the town; but god made the country!'" "what," asked barret, "would become of the town, if all men thought as you do?" "oh! john barret, has town life so marred your once fine intellect, that you put such a question in earnest? suppose i answer it by another: what would become of the country if all men thought and acted as you do?" barret smiled and smoked. "and what," continued auberly, "would become of the fine arts if all men delighted in dirt, dust, dullness, and desks? depend upon it, john, that our tastes and tendencies are not the result of accident; they were given to us for a purpose. i hold it as an axiom that when a man or a boy has a strong and decided bias or partiality for any particular work that he knows _something_ about, he has really a certain amount of capacity for that work beyond the average of men, and is led thereto by a higher power than that of man. do not misunderstand me. i do not say that, when a boy expresses a longing desire to enter the navy or the army, he has necessarily an aptitude for these professions. far from it. he has only a romantic notion of something about which, experimentally, he knows nothing; but, when man or boy has put his hand to any style of work, and _thereafter_ loves it and longs after it, i hold that that is the work for which he was destined, and for which he is best suited." "perhaps you are right," said barret, smoking harder than ever. "at all events, i heartily sympathise with you, and--" at this point the conversation was interrupted by a loud burst of whistling, as the street-door opened and the strains of "rule britannia" filled the entire building. the music was interrupted by the sudden opening of another door, and a rough growl from a male voice. "don't get waxy, old feller," said the performer in a youthful voice, "i ain't a-goin' to charge you nothink for it. i always do my music gratis; havin' a bee-nevolient turn o' mind." the door was slammed violently, and "rule britannia" immediately burst forth with renewed and pointed emphasis. presently it ceased, and a knock came to barret's door. "well, what d'ye want, you noisy scamp?" said barret, flinging the door open, and revealing the small figure of willie willders. "please, sir," said willie, consulting the back of a note; "are you mister t-tom--tupper, esquire?" "no, i'm not." "ain't there sitch a name in the house?" "no, not that i know of." willie's face looked blank. "well, i was told he lived here," he muttered, again consulting the note. "here, let me look," said barret, taking the note from the boy. "this is tippet, not tupper. he lives in the top floor. by the way, auberly," said barret, glancing over his shoulder, "isn't tom tippet a sort of connection of yours?" "yes; a distant one," said fred carelessly, "too distant to make it worth while our becoming acquainted. he's rich and eccentric, i'm told. assuredly, he must be the latter if he lives in such a hole as this. what are you staring at, boy?" this question was put to willie. "please, sir, are _you_ the mr auberly who was a'most skumfished with smoke at the beverly square fire t'other day, in tryin' to git hold o' yer sister?" fred could not but smile as he admitted the fact. "please, sir, i hope yer sister ain't the wuss of it, sir." "not much, i hope; thank you for inquiring; but how come you to know about the fire, and to be interested in my sister?" "'cause i was there, sir; an' it was _my brother_, sir, frank willders, as saved your sister." "was it, indeed!" exclaimed fred, becoming suddenly interested. "come, let me hear more about your brother." willie, nothing loth, related every fact he was acquainted with in regard to frank's career, and his own family history, in the course of which he revealed the object of his visit to mr tippet. when he had finished, frederick auberly shook hands with him and said: "now, willie, go and deliver your note. if the application is successful, well; but if it fails, or you don't like your work, just call upon me, and i'll see what can be done for you." "yes, sir, and thankee," said willie; "where did you say i was to call, sir?" "call at--eh--ah--yes, my boy, call _here_, and let my friend mr barret know you want to see me. he will let me know, and you shall hear from me. just at present--well, never mind, go and deliver your note now. your brother is a noble fellow. good-night. and you're a fine little fellow yourself," he added, after willie closed the door. the fine little fellow gave vent to such a gush of "rule britannia" at the moment, that the two friends turned with a smile to each other. just then a man's voice was heard at the foot of the stair, grumbling angrily. at the same moment young auberly rose to leave. "good-night, barret. i'll write to you soon as to my whereabout and what about. perhaps see you ere long." "good-night. god prosper you, fred. good-night." as he spoke, the grumbler came stumbling along the passage. "good-night again, fred," said barret, almost pushing his friend out. "i have a particular reason for not wishing you to see the fr-, the man who is coming in." "all right, old fellow," said fred as he passed out, and drew up against the wall to allow a drunken man to stumble heavily into the room. next moment he was in the street hastening he knew not whither; but following the old and well-known route to beverly square. chapter eleven. wonderful plans. when willie willders knocked at tom tippet's door, at the top of the house, a rich jovial bass voice cried, "come in." so willie went in, and stood before a stout old gentleman, whose voluminous whiskers, meeting below his chin, made ample amends for the total absence of hair from the top of his head. mr tippet stood, without coat or vest, and with his braces tied round his waist, at a carpenter's bench, holding a saw in his right hand, and a piece of wood in his left. "well, my lad, what's _your_ business?" he inquired in the voice of a stentor, and with the beaming smile of an elderly cherub. "please, sir, a note--from a lady." "i wish your message had been verbal, boy. it's so difficult to read ladies' hands; they're so abominably angular, and--where _are_ my specs? i've a mind to have 'em screw-nailed to my nose. ah! here they are." he found them under a jack-plane and a mass of shavings; put them on and read the note, while willie took the opportunity of observing that mr tippet's room was a drawing-room, parlour, dining-room, workshop, and old curiosity-shop, all in one. a half-open door revealed the fact that an inner chamber contained mr tippet's bed, and an indescribable mass of machinery and models in every stage of progression, and covered with dust, more or less thick in exact proportion to their respective ages. a dog and cat lay side by side on the hearth asleep, and a small fire burned in a grate, on the sides of which stood a variety of crucibles and such-like articles and a glue-pot; also a tea-pot and kettle. "you want a situation in my office as a clerk?" inquired mr tippet, tearing up his sister's letter, and throwing it into the fire. "if you please, sir," said willie. "ha! are you good at writing and ciphering?" "middlin', sir." "hum! d'you know where my office is, and what it is?" "no, sir." "what would you say now," asked mr tippet, seating himself on his bench, or rather on the top of a number of gimblets and chisels and files and pincers that lay on it; "what would you say now to sitting from morning till night in a dusty ware-room, where the light is so feeble that it can scarcely penetrate the dirt that encrusts the windows, writing in books that are so greasy that the ink can hardly be got to mark the paper? how would you like that, william willders--eh?" "i don't know, sir," replied willie, with a somewhat depressed look. "of course you don't, yet that is the sort of place you'd have to work in, boy, if i engaged you, for that is a correct description of my warehouse. i'm a sleeping partner in the firm. d'ye know what that is, boy?" "no, sir." "well, it's a partner that does no work; but i'm wide-awake for all that, an' have a pretty good notion of what is going on there. now, lad, if i were to take you in, what would you say to pounds a year?" "it don't sound much, sir," said willie bluntly, "but if you take me in with the understandin' that i'm to work my way up'ards, i don't mind about the pay at first." "good," said mr tippet, with a nod of approval. "what d'ye think of my workshop?" he added, looking round with a cherubic smile. "it's a funny place," responded willie, with a grin. "a funny place--eh? well, i daresay it is, lad, in your eyes; but let me tell you, it is a place of deep interest, and, i may add without vanity, importance. there are inventions here, all in a state bordering more or less upon completion, which will, when brought into operation, modify the state of society very materially in many of its most prominent phases. here, for instance, is a self-acting galvano-hydraulic engine, which will entirely supersede the use of steam, and, by preventing the consumption of coal now going on, will avert, or at least postpone, the decline of the british empire. able men have calculated that, in the course of a couple of hundred years or so, our coal-beds will be exhausted. i have gone over their calculations and detected several flaws in them, which, when corrected, show a very different result--namely, that in seventeen or eighteen years from this time there will not be an ounce of coal in the kingdom!" mr tippet paused to observe the effect of this statement. willie having never heard of such things before, and having a thoughtful and speculative as well as waggish turn of mind, listened with open eyes and mouth and earnest attention, so mr tippet went on: "the frightful consequences of such a state of things you may conceive, or rather they are utterly inconceivable. owing to the foundations of the earth having been cut away, it is more than probable that the present coal districts of the united kingdom will collapse, the ocean will rush in, and several of our largest counties will become salt-water lakes. besides this, coal being the grand source of our national wealth, its sudden failure will entail national bankruptcy. the barbarians of europe, taking advantage of our condition, will pour down upon us, and the last spark of true civilisation in our miserable world will be extinguished--the last refuge for the hunted foot of persecuted freedom will be finally swept from the face of the earth!" here mr tippet brought the saw down on the bench with such violence, that the dog and cat started incontinently to their legs, and willie himself was somewhat shaken. "now," continued mr tippet, utterly regardless of the sensation he had created, and wiping the perspiration from his shining head with a handful of shavings; "now, william willders, all this may be, _shall_ be, prevented by the adoption of the galvano-hydraulic engine, and the consequent restriction of the application of coal to the legitimate purposes of warming our dwellings and cooking our victuals. i mean to bring this matter before the home secretary whenever i have completed my invention, which, however, is not _quite_ perfected. "then, again," continued mr tippet, becoming more and more enthusiastic as he observed the deep impression his explanations were making on willie, who stood glaring at him in speechless amazement, "here you have my improved sausage-machine for converting all animal substances into excellent sausages. i hold that every animal substance is more or less good for food, and that it is a sad waste to throw away bones and hair, etcetera, etcetera, merely because these substances are unpalatable or difficult to chew. now, my machine gets over this difficulty. you cut an animal up just as it is killed, and put it into the machine--hair, skin, bones, blood, and all--and set it in motion by turning on the galvano-hydraulic fluid. delicious sausages are the result in about twenty minutes. "you see my dog there--chips i call him, because he dwells in the midst of chips and shavings; he sleeps upon chips, and if he does not exactly eat chips, he lives upon scraps which have a strong resemblance to them. the cat has no name. i am partial to the time-honoured name of `puss.' besides, a cat is not worthy of a name. physically speaking, it is only a bundle of living fur--a mere mass of soft animated nature, as goldsmith would express it. intellectually it is nothing--a sort of existent nonentity, a moral void on which a name would be utterly thrown away. well, i could take these two animals, chips and puss, put them in here (alive, too, for there is a killing apparatus in the instrument which will effectually do away with the cruel process of slaughtering, and with its accompanying nuisances of slaughter-houses and butchers)-- put them in here, i say, and in twenty minutes they would be ground up into sausages. "i know that enemies to progress, ignorant persons and the like, will scoff at this, and say it is similar to the american machine, into one end of which you put a tree, and it comes out at the other end in the shape of ready-made furniture. but such scoffs will cease, while my invention will live. i am not bigoted, william. there may be good objections to my inventions, and great difficulties connected with them, but the objections i will answer, and the difficulties i will overcome. "this instrument," continued mr tippet, pointing to a huge beam, which leant against the end of the small apartment, "is only a speculative effort of mine. it is meant to raise enormous weights, such as houses. i have long felt it to be most desirable that people should be able to raise their houses from their foundations by the strength of a few men, and convey them to other localities, either temporarily or permanently. i have not succeeded yet, but i see my way to success; and, after all, the idea is not new. you can see it partially carried out by an enterprising company in this city, whose enormous vans will remove the whole furniture of a drawing-room, almost as it stands, without packing. my chief difficulty is with the fulcrum; but that is a difficulty that met the philosopher of old. you have heard of archimedes, william--the man who said he could make a lever big enough to move the world, if he could only get a fulcrum to rest it on. but archimedes was weak in that point. he ought to have known that, even if he did get such a fulcrum, he would still have required another world as long as his lever, to enable him to walk out to the end of it. no, by the way, he might have walked _on_ the lever itself! that did not occur to me before. he might even have ridden along it. come, that's a new idea. let me see." in order the better to "see," mr tippet dropt the piece of wood from his left hand, and pressed his fingers into both eyes, so as to shut out all earthly objects, and enable him to take an undistracted survey of the chambers of his mind. returning suddenly from the investigation, he exclaimed: "yes, william, i don't quite see my way to it; but i can perceive dimly the possibility of archimedes having so formed his lever, that a line of rails might have been run along the upper side of it, from the fulcrum to the other end." "yes, sir," exclaimed willie, who, having become excited, was entering eagerly into his patron's speculations, and venting an occasional remark in the height of his enthusiasm. "such a thing _might_ be done," continued mr tippet emphatically; "a small carriage--on the galvano-hydraulic principle, of course--might run to and fro--" "with passengers," suggested willie. "well--with passengers," assented mr tippet, smiling. "of course, the lever would be very large--extremely large. yes, there _might_ be passengers." "an' stations along the line?" said willie. mr tippet knitted his brows. "ye-yes--why not?" he said slowly. "of course, the lever would be very long, extremely long, and it might be necessary to stop the carriages on the way out. there might be breadth sufficient on the lever to plant small side stations." "an' twenty minutes allowed for refreshments," suggested willie. "why, as to that," said mr tippet, "if we stop at all, there could be no reasonable objection to refreshments, although it is probable we might find it difficult to get anyone sufficiently enterprising to undertake the supply of such a line; for, you know, if the lever were to slip at the fulcrum and fall--" "oh!" exclaimed willie, "_wouldn't_ there be a smash; neither!" "the danger of people falling off, too," continued mr tippet, "might be prevented by railings run along the extreme edges of the lever." "yes," interrupted willie, whose vivid imagination, unused to such excitement, had taken the bit in its teeth and run away with him; "an' spikes put on 'em to keep the little boys from swinging on 'em, an' gettin' into mischief. oh! what jolly fun it would be. only think! we'd advertise cheap excursion trains along the arkimeedis line, mondays an' toosdays. fares, two hundred pounds, fust class. no seconds or parleys allowed for love or money. starts from the fuddlecrum sta--" "fulcrum," said mr tippet, correcting. "fulcrum station," resumed willie, "at : a.m. of the mornin' precisely. stops at the quarter, half-way, an' three-quarter stations, allowin' twenty minutes, more or less, for grub--weather permittin'." "your observations are quaint," said mr tippet, with a smile; "but there is a great deal of truth in them. no doubt, the connection of such ideas, especially as put by you, sounds a little ludicrous; but when we come to analyse them, we see their possibility, for, _if_ a lever of the size indicated by the ancient philosopher were erected (and theoretically, the thing _is_ possible), then the subordinate arrangements as to a line of railway and stations, etcetera, would be mere matters of detail. it might be advertised, too, that the balance of the lever would be so regulated, that, on the arrival of the train at the terminus, the world would rise (a fact which might be seen by the excursionists, by the aid of enormous telescopes, much better than by the people at home), and that, on the return of the train, the world would again sink to its ancient level. "there would be considerable risk, no doubt," continued mr tippet meditatively, "of foolish young men and boys getting over the rails in sport or bravado, and falling off into the depths of illimitable profundity, but--" "we could have bobbies stationed along the line," interrupted willie, "an' tickets put up warnin' the passengers not to give 'em money on no account wotsomedever, on pain o' bein' charged double fare for the first offence, an' pitched over the rails into illimidibble pro-what's-'is-name for the second." "i'll tell you what it is, william," said mr tippet suddenly, getting off the bench and seizing the boy's hand, "your talents would be wasted in my office. you'll come and assist me here in the workshop. i'm greatly in want of an intelligent lad who can use his hands; but, by the way, can you use your hands? here, cut this piece of wood smooth, with that knife." he handed willie a piece of cross-grained wood and a blunt knife. willie looked at both, smiled, and shook his head. "it would take a cleverer feller than me to do it; but i'll try." willie did try; after a quarter of an hour spent in vain attempts, he threw down the wood and knife exclaiming, "it's impossible." mr tippet, who had been smiling cherubically, and nodding approval, said: "i knew it was impossible, my lad, when i gave it to you, and i now know that you are both neat-handed and persevering; so, if you choose, i'll engage you on the spot to come on trial for a week. after that we will settle the remuneration. meanwhile, shake hands again, and allow me to express to you my appreciation of the noble character of your brother, who, i understand from my sister's letter, saved a young relative of mine from the midst of imminent danger. good-night, william, and come to me on monday next, at nine o'clock in the morning." willie was somewhat perplexed at this prompt dismissal (for mr tippet had opened the door), especially after such a long and free-and-easy conversation, and he felt that, however much license mr tippet might permit, he was a man of stern will, who could not be resisted with impunity; so, although he was burning to know the object and nature of innumerable strange pieces of mechanism in the workshop, he felt constrained to make a polite bow and depart. on his way downstairs, he heard the voices of men as if in angry disputation; and on reaching the next floor, found mr barret standing at the open door of his room, endeavouring to hold ned hooper, who was struggling violently. "i tell you," said the latter, in a drunken voice, "that i w-will go out!" "come, ned, not to-night; you can go to-morrow" said barret soothingly, yet maintaining his hold of his friend. "w-why not? ain't night the best time to--to--be jolly?--eh! l-me go, i shay." he made a fierce struggle at this point; and barret, ceasing to expostulate, seized him with a grasp that he could not resist, and dragged him forcibly, yet without unnecessary violence, into the room. next instant the door was shut with a bang and locked; so willie willders descended to the street, and turned his face homewards, moralising as he went on the evils of drink. it was a long way to notting hill; but it was not long enough to enable willie to regain his wonted nonchalance. he had seen and heard too much that night to permit of his equilibrium being restored. he pursed his mouth several times into the form of a round o, and began "rule britannia"; but the sounds invariably died at the part where the "charter of the land" is brought forward. he tried "the bay of biscay, o!" with no better success, never being able to get farther than "lightning's vivid powers," before his mind was up in the clouds, or in mr tippet's garret, or out on the archimedes-lever railway. thus wandering in dreams he reached home, talked wildly to his anxious mother, and went to bed in a state of partial insanity. chapter twelve. a little domestic chit-chat. one night, not long after the events narrated in the last chapter, frank willders was standing with the fireman-in-charge in the king street station. he had just removed his helmet, and the perspiration on his brow showed that he had been but recently engaged in some active duty; as indeed was the case, for he had just returned from a "walk" to a fire in whitechapel. "it was only a small affair," said frank, hanging up his helmet and axe, and sitting down to fill his pipe; "a low beer-shop in brook street; the taproom burnt out, and the rest of the house damaged by smoke. it was pretty well over before i got there, and i left half an hour after. where are the rest o' the lads?" "they're out wi' both engines," said baxmore, who was busy making a memorandum on a slate. "with both engines!" said frank. "ay, both," replied baxmore, with a laugh, as he sat down in front of the fire. "let me see; it's now nine o'clock, so they've bin off an hour; one to walton street, brompton; the other to porchester terrace, bayswater. the call was the queerest i've seen for many a day. we was all sittin' here smokin' our pipes, as usual, when two fellers came to the door, full split, from opposite pints o' the compass, an' run slap into each other. they looked like gentlemen; but they was in such a state it wasn't easy to make out what sort o' fish they was. one had his coat torn and his hat gone; the other had his tile pretty well knocked down on his eyes--i s'pose by the people he run into on the way--an' both were half-mad with excitement. they both stuttered, too-- that was the fun o' the thing, and they seemed to think each was takin' off the other, and got into a most awful rage. my own opinion is, that one stuttered by nature, an' the other stuttered from fright. anyhow, they both stuttered together, and a precious mess they made of it. "`f-f-f-fire!' roared one. "`f-f-f-fire!' yelled the other. "`where away?' asked mr dale, looking quietly at the two men, who were gasping for breath. "`b-b-b-brompton,' `b-b-b-bayswater!' they shouted together; and then, turnin' fiercely on each other, the one said `n-n-n-no!' and the other said `n-n-n-no!' `now, _which_ is it?' said dale, `an' _be_ quick--do.' "`b-b-b-brompton!' "`b-b-b-bayswater!' in a breath; then says one, `i--i s-s-say _brompton_!' an' the other, he says, `i--i s-s-say _bayswater_!' "at this they grew furious, and dale tried to calm them and settle the question by asking the name of the street. "`w-w-walton s-street!' cried one. "`p-p-p-porchester t-t-terrace!' shouted the other. "`n-n-no!' `y-y-yes!' `n-no!' an' with that, one up fist an' hit the other a crack between the eyes. t'other returned on the nob, and then they closed. "before this mr dale had ordered out one o' the engines, an' when he heard the two streets named it occurred to him that there might be _two_ fires, so he ordered out the other engine; and before we got the stutterers separated both engines were off full swing, one to brompton, the other to bayswater; but whether there are two fires or no is yet to be seen." just as baxmore concluded, the rattle of a returning engine was heard. next moment it dashed up to the door, and the firemen, leaping off, streamed into the station, where; amid much comment and some laughter at the scene they had so recently witnessed, they hung up their helmets and crowded round the fire. "so it _was_ in brompton, after all," said jack williams, stirring the coals; "but it was a small affair in a baker's shop, and we soon got it out." "is the other engine back?" inquired moxey. "here she comes to answer for herself," said mason, as the second engine dashed up to the station, and the men were joined by their comrades. "we've got it out," said dale, sitting down before the desk to enter the particulars in his diary; "it was a private house, and well alight when we got there, but the paddington engine was playing on it, and we soon got it under." "faix, it's well them stutterers didn't kape us longer, else the whole house would have bin burnt out intirely," observed joe corney, binding up a slight wound in his thumb, which he had received from a splinter. most of the men were more or less begrimed with charcoal and smoke, and otherwise bore marks of their recent sharp though short skirmish, but none of them deemed it necessary to remove these evidences of devotion to duty until they had refreshed themselves with a pipe. "were there people in the house?" inquired frank. "ay, but pickford was there with the escape, an' got 'em all out before we came up," said one. "pickford said he couldn't help laughing after he got 'em out, at the remembrance o' their faces. when he first went in they was all sound asleep in the top floor, for the smoke was only beginnin' to show there, an' the surprise they got when he jump in among 'em an' shouted was wonderful to behold." "not so wonderful," observed bill moxey, "as the surprise i seed a whole man-o'-war's crew get by consequence o' the shout o' one of her own men." "when was that? let's hear about it, bill," said corney, stuffing down the tobacco in his pipe, and firing a battery of cloudlets into the air. "we was in the red sea at the time," said moxey, clearing his throat, "layin' at anchor, and a precious hot time we had of it. there was never a cloud a'most in the sky, and the sun was nigh hot enough to fry the decks off the ship. cook said he'd half a mind to try to roast a junk o' beef at it, but i never heard that he managed that. we slep' on deck o' nights, 'cause you might as well have tried to sleep in a baker's oven as sleep below. the thing that troubled us most at that time was a tiger we had on board. it did kick up such a shindy sometimes! we thought it would break its cage an make a quid o' some of us. i forget who sent it to us--p'raps it was the pasha of egypt; anyhow we weren't sorry when the order was given to put the tiger ashore. "well, the same day that we got rid o' the tiger we was sent aboard a malay ship to flog one o' the men. he'n bin up to some mischief, an' his comrades were afraid, i s'pose, to flog him; and as the offence he had committed was against us somehow (i never rightly understood it myself), some of us went aboard the malay ship, tied him up, an' gave him two dozen. "that night the whole ship's company slep' on deck as usual--officers as well--all but the cap'n, who had gone ashore. it was a _tremendous_ hot night, an' a good deal darker than usual. there was one man in the ship named wilson; but we called him bob roarer, because of a habit he had of speakin' an' sometimes roarin' in his sleep. bob lay between me an' the purser that night, an' we slep' on all right till it was getting pretty late, though there was two or three snorers that got their noses close to the deck an' kep' up a pretty fair imitation of a brass band. suddenly bob began to dream, or took a nightmare or somethin', for he hit straight out with both fists, givin' the purser a tap on the nob with his left, an' diggin' his right into my bread-basket with such good will that he nearly knocked all the wind out o' me, at the same time he uttered a most appallin' yell. "the confusion that followed is past description. "some of us thought it was the tiger had broke loose,--forgettin' that it had been sent ashore. bob sneaked off the moment he found what he'd done, and the purser, thinkin' it was pirates, grabbed the first he could lay hold of by the throat, and that was me, so to it we went tooth an' nail, for i had no notion who was pitchin' into me, it was so dark. two of the men in their fright sprang up the main shrouds. two others, who were asleep in the main-top, were awoke by the row, looked down on the starboard side, an' saw the two comin' up. thinking it was the friends of the malay who had been flogged coming to be revenged, they ran down the port shrouds like mad, and one o' them rushed along the port-deck, stickin' his feet into the bread-baskets of all the sleepers that hadn't been woke by the yell, rousin' them up an' causin' them to roar like bo'suns. the row woke the cook, who was a nigger; he, thinkin' it was a sudden jollification, seized one o' the coppers an' began to beat it with an iron spoon. this set up the quartermaster, who rushed along the starboard deck, trampin' upon the breasts and faces of all and sundry. the gunner thought it was the tiger, and took to the top of the awning; while the doctor and bo's'n's-mate they jumped over the side, and hung on by ropes up to their waists in water! "at the worst o' the confusion the cap'n came aboard. we didn't see him, but he ordered silence, an' after a while we discovered that there was no reason whatever for the shindy. it wasn't till a long time afterwards that we found out the real cause of the false alarm; but the only man that got no fright that night, and kep' quite cool, was the man who set it all agoin'--bob roarer." "_what_ a feller you are, bill, to talk blarney," said corney, rising and knocking the ashes out of his pipe; "sure, aither yer father or yer mother must have bin an irishman." "blarney or no blarney, them's the facts," said moxey, yawning, "an' i'm off to bed." "ditto," said frank, stretching himself. the two tressels, which were always removed from the room during the day, had been brought in, and were by this time occupied by mason and williams, whose duty it was to keep watch that night. baxmore, the sub-engineer of the station, sat down at the desk to read over the events of the day, and the others rose to leave. "by the way, baxmore," said dale, "what was that false alarm at p.m. when i was down at watling street?" "only a chemist in kensington, who, it seems, is mad after makin' experiments, and all but blew the roof off his house with one of 'em." "ah! only smoke, i suppose," said dale. "that was all," said baxmore, "but there was sitch a lot of it that some fellows thought it was a fire, an' came tearin' down here wi' the news, so we had a ride for nothing." "if i'm not mistaken you'll have a ride for something ere long," observed dale, turning his head aside, while he listened attentively. "hold on, lads, a minute!" there was a sound of wheels in the distance, as if some vehicle were approaching at a furious pace. on it came, louder and louder, until it turned the corner of the street, and the horses' feet rattled on the stones as they were pulled up sharp at the station. instantly the bell was rung violently, and a severe kicking was bestowed on the door. it is needless to say that the summons was answered promptly. some of the men quietly resumed the helmets they had just hung up, well knowing that work lay before them. a cabman darted through the door the instant it was opened, shouting-- "fire!" "where?" asked dale. "forth street, holborn, sir!" cried the cabman. again, for the third time that night, the order was given to "get her out." while this was being done, baxmore took a leathern purse from the cupboard, and gave the cabman a shilling for being first to "give the call." as the men were already accoutred, the engine left the station on this occasion in less than five minutes. the distance was short, so the pace was full speed, and in an incredibly short space of time they drew up in front of a large, handsome shop, from the first-floor windows of which thick smoke and a few forked flames were issuing. chapter thirteen. wild doings and daring deeds. quick though they were, however, in reaching the scene of the fire, the escape was there before them. it had a shorter way to travel, and was already pitched, with its head resting against a window of the second floor, and the fly ladder raised to the third. the people who had crowded round the building at the first alarm of fire, were looking on as if in suspense, and the firemen knew that conductor forest, or one of his lion-hearted comrades, was inside, doing his noble and dangerous work. but they had no time to pay attention to what was going on. while some of the firemen got the engine into play, the others ran in a body to the front-door of the burning house, the lower part of which was a coach-builder's warehouse. it was a heavy double door, locked and barred, and the owner had not yet arrived with the key. it was evident that the fire had originated in one of the upper floors, for there was no light in the wareroom. "get the pole-axe," said dale, as soon as he found the door was fast. frank willders sprang off at the word, and returned with an axe of the largest size attached to a handle nearly four feet long. "drive it in, willders," said dale. frank's powerful blows at once thundered on the massive door; but they fell on it in vain, for it was unusually strong. seeing this, dale ran back to the engine, and got out the pole. "come, lay hold some of you!" said he. immediately eight firemen, frank and dale being at the front, charged the door like a thunderbolt with this extemporised battering-ram. it gave way with a prodigious crash, and the whole party fell over each other into the warehouse. there was a burst of laughter from themselves, as well as from the crowd; but in another moment they were up and swarming through the premises among the smoke, searching for a point of attack. "send the branch up here," cried mason, coughing violently. "sure, my peepers is out entirely!" gasped corney, rushing to the window for air; while showers of water fell on his head, for the engine was already in full play. just then there was a noise outside, as if men were disputing violently. dale guessed at once what it was, and ran down the staircase, calling out as he passed: "here, willders, corney, baxmore, lend a hand, will you?" on reaching the engine, they found about a dozen roughs of the lowest character, disputing fiercely as to which of them was to pump the engine! as each man received one shilling an hour for this work, it became a desirable means of earning a good night's wages to these broad-shouldered rascals; who, in their anger, and in spite of the police, and the solitary fireman who superintended the engine, had actually caused the men already at work to cease pumping. we may remark in passing, that this would not have been the case, but for the police force, from some unknown cause, being not very strong at that fire, and having an excited and somewhat turbulent crowd to keep in order. as a general rule, the police of london are of the most essential service at fires; and not a few of them have obtained the medals of the society for the protection of life from fire, and other rewards for gallantry displayed in saving life at the risk of their own lives. on the present occasion, however, the few policemen present could barely hold their ground against such a band of stalwart desperadoes, so the firemen came to the rescue. in the front of the roughs stood a man who was stronger made and better dressed than the others. he had not been pugnacious at first; but having got involved in the riot, he struck out with the rest. dale sprang at this man, who was none other than the half-nautical individual already introduced to the reader by the name of gorman, and launched a left-hander at his head; but gorman stepped aside, and one of his comrades was felled instead. at this, the others made a rush in a body at dale; but frank, corney, and baxmore come up at the moment, and each knocked down a man. instantly dale seized an instrument from the engine, named a "preventer," like a large boat-hook, and, raising it at the full stretch of his powerful arms, he brought it swoop down on the heads of the roughs--six of whom, including gorman, measured their length on the ground. meanwhile, bill moxey and jack williams, who had charge of the branch-- which is considered the post of honour at a fire--had paid no attention whatever to this little episode; but the instant the order was given, had conveyed their branch into the building, and up to the first floor, where they thought they could reach the fire more directly; for it is an axiom in fire brigades to get into a burning building _without delay_, and attack the fire at its heart. they got the hose up a staircase, and began to play through a doorway at the head of it; but, to their surprise, did not make any impression whatever. two other engines, however, were at work by this time--so the fire was kept in check. "something wrong here," said moxey, speaking with difficulty, owing to the dense smoke. owing to the same cause, it was impossible to see what was wrong. "i'll go in an' see," said mason, dropping on his hands and knees, and creeping into the room with his mouth as close to the ground as possible. this he did, because in a room on fire there is always a current of comparatively fresh air at the floor. presently the sound of mason's small hatchet was heard cutting up woodwork, and in a few seconds he rushed out almost choking. "there," said he, "stick the branch through that hole. you've bin playin' all this time up agin' a board partition!" moxey and williams advanced, put the branch through the partition, and the result was at once obvious in the diminution of smoke and increase of steam. while these incidents were occurring outside and inside the building, the crowd was still waiting in breathless expectation for the re-appearance of conductor forest of the fire-escape; for the events just narrated, although taking a long time to tell, were enacted in a few minutes. presently forest appeared at the window of the second floor with two infants in his arms. instead of sending these down the canvas trough of the escape in the usual way--at the risk of their necks, for they were very young--he clasped them to his breast, and plunging into it himself head-foremost, descended in that position, checking his speed by spreading out his knees against the sides of the canvas. once again he sprang up the escape amid the cheers of the people, and re-entered the window. at that moment the attention of the crowd was diverted by the sudden appearance of a man at one of the windows of the first floor. he was all on fire, and had evidently been aroused to his awful position unexpectedly, for he was in such confusion that he did not observe the fire-escape at the other window. after shouting wildly for a few seconds, and tossing his arms in the air, he leaped out and came to the ground with stunning violence. two policemen extinguished the fire that was about him, and then, procuring a horse-cloth lifted him up tenderly and carried him away. it may perhaps surprise the reader that this man was not roused sooner by the turmoil and noise that was going on around him, but it is a fact that heavy sleepers are sometimes found by the firemen sound asleep, and in utter ignorance of what has been going on, long after a large portion of the houses in which they dwell have been in flames. when forest entered the window the second time he found the smoke thicker than before, and had some difficulty in groping his way--for smoke that may be breathed with comparative ease is found to be very severe on the eyes. he succeeded, however, in finding a woman lying insensible on the floor of the room above. in carrying her to the window he fell over a small child, which was lying on the floor in a state of insensibility. grasping the latter with his left hand, he seized its night-dress with his teeth, and, with the woman on his shoulder, appeared on the top of the fly-ladder, which he descended in safety. the cheers and shouts of the crowd were deafening as forest came down; but the woman, who had begun to recover, said that her brother was in a loft above the room in which she had been found. the conductor, therefore, went up again, got on the roof of the house, broke through the tiles, and with much difficulty pulled the man through the aperture and conveyed him safely to the ground. [see note ]. the firemen were already at forest's heels, and as soon as he dragged the man through the hole in the roof, frank and baxmore jumped into it with the branch, and immediately attacked the fire. by this time all the engines of the district in which the fire had occurred, and one from each of the two adjoining districts, had arrived, and were in full play, and one by one the individual men from the distant stations came dropping in and reported themselves to dale, mr braidwood not being present on that occasion. there was thus a strong force of fresh firemen on the ground, and these, as they came up, were sent--in military parlance--to relieve skirmishers. the others were congregated in front of the door, moving quietly about, looking on and chatting in undertones. such of the public as arrived late at the fire no doubt formed a very erroneous impression in regard to these men, for not only did they appear to be lounging about doing nothing, but they were helped by one of their number to a glass of brandy--such of them at least as chose to take it. but those who had witnessed the fire from the beginning knew that these men had toiled, with every nerve and muscle strained, for upwards of an hour in the face of almost unbearable heat, half-suffocated by smoke, and drenched by hot water. they were resting now, and they had much need of rest, for some of them had come out of the burning house almost fainting from exposure to heat and smoke. indeed, mason _had_ fainted; but the fresh air soon revived him, and after a glass of brandy he recovered sufficiently to be fit for duty again in half an hour. frank and baxmore were the last to be relieved. when two fresh men came up and took the branch they descended the stairs, and a strange descent it was. the wooden stair, or flight of open steps, which they had to descend first, was burnt to charcoal, and looked as if it would fall to pieces with a touch. "i hope it'll bear," said frank to baxmore, who went first. "bear or not bear, we _must_ go down," said baxmore. he went unhesitatingly upon it, and although the steps bent ominously, there was enough of sound wood to sustain him. the second stair, also of wood, had not been quite so much charred; but so great was the quantity of water poured continuously into the house, that it formed a regular water-course of the staircase, down which heaps of plaster and bricks and burnt rubbish had been washed, and had stuck here and there, forming obstructions on which the water broke and round which it roared in the form of what might have been a very respectable mountain-torrent, with this striking difference, that the water which rushed down it was _hot_, in consequence of its having passed through such glowing materials. the lower staircase was a stone one--the worst of all stairs in a fire, owing to its liability to crack at its connection with the wall, from the combined influence of heat and cold water. just as the two men reached the head of it, it fell, without warning, in a mass of ruins. "never mind," said baxmore, "the fire-escape is still at the window." so saying, he ran through the smoke and reached it. frank was about to follow, when he observed a shut door. without having any definite intention, he laid hold of the handle, and found that it was locked on the inside--he knew that, for he saw the end of the key sticking through the key-hole. at once he threw his weight on it, and burst it open. to his amazement, he found a little old lady sitting quietly, but in great trepidation, in an easy-chair, partially clothed in very scanty garments, which she had evidently thrown on in great haste. "go away, young man!" she screamed, drawing a shawl tightly round her. "go away, i say! how _dare_ you, sir?" "why, ma'am," cried frank, striding up to her; "the house is on fire! come, i'll carry you out." "no--no!" she cried, pushing him resolutely away. "what! carry me--me out _thus_! i know it's on fire. leave me, sir, i command you--i entreat you; i will die rather than appear as i am--in public." the poor lady finished off with a loud shriek; for frank, seeing how matters stood, and knowing there was not a moment to lose, plucked a blanket from the bed, overwhelmed her in it, and exclaiming, "forgive me, ma'am," lifted her gently in his arms, bore her through the smoke, down the escape, to the street; carried her into a neighbouring house (the door of which was opportunely open), and laid her like a bundle on one of the beds, where he left her, with strict injunctions to the people of the house to take care of her! frank then went out to rejoin his comrades, and refreshed himself with a glass of beer; while baxmore, being a teetotaller, recruited his energies with a glass of water. by this time the fire had been pretty well subdued; but there were some parts smouldering about the roof and upper floor, that rendered it necessary to keep the engines going, while the firemen hunted their foe from room to room, and corner to corner--extinguishing him everywhere; not, however, before he had completely gutted the whole house, with the exception of part of the ground floor. "keep away from the walls, men," said dale, coming up to the group, who were resting. at that moment there was a cry raised that some one was in the cellars. at the word, baxmore ran into the house, and descended to the basement. there was little smoke here; but from the roof, water was running down in a thick, warm shower, which drenched him in a few minutes. he ran through the whole place, but found no one, until he opened the door of a closet, when he discovered two old women who had taken refuge there; one being deaf and the other lame, as her crutches testified. they were up to the knees in water, and the same element was pouring in continuous streams on their heads--yet, like the old lady up-stairs, they refused to move or be moved. finding that persuasion was useless, baxmore ran up for a horse-cloth, and, returning, threw it over the head of the deaf old woman, whom he bore, kicking violently, into the street. the other was carried out in the same fashion--only that she screamed violently, being unable to kick. soon after that, the fire was completely extinguished, and the engines and men returned to their several stations, leaving london once again in comparative repose. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . it is perhaps right to state here, that a deed similar to this in nearly every point was performed by conductor samuel wood, a member of the london fire-escape brigade, for which he received a testimonial signed by the then lord mayor, and a silver watch with pounds from the inhabitants of whitechapel. wood saved nearly lives by his own personal exertions. many of his brave comrades have also done deeds that are well worthy of record, but we have not space to do more than allude to them here. chapter fourteen. joe corney's adventure with ghosts. when we said that the firemen returned to their respective stations, it must not be supposed that the house which had been burnt was left in forlorn wretchedness. no; one of the firemen remained to watch over it, and guard against the upstarting of any sneaking spark that might have managed to conceal itself. the man selected for this duty was joe corney. unfortunately for joe, this was the only part of a fireman's duty that he did not relish. joe corney was, both by nature and education, very superstitious. he believed implicitly in ghosts, and knew an innumerable host of persons, male and female, who had seen people who said they had seen ghosts. he was too honest to say he had ever seen a ghost himself; but he had been "very near seein' wan two or three times," and he lived in perpetual expectation and dread of meeting one face to face before he died. joe was as brave as a lion, and faced danger, and sometimes even what appeared to be certain death, with as much unflinching courage as the bravest of his comrades. once, in particular, he had walked with the branch in his hands along the burning roof of a tottering warehouse, near the docks, in order to gain a point from which he could play on the flames so as to prevent them spreading to the next warehouse, and so check a fire which might have easily become one of the "great fires of london." joe was therefore a man who could not be easily frightened; yet joe trembled in his shoes when he had the most distant prospect of meeting with a ghost! there was no help for it, however. he had been appointed to watch the ruin; and, being a man who cherished a strong sense of duty, he set himself doggedly to make the most of his circumstances. it was past one o'clock when the fire was finally extinguished. a few night-birds and late revellers still hung about it, as if in the hope that it would burst forth again, and afford them fresh excitement; but before two o'clock, everyone had gone away, and joe was left alone with his "preventer" and lantern. even the policeman on the beat appeared to avoid him; for, although he passed the ruin at regular intervals in his rounds, he did not stop at it beyond a few moments, to see that the fireman's lantern was burning and all right. "corney, me lad," said joe to himself, "it's bad luck has befallen ye this night; but face yer luck like a man now, and shame it." encouraging himself thus, he grasped his preventer, and pulled about the _debris_ in various places of which he had some suspicion; but the engines had done their work so effectually that not a spark remained. then joe walked up and down, and in and out for an hour; studied the half-consumed pictures that still hung on the walls of one of the lower rooms, which had not been completely destroyed; moralised on the dire confusion and ruin that could be accomplished in so short a space of time; reflected on the probable condition of the unfortunates who had been burnt out; on the mutability of human affairs in general, and wondered what his "owld mother" would think of him, if she saw him in his forlorn situation. this latter thought caused his mind to revert to ghosts; but he was comforted by hearing the slow, distant foot-fall of the policeman. on it came, not unlike the supposed step of an unearthly visitant, until the guardian of the night stood revealed before him on the other side of the road. "it's a cowld night intirely," cried corney. "it is," responded the policeman. "how goes the inimy?" inquired the fireman. "just gone three," replied the other. the policeman's voice, although gruff, was good-humoured and hearty; but he was evidently a strict disciplinarian, for he uttered no other word, and passed on. "faix, i'm gettin' slaipy," remarked joe to himself, with a loud yawn. "i'll go and rest a bit." so saying, he re-entered the ruin, and with the aid of his lantern sought about for the least uncomfortable apartment on the ground floor. he selected one which was comparatively weather-tight. that is to say, only one of the windows had been dashed out, and the ceiling was entire, with the exception of a hole about four feet wide, through which the charred beams above could be seen depicted against the black sky. there was about an inch of water on the floor; but this was a small matter, for joe's boots were thick and strong. the door, too, had been burst off its hinges, and lay on the floor; but joe could raise this, and place it in its original position. the room had been a parlour and there were several damaged prints hanging on the walls, besides a quantity of detached paper hanging from them. most of the furniture had been removed at the commencement of the fire; but a few broken articles remained, and one big old easy-chair, which had either been forgotten, or deemed unworthy of removal, by the men of the salvage corps. [see note .] joe wheeled the chair to the fireplace--not that there was any fire in it; on the contrary, it was choked up with fallen bricks and mortar, and the hearth was flooded with water; but, as joe remarked to himself, "it felt more homelike an' sociable to sit wid wan's feet on the finder!" having erected the door in front of its own doorway, joe leaned his preventer against the wall, placed his lantern on the chimney-piece, and sat down to meditate. he had not meditated long, when the steady draught of air from the window at his back began to tell upon him. "och! but it's a cowld wind," said he. "i'll try the other side. there's nothin' like facin' wan's inimies." acting on this idea, he changed his position, turning his face to the window and his back to the door. "well," he remarked on sitting down again, "there's about as much draught from the door; but, sure, ye've improved yer sitivation, corney, for haven't ye the illigant prospect of over the way through the windy?" not long after this, joe's mind became much affected with ghostly memories. this condition was aggravated by an intense desire to sleep, for the poor man had been hard worked that day, and stood much in need of repose. he frequently fell asleep, and frequently awoke. on falling asleep, his helmet performed extremely undignified gyrations. on awaking, he always started, opened his eyes very wide, looked round inquiringly, then smiled, and resumed a more easy position. but, awake or asleep, his thoughts ran always in the same channel. during one of those waking moments, joe heard a sound which rooted him to his seat with horror; and would doubtless have caused his hair to stand on end, if the helmet would have allowed it. the sound was simple enough in itself, however; being slight, slow, and regular, and was only horrible in joe's mind, because of his being utterly unable to account for it, or to conceive what it could be. whatever the sound was, it banished sleep from his eyes for at least a quarter of an hour. at last, unable to stand the strain of uncertainty, he arose, drew his hatchet, took down his lantern, and, coughing loudly and sternly--as though to say: "have a care, i'm coming!"--removed the door and went cautiously into the passage, where the sound appeared to come from. it did not cease on his appearing; but went on slowly and steadily, and louder than before. it appeared to be at his very elbow; yet joe could see nothing, and a cold perspiration broke out on him. "och! av i could only _see_ it!" he gasped. just as he said this he _did_ see it, for a turn of his lantern revealed the fact that a drop of water fell regularly from one of the burnt beams upon a large sheet of paper which had been torn from the passage wall. this, resting on the irregular rubbish, formed a sort of drum, which gave forth a hollow sound. "ah, then, but ye _are_ a goose, joe corney, me boy!" said the fireman, as he turned away with an amiable smile and resumed his seat after replacing the door. about this time the wind began to rise, and came in irregular gusts. at each gust the door was blown from the wall an inch or so, and fell back with a noise that invariably awoke joe with a start. he looked round each time quickly; but as the door remained quiet he did not discover the cause of his alarm. after it had done this several times joe became, so to speak, desperately courageous. "git out wid ye!" he cried angrily on being startled again, "wasn't the last wan all a sham? an' sure ye're the same. go 'long in pace--an' goodnight!" as he said this the over-taxed man fell asleep; at the same moment a heavy gust of wind drove the door in altogether, and dashed it down on his head. fortunately, being somewhat charred, the panel that struck his helmet was driven out, so that joe came by no greater damage than the fright, which caused his heart to bound into his throat, for he really believed that the ghost had got him at last! relieving himself of the door, which he laid on the floor lest it should play him the same prank over again, joe corney once more settled himself in the easy-chair and resolved to give his mind to meditation. just then the city clocks pealed forth the hour of four o'clock. this is perhaps the quietest hour of the twenty-four in london. before this most of the latest revellers have gone home, and few of the early risers are moving. there was one active mind at work at that hour, however--namely, that of gorman--who, after recovering from the blow given him by dale, went to his own home on the banks of the thames, in the unaristocratic locality of london bridge. gorman owned a small boat, and did various kinds of business with it. but gorman's occupations were numerous and not definite. he was everything by turns, and nothing long. when visible to the outward eye (and that wasn't often), his chief occupations were loafing about and drinking. on the present occasion he drank a good deal more than usual, and lay down to sleep, vowing vengeance against firemen in general, and dale in particular. two or three hours later he awoke, and leaving his house, crossed london bridge, and wended his way back to the scene of the fire without any definite intention, but with savage desires in his breast. he reached it just at that point where joe corney had seated himself to meditate, as above described. joe's powers of meditation were not great at any time. at that particular time they were exerted in vain, for his head began to sway backward and forward and to either side, despite his best efforts to the contrary. waiting in the shadow of a doorway until the policeman should pass out of sight and hearing, and cautiously stepping over the debris that encumbered the threshold of the burnt house, gorman peeped into the room, where the light told him that some one kept watch. great was his satisfaction and grim his smile when he saw that a stalwart fireman sat there apparently asleep. being only able to see his back, he could not make certain who it was,--but from the bulk of the man and breadth of the shoulders he concluded that it was dale. anyhow it was one of his enemies, and that was sufficient, for gorman's nature was of that brutal kind that he would risk his life any day in order to gratify his vengeance, and it signified little to him which of his enemies fell in his way, so long as it was one of them. taking up a brick from the floor, he raised himself to his full height, and dashed it down on the head of the sleeping man. just at that moment corney's nodding head chanced to fall forward, and the brick only hit the comb of his helmet, knocking it over his eyes. next moment he was grappling with gorman. as on previous occasions, joe's heart had leaped to his throat, and that the ghost was upon him "at last" he had no manner of doubt; but no sooner did he feel the human arm of gorman and behold his face than his native courage returned with a bound. he gave his antagonist a squeeze that nearly crushed his ribs together, and at the same time hurled him against the opposite wall. but gorman was powerful and savage. he recovered himself and sprang like a tiger on joe, who received him in a warm embrace with an irish yell! the struggle of the two strong men was for a few moments terrible, but not doubtful, for joe's muscles had been brought into splendid training at the gymnastics. he soon forced gorman down on one knee; but at the same moment a mass of brickwork which had been in a toppling condition, and was probably shaken down by the violence of their movements, fell on the floor above, broke through it, and struck both men to the ground. joe lay stunned and motionless for a few seconds, for a beam had hit him on the head; but gorman leaped up and made off a moment or two before the entrance of the policeman, who had run back to the house on hearing joe's war-whoop. it is needless to add that joe spent the remainder of his vigil that night in an extremely wakeful condition, and that he gave a most graphic account of his adventure with the ghosts on his return to the station! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the salvage corps is a body of men appointed by the insurance offices to save and protect goods at fires, and otherwise to watch over their interests. they wear a uniform and helmets, something like those of the firemen, and generally follow close in their wake--in their own vans--when fires break out. chapter fifteen. a new phase of life. "mother," said master william willders one night to his parent, as he sat at supper--which meal consisted of bread and milk; "he's the jolliest old feller, that mr tippet, i ever came across." "i'm glad you like him, willie," said mrs willders, who was busy patching the knees of a pair of small unmentionables; "but i wish, dear, that you would not use slang in your speech, and remember that fellow is not spelt with an e-r at the end of it." "come now, mother, don't you go an' get sarcastic. it don't suit you; besides, there's no occasion for it,--for i do my best to keep it down, but i'm so choke full of it that a word or two will spurt up now and then in spite o' me." mrs willders smiled and continued her patching; willie grinned and continued his supper. "mother," said willie, after an interval of silence. "well, my son?" "what d'ye think the old feller--ah! i mean fellow--is up to just now?" "i don't know, willie." "he's inventin' a calc'latin' machine, as is to do anythin' from simple addition to fractions, an' he says if it works well he'll carry it on to algebra an' mathematics, up to the fizmal calc'lus, or somethin' o' that sort. oh, you've no notion how he strains himself at it. he sits down in his shirt-sleeves at a writin'-table he's got in a corner, an' tears away at the little hair he has on the sides of his head (i do believe he tore it all off the top with them inventions), then he bangs up an' seizes his tools, and shouts, `look here, willie, hold on!' an' goes sawin' and chisellin' and hammerin' away like a steam-engine. he's all but bu'st himself over that calc'latin' machine, and i'm much afraid that he'll clap chips into the sausage-machine some day, just to see how it works. i hope he won't, for chips an' i are great friends, though we've only bin a month together." "i hope he's a good man," said mrs willders thoughtfully. "well, i'm sure he must be!" cried willie with enthusiasm, "for he is very kind to me, and also to many poor folk that come about him regularly. i'm gettin' to know their faces now, and when to expect 'em. he always takes 'em into his back room--all sorts, old men and old women an' children, most of 'em seedy enough, but some of 'em well off to _look_ at. what he says to 'em i don't know, but they usually come out very grave, an go away thankin' him, and sayin' they won't forget his advice. if the advice is to come back soon they certainly _don't_ forget it! and he's a great philosopher, too, mother, for he often talks to me about my int'lec's. he said jist t'other day, `willie,' said he, `get into a habit o' usin' yer brains, my boy. the almighty put us into this world well-made machines, intended to be used in all our parts. now, you'll find thousands of people who use their muscles and neglect their brains, and thousands of others who use their brains and neglect their muscles. both are wrong, boy; we're machines, lad-- wonderful machines--and the machines won't work well if they're not used _all_ over.' don't that sound grand, mother?" willie might have received an answer if he had waited for one, but he was too impatient, and went rattling on. "and who d'ye think, mother, came to see old tippet the other day, but little cattley, the clown's boy. you remember my tellin' you about little cattley and the auction, don't you?" "yes, willie." "well, he came, and just as he was goin' away i ran out an' asked him how the fairy was. `she's very ill,' he said, shakin' his head, and lookin' so mournful that i had not the heart to ask more. but i'm goin' to see them, mother." "that's right, my boy," said mrs willders, with a pleased look; "i like to hear you talk of going to see people in distress. `blessed are they that consider the poor,' willie." "oh, as to that, you know, i don't know that they _are_ poor. only i feel sort o' sorry for 'em, somehow, and i'm awful anxious to see a real live fairy, even though she _is_ ill." "when are you going?" inquired mrs willders. "to-morrow night, on my way home." "did you look in at frank's lodging in passing to-night?" "yes, i did, and found that he was in the station on duty again. it wasn't a bad sprain, you see, an' it'll teach him not to go jumpin' out of a first-floor window again." "he couldn't help it," said the widow. "you know his escape by the stair had been cut off, and there was no other way left." "no other way!" cried willie; "why didn't he _drop_? he's so proud of his strength, is blazes, that he jumped off-hand a' purpose to show it! ha! he'd be the better of some o' my caution. now, mother, i'm off to bed." "get the bible, then," said mrs willders. willie got up and fetched a large old family bible from a shelf, and laid it on the table before his mother, who read a chapter and prayed with her son; after which willie gave her one of his "roystering" kisses and went to bed. the lamps had been lighted for some time next night, and the shop-windows were pouring forth their bright rays, making the streets appear as light as day, when willie found himself in the small disreputable street near london bridge in which cattley the clown dwelt. remembering the directions given to him by little jim cattley, he soon found the underground abode near the burnt house, the ruins of which had already been cleared away and a considerable portion of a new tenement erected. if the stair leading to the clown's dwelling was dark, the passage at the foot of it was darker; and as willie groped his way carefully along, he might have imagined it to be a place inhabited only by rats or cats, had not gleams of light, and the sound of voices from sundry closed doors, betokened the presence of human beings. of the compound smells peculiar to the place, those of beer and tobacco predominated. at the farther end of this passage, there was an abrupt turn to the left, which brought the boy unexpectedly to a partially open door, where a scene so strange met his eyes that he involuntarily stood still and gazed. in a corner of the room, which was almost destitute of furniture, a little girl, wan, weary, and thin, lay on a miserable pallet, with scanty covering over her. beside her stood cattley--not, as when first introduced, in a seedy coat and hat; but in full stage costume--with three balls on his head, white face, triangular roses on his cheeks, and his mouth extended outward and upward at the corners, by means of red paint. little jim sat on the bed beside his sister, clad in pink skin-tights, with cheeks and face similar to his father, and a red crest or comb of worsted on his head. "ziza, darling, are you feeling better, my lamb?" said the elder clown, with a gravity of expression in his real mouth that contrasted strangely with the expression conveyed by the painted corners. "no, father, not much; but perhaps i'm gettin' better, though i don't feel it," said the sweet, faint voice of the child, as she opened her large hollow eyes, and looked upward. "so, that's the fairy!" thought willie sadly, as he gazed on the child's beautiful though wasted features. "we'll have done d'rectly, darling," said the clown tenderly; "only one more turn, and then we'll leave you to rest quietly for some hours. now, then, here we are again!" he added, bounding into the middle of the room with a wild laugh. "come along, jim, try that jump once more." jim did not speak; but pressing his lips to his sister's brow, leaped after his sire, who was standing an a remarkably vigorous attitude, with his legs wide apart and his arms akimbo, looking back over his shoulder. "here we go," cried jim in a tiny voice, running up his father's leg and side, stepping lightly on his shoulder, and planting one foot on his head. "jump down," said the clown gravely. jim obeyed. "that won't do, jim. you must do it all in one run; no pausing on the way--but, whoop! up you go, and both feet on my head at once. don't be afeard; you can't tumble, you know." "i'm not afeard, father," said jim; "but i ain't quite springy in my heart to-night. stand again and see if i don't do it right off." cattley the elder threw himself into the required attitude; and cattley junior, rushed at him, ran up him as a cat runs up a tree, and in a moment was standing on his father's head with his arms extended. whoop!--next moment he was turning round in the air; and whoop! in another moment he was standing on the ground, bowing respectfully to a supposed audience. to jim's immense amazement, the supposed audience applauded him heartily; and said, "bravyo! young 'un," as it stepped into the room, in the person of william willders. "why! who may _you_ be?" inquired the clown senior, stepping up to the intruder. before willie could answer the clown junior sprang on his father's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. whatever he said, the result was an expression of benignity and condescension on the clown's face--as far as paint would allow of such expression. "glad to meet you, master willders," he said. "proud to know anyone connected with t. tippet, esquire, who's a trump. give us your flipper. what may be the object of your unexpected, though welcome visit to this this subterraneous grotto, which may be said to be next door to the coral caves, where the mermaids dwell." "yes, and there's one o' the mermaids singing," remarked the clown junior, with a comical leer, as a woman's voice was heard in violent altercation with some one. "she's a sayin' of her prayers now; beseechin' of her husband to let her have her own way." willie explained that, having had the pleasure of meeting with jim at an auction sale some weeks ago, he had called to renew his acquaintance; and jim said he remembered the incident--and that, if he was not mistaken, a desire to see a live fairy in plain clo'se, with her wings off, had something to do with his visit. "here she is;--by the way, what's your name?" "bill willders." "here she is, bill; this is the fairy," he said, in quite an altered tone, as he went to the bed, and took one of his sister's thin hands in both of his. "ziza, this is the feller i told ye of, as wanted to see you, dear; b'longs to mr tippet." ziza smiled faintly, as she extended her hand to willie, who took it and pressed it gently. willie felt a wonderfully strong sensation within his heart as he looked into the sufferer's large liquid eyes; and for a few seconds he could not speak. suddenly he exclaimed, "well, you ain't one bit like what i expected to see. you're more like a angel than a fairy." ziza smiled again, and said she didn't feel like either the one or the other. "my poor lamb," said the clown, sitting down on the bed, and parting the dark hair on ziza's forehead, with a hand as gentle as that of a mother, "we're goin' now. time's up. shall i ask mrs smith to stay with you again, till we come back?" "oh, no, no!" cried the child hurriedly, and squeezing her fingers into her eyes, as if to shut out some disagreeable object. "not mrs smith. i'd rather be alone." "i _wish_ i could stay with you, ziza," said jim earnestly. "it's of no use wishin', jim," said his father, "you can't get off a single night. if you was to fail 'em you'd lose your engagement, and we can't afford that just at this time, you know; but i'll try to get mrs james to come. she's a good woman, i know, and--" "mister cattley," interrupted willie, "if you'll allow a partic'larly humble individual to make a observation, i would say there's nothin' in life to prevent me from keeping this 'ere fairy company till you come back. i've nothin' particular to do as i knows on, an' i'm raither fond of lonely meditation; so if the fairy wants to go to sleep, it'll make no odds to me, so long's it pleases her." "thankee, lad," said the clown; "but you'll git wearied, i fear, for we won't be home till mornin'--" "ah!" interrupted willie, "till daylight does appear. but that's no odds, neither--'cause i'm not married yet, so there's nobody awaitin' for me--and" (he winked to jim at this point) "my mother knows i'm out." the clown grinned at this. "you'd make one of _us_, youngster," said he, "if ye can jump. howsever, i'm obliged by your offer, so you can stay if ziza would like it." ziza said she _would_ like it with such goodwill, that willie adored her from that moment, and vowed in his heart he would nurse her till she--he did not like to finish the sentence; yet, somehow, the little that he had heard and seen of the child led him irresistibly to the conclusion that she was dying. this having been satisfactorily arranged, the cattleys, senior and junior, threw cloaks round them, exchanged their wigs for caps; and, regardless of the absurd appearance of their faces, hurried out to one of the minor theatres, with heavy hearts because of the little fairy left so ill and comfortless at home. in a few minutes they were tumbling on the stage, cracking their jokes, and convulsing the house with laughter. chapter sixteen. willie in a new light. left alone with the fairy, willie willders began his duties as sick-nurse, a sphere of action into which he had never thought of being introduced, even in his wildest dreams. he began by asking the fairy if she was all right and comfortable, to which she replied that she was not; upon which he explained that he meant, was she as right and comfortable as could be expected in the circumstances; could he do anything for her, in fact, or get her anything that would make her more comfortable than she was--but the fairy shook her poor head and said, "no." "come now, won't you have somethin' to eat? what had you for dinner?" said willie, in a cheery voice, looking round the room, but not discovering any symptoms of food beyond a few empty plates and cups (the latter without handles), and a tea-pot with half a spout. "i had a little bread and butter," said the fairy. "no tipple?" inquired the nurse. "no, except water." "ain't there none in the house?" "no." "d'ye git nothin' better at other times?" inquired willie in surprise. "not often. father is very poor. he was ill for a long time, too, and if it hadn't been for your kind master i think we should all have starved. he's better now, but he needs pretty good living to keep him up to his work--for there's a deal of training to be done, and it wears him out if he don't get meat. but the pantomimes began and we were getting on better, when the fire came and burnt everything we had almost, so we can't afford much meat or beer, and i don't like beer, so i've got them persuaded to let me live on bread and butter and water. i would like tea better, because it's hot, but we can't afford that." here was a revelation! the fairy lived upon bread and butter and water! willie thought that, but for the interpolation of the butter, it would have borne marvellous resemblance to prison fare. "when had you dinner?" inquired willie suddenly. "i think about four o'clock." "an' can't you eat nothin' now?" again the fairy shook her head. "nor drink?" "look if there's anything in the tea-pot," said the fairy. willie looked, shook his head, and said, "not a drop." "any leaves?" "why, y-yes," he brought the pot nearer to the candle; "there are a few used-up ones." "oh, _do_ pour some hot water into it; but i fear the water is cold, and the fire's too low to boil it, and i know the coals are done; but father gets paid his salary to-morrow, and he'll give me some tea then. he's very kind to me, father is, and so is jim." she sighed as she spoke, and shut her eyes. "ziza," said willie in a careless tone, "you won't object to my leavin' you for a few minutes; only a few; i want to get a little fresh air, an' see what sort of a night it is; i won't be long gone." ziza, so far from objecting, said that she was used to being left alone for long, long hours at a time, and wouldn't mind it. so willie put the candle nearer to her bedside, placed a tea-cup of water within reach, went out, shut the door softly behind him, groped his way through the passage and up the stair, and got into the street. that day his eccentric employer had paid him his first month's wage, a sovereign, with many complimentary remarks as to his usefulness. the golden coin lay in his pocket. it was the first he had ever earned. he had intended to go straight home and lay the shining piece in his mother's lap, for willie was a peculiar boy, and had some strange notions in regard to the destination of "first-fruits." where he had got them nobody could tell. perhaps his mother knew, but nobody ever questioned her upon the point. taking this gold piece from his pocket, he ran into the nearest respectable street, and selected there the most respectable grocer's shop, into which he entered, and demanded a pound of the shopman's best tea, a pound of his best sugar, a pound of his best butter, a cut of his best bacon, and one of his best wax-candles. willie knew nothing about relative proportion in regard to such things; he only knew that they were usually bought and consumed together. the shopman looked at the little purchaser in surprise, but as willie emphatically repeated his demands he gave him the required articles. on receiving the sovereign he looked twice at willie, rung the piece of money three times on the counter, and then returned the change. gathering the packages in his arms, and putting the candle between his vest and bosom, he went into a baker's shop, purchased a loaf, and returned to the "subterraneous grotto" laden like the bee. to say that the fairy was surprised when he displayed these things, would be a feeble use of language. she opened her large eyes until willie begged her in alarm not to open them wider for fear they should come out, at which sally she laughed, and then, being weak, she cried. after that she fell in with her nurse's humour, and the two proceeded to "have a night of it." ziza said she'd be a real fairy and tell him what to do, and willie said he'd be a gnome or a he-fairy and do it. at the outset willie discovered that he had forgotten coals, but this was rectified by another five minutes' airing, and a rousing fire was quickly roaring in the chimney, while the kettle sang and spluttered on it like a sympathetic thing, as no doubt it was. willie cleared the small table that stood at the invalid's bed side, and arranged upon it the loaf, the tea-pot, two cracked tea-cups, the butter and sugar, and the wax-candle--which latter was stuck into a quart bottle in default of a better candle-stick. "now, ain't that jolly?" said the nurse, sitting down and rubbing his hands. "very!" replied the patient, her eyes sparkling with delight. "it's so like a scene in a play," continued willie. "only much more real," suggested the fairy. "now, then, ziza, have a cup o' tea, fresh from the market o' chiny, as your dad would say, if he was sellin' it by auction. he's a knowin' codger your dad is, ziza. there. i knowed i forgot somethin' else--the cream!" "i don't mind it, indeed i don't," said ziza earnestly. willie had started up to run out and rectify this omission, but on being assured that the fairy liked tea almost as well without as with cream, and that there was no cream to be got near at hand, he sat down again and continued to do the honours of the table. first he made the fairy sit up in bed, and commented sadly on her poor thin neck as she did it, observing that she was nothing better than a skeleton in a skin. then he took off his own jacket and put it on her shoulders, tying the arms round her neck. next he placed a piece of board in front of her, saying that it was a capital tray, and on this he arranged the viands neatly. "now, then, go at it, ziza," he said, when all was arranged. ziza, who received his attentions with looks that were wonderfully gleeful for one in her weak state of health, went at it with such vigour that the bread was eaten and the tea drunk in a few minutes, and the supply had to be renewed. when she was in the middle of her second round of buttered toast (for willie had toasted the bread), she stopped suddenly. "why don't you go on?" asked willie. "because you have not eaten or drunk one mouthful yet." "but i'm lookin' at you, and ain't that better? howsever, if ye won't go on, i'll not keep you back," and with that willie set to work, and, being uncommonly hungry, did what he styled "terrible execution among the wittles." for some time the nurse and patient ate in comparative silence, but by degrees they began to talk, and as they became more confidential their talk became more personal. "d'you like bein' a fairy?" said willie, after a lull in the conversation. "no, i don't," replied ziza. "why not?" "because--because--i don't like the kind of things we have to do, and-- and--in short, i don't like it at all, and i often pray god to deliver me from it." "that's strange, now," said willie, "i would have thought it great fun to be a fairy. i'd rather be a little clown or a he-fairy myself, now, than anything else i know of, except a fireman." "a fireman, willie?" "yes, a fireman. my brother, blaz--a--frank, i mean, is one, and he saved the lives of some people not long since." of course willie here diverged into a graphic account of the fire in beverly square, and, seeing that ziza listened with intense earnestness, he dilated upon every point, and went with special minuteness into the doings of frank. when he concluded, ziza heaved a very deep sigh and closed her eyes. "i've tired you, ziza," exclaimed willie, jumping up, with a look of anxiety, and removing the tea-board and jacket, as the child slipped down under the clothes. he asked if she wanted to go to sleep. "yes, for i'm _very_ tired," she sighed languidly; then added, "but please read to me a little first." "what book am i to read you?" said willie, looking round the room, where no book of any kind was to be seen. "here, it's under the pillow." willie put his hand under the pillow and pulled out a small pocket-bible. "read the third chapter of saint john's gospel," said the child, closing her eyes. willie read in the monotonous tones of a schoolboy's voice until he came to the sixteenth verse, "for god so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." "stop at _that_ verse," whispered ziza. "i'll go to sleep now." her deep breathing soon proclaimed that she was in the land of dreams, so willie removed the candle a little further away from her, and then, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, began to read the bible. he turned over a few pages without much intention of finding any particular place, for he was beginning to feel sleepy. the first words his eyes fell upon were, "blessed are they that consider the poor." he roused up a little at this, and read the verse again, for he connected it with the fact that the fairy was poor. then he pondered it for some time, and, falling asleep, dropt his head on the bible with such force that he woke up for a little and tried to read again, but do what he would he could not get beyond that verse; finally he gave up the attempt, and, laying his forehead down upon it, quickly fell sound asleep. in this state the couple were discovered an hour or two later by messrs. cattley senior and junior on their return from the theatre. "inscrutable mysteries! say, what is this?" exclaimed the elder clown, advancing into the room on tiptoe. apostrophising his eye and one betty martin, the younger clown said that it was a "rare go and no mistake," whereupon his father laid his hand on willie's shoulder and gently shook him. "eh! another cup, ziza?" exclaimed the self-accused nurse, as he put out his hand to seize the tea-pot. "hallo! i thought it was the fairy," he added, looking up with a sleepy smile; "i do believe i've gone and fell asleep." "why, lad, where got ye all those things?" inquired the senior cattley, laying aside his cloak and cap, and speaking in a low tone, for ziza was still sleeping soundly. "well, i got 'em," replied willie in a meditative tone, "from a friend of mine--a very partikler friend o' mine--as declines to let me mention his name, so you'll have to be satisfied with the wittles and without the name of the wirtuous giver. p'r'aps it was a dook, or a squire, or a archbishop as did it. anyway his name warn't walker. see now, you've bin an' woke up the fairy." the sick child moved as he spoke, but it was only to turn, without awaking, on her side. "well, lad," said the clown, sitting down and looking wistfully in the face of his daughter, "you've got your own reasons for not tellin' me-- mayhap i've a pretty good guess--anyhow i say god bless him, for i do b'lieve he's saved the child's life. i've not seen her sleep like that for weeks. look at her, jim; ain't she like her old self?" "yes, father, she don't need no paint and flour to make a fairy on her just now. she's just like what she was the last time i seed her go up in a gauze cloud to heaven, with red and blue fire blazin' all round her." "i'll bid ye good-night now," said willie, buttoning up his jacket to the chin, and pulling his cap down on his brows with the air of a man who has a long walk before him. "you're off, are you--eh?" said the elder clown, rising and taking willie by the hand, "well, you're a good lad. thank'ee for comin' here an' takin' care of ziza. my subterranean grotto ain't much to boast of, but such as it is you're welcome to it at all times. good-night." "good-night," said willie; "good-night, jim." jim replied good-night heartily, and then willie stepped into the dark passage. he glanced back at the fairy before shutting the door, but her eyes were closed, so he said good-night to her in his heart, and went home. chapter seventeen. home life. "my dear miss tippet, i shall never, no never, get over it." so said, and so undoubtedly thought, a thin little old lady with remarkably bright eyes, and a sweet old face, as she sat sipping tea at miss tippet's elbow. it was in the drawing-room of miss deemas that she sat, and the eagle sat opposite to her. "it was very dreadful," responded miss tippet with a sigh--"very." "it was awful. i know i shall never get over it,--never," repeated the little old lady, finishing her tea, and asking for another cup in the calmest possible voice, with the sweetest possible smile. "oh yes, you will, mrs denman," said miss deemas snappishly. "no, indeed, i won't," repeated mrs denman; "how can i? just think of the situation. sitting in my chair in dishabille, when a man--a man, miss dee--" "well, i know what a _man_ is," said the eagle bitterly; "why don't you go on?" "burst himself through my bedroom-door," continued mrs denman, "with lime and charcoal and brick-dust and water streaming down his face-- f-fo-olded me in his arms, bore me out into the street--the _street_! oh! i shall never, _never_ get over it; and so little, so _very_ little clothing on me--" "how much had you on?" asked miss deemas in a deep voice, the calmness of which contrasted forcibly with mrs denman's excited tones. "really, miss deemas, i see no necessity for going into particulars. it is sufficient to know that i was carried by a _man_ into the _street_ in the face of some thousands of people, for i heard them cheering though i saw them not. i know i shall never get over it--another cup, my love; not _quite_ so much sugar--no, not if i were to live to the age of methusaleh." "i don't wonder, indeed i don't," murmured the sympathetic miss tippet. "i think, julia dear, you are a little too hard on mrs denman. how would _you_ like to have been carried out of a burning house in such a way by a big rough man?" "oh, my dear," interposed mrs denman, "i did not say he was rough. big he certainly was, and strong, but i must do him the justice to say that the man li--lif--oh me! lifted me up very tenderly, and carried me as though i had been an infant and he my mother, through smoke and fire and water, into the street, before the eyes of the--whole--oh, it's too awful to think of!" "stuff!" ejaculated miss deemas, pecking a piece of cake out of her fingers as she would, metaphorically of course, have pecked the eyes out of the head of frank willders, or any other man. "didn't you say he put a blanket round you?" "of course, miss deemas; i should have died otherwise of pure shame." "no, you wouldn't," retorted the eagle. "you would probably have been half suffocated and a good deal dirtied, and you might have been singed, but you wouldn't have died; and what need you care now, for the people saw nothing but a bundle. you might have been a bundle of old clothes for all they knew or cared. all they wanted to see was the bravery, as they call it, of the man; as if there were not hundreds upon hundreds of women who would do the same thing if their muscles were strong enough, and occasion served." "but it _was_ a brave act, you know," said miss tippet timidly. "i don't know that," retorted miss deemas, helping herself to more cake with as much decision of manner as if she had been carrying it off by force of arms from before the very muzzles of a masculine battery. "i don't know that. he had to escape, you know, for his own life, and he might as well bring a bundle along with him as not." "yes; but then," said miss tippet, "he first went up the--the thingumy, you know." "no, he didn't," retorted miss deemas smartly; "he was in the house at the time, and only came down the `thingumy,' as you call it!" it was a peculiarity of miss deemas's character, that she claimed the right to be as rude as she chose to people in her own house, and rather prided herself on this evidence of independence. "in my opinion," said mrs denman, "his being in the burning house at all of his own accord, was of itself evidence of courage. i think the fireman is a brave young man." thus much mrs denman said with dignity to miss deemas. the remainder of her speech she addressed to miss tippet. "but, my dear, i feel that although i owe this young man a debt of gratitude which i can never repay, i shall never be able to look my preserver in the face. i _know_ that his mind will always revert, when he sees me, to the fi--fig--the figure that he lifted out of that easy-chair. but there is one thing i have resolved on," continued the little old lady in more cheerful tones, as she asked for another cup of tea, "and that is, to get a fireman to instruct me as to the best method of saving my own life should fire again break out in my dwelling." the eagle gave a hysterical chuckle at this. "i have already written to one who has been recommended to me as a shrewd man, and he is coming to call on me this very evening at seven o'clock." mrs denman started, as if her own remark had recalled something, and pulled out her watch. "why, it is almost half-past six!" she exclaimed, rising hastily. "excuse a hurried departure, miss deemas. your society and sympathy" (she looked pointedly at miss tippet here) "have been so agreeable that i did not observe how time was flying. good-bye, miss deemas. good evening, _dear_ miss tippet." miss deemas bowed. "good-bye, my love," said miss tippet, bustling round her friend. "i'm _so_ glad to have met you, and i hope you'll come and see me soon; poor-thing lane, remember. come whenever you please, dear mrs denman. yes, yes, time does indeed fly, as you say; or as my friend, sir archibald what's-his-name used to remark, `tempit fugus something re-what's-'is-name.' _good-bye_, dear mrs denman." while the ladies were thus engaged, one whom the eagle would have tossed her beak at with supreme contempt was enjoying himself in the bosom of his family. this was none other than joe corney himself, who, having received a "stop" for a distant fire, had looked in on his wife to tell her of the note he had received from mrs denman. the family bosom resided in a small portion of a small house in the small street where the fire-engine dwelt. joe had laid his helmet on the table, and, having flung himself into a chair, seized his youngest child, a little girl, in his arms, raised her high above his head and laughed in her face; at which the child chuckled and crowed to the best of its ability. meanwhile his eldest son, joe junior, immediately donned the helmet, seized the poker, thrust the head of it into a bucket of water, and, pointing the other end at a supposed fire, began to work an imaginary hand-pump with all his might. "it's goin' out, daddy," cried the urchin. "sure, he's a true chip o' the owld block," observed his mother, who was preparing the evening meal of the family; "he's uncommon fond o' fire an' wather." "molly, my dear," said the fireman, "i'd have ye kape a sharp eye on that same chip, else his fondness for fire may lead to more wather than ye'd wish for." "i've bin thinkin' that same meself, honey," replied mrs corney, placing a pile of buttered toast on the table. "shure didn't i kitch him puttin' a match to the straw bed the other day! me only consolation is that ivery wan in the house knows how to use the hand-pump. ah, then, ye won't believe it, joe, but i catched the baby at it this mornin', no later, an' she'd have got it to work, i do believe, av she hadn't tumbled right over into the bucket, an' all but drownded herself. but, you know, the station's not far off, if the house did git alight. shure ye might run the hose from the ingin to here without so much as drawin' her out o' the shed. now, then, joe, tay's ready, so fall to." joe did fall to with the appetite of a man who knows what it is to toil hard, late and early. joe junior laid aside the helmet and poker, and did his duty at the viands like the true son of a fireman--not to say an irishman--and for five minutes or so the family enjoyed themselves in silence. after that joe senior heaved a sigh, and said that it would be about time for him to go and see the old lady. "what can it be she wants?" asked mrs corney. "don't know," replied her husband. "all i know is that she's the old lady as was bundled neck and crop out o' the first-floor windy o' the house in holborn by frank willders. she's a quare owld woman that. she's got two houses, no less; wan over the coachmaker's shop--the shop bein' her property--an' wan in russell square. they say she's rich enough to line her coffin with goold an inch thick. spakin' o' that, molly my dear, a quare thing happened to me the other night. it's what ye call a coinsidence." "what's that, joe?" "well, t'ain't easy to explain, but it means two things happenin' together in a most onlikely way--d'ye see?" "no, i don't, joe," replied mrs corney, helping herself to another slice of toast. "well, it don't matter much," resumed joe, "but this is what it was: mr dale an' me was sittin', about two in the mornin', at the station fire smokin' our pipes (for it was my turn on duty) an' chattin' away about one thing an' another, when somehow we got upon tellin' our experiences, an' dale he tells me a story o' how he was once called to a fire in a cemetary, an' had to go down among the coffins--for they was afire--an' what a fright some o' his men got, when, just as he had finished, an' all my flesh was creepin' at wot i'd heard, there comes a ring at the bell an' a call to a fire in portland street. i runs an' gets out the ingin, an' frank (he was my mate that night) he rings up the boys, an' away we wint in tin minutes. it wasn't far, an' when we got there in we wint into the house, which was full o' smoke, but no fire to be seen. we wint coughin' and sneezin' an' rubbin' our eyes down into a cellar, where the lads of another ingin was at work before us wi' the hand-pumps, an', would ye belaive it? but the walls o' that cellar was lined wi' coffins! true for ye, there they was, all sizes, as thick as they could stand. i thought i was dramin', but it was no drame, for it was an undertaker's shop; an' when i wint upstairs, after we diskivered the fire an' put it out, i sees two coffins on tressels lyin' ready for use. wan was black-painted wood, no doubt for a poor man, an' nothin' inside o't. the other alongside was covered wid superfine black cloth an' silver-mounted handles, an' name-plate, an' it was all padded inside an' lined wid white satin!" "white satin, joe? you're jokin'." "as sure as your name's molly, it was white satin," repeated joe; "i wouldn't have belaived it av i hadn't seen it; but that's the way the quality goes to their graves. i looks at the two coffins as i was comin' away, an' thinks i to myself, i wonder whether the poor man or the rich man'll be most comfortable when they're laid there?" "now, molly, i'll bid ye good-night an' be off to see this owld lady, this mrs denman. look afther that boy, now, an kape the matches out of his way, whativer ye do." with this very needful warning, joe corney kissed his wife and the baby, and went off to the station to obtain leave of absence for a couple of hours. chapter eighteen. joe corney's advice. wending his way through the crowded streets, joe soon reached the door of the house in russell square which belonged to mrs denman. the good lady had made use of a cab after quitting miss deemas, so that she was at home and seated in a luxuriously easy chair in her splendidly furnished drawing-room when the fireman applied the knocker. "does mrs denman stop here, my dear?" said joe to the smart servant-girl who opened the door. "yes," replied the girl, "and she told me to show you up to the drawing-room whenever you came. step this way." joe pulled off his cap and followed the maid, who ushered him into the presence of the little old lady. "pray take a chair," said mrs denman, pointing to one which had evidently been placed close to hers on purpose. "you are a fireman, i understand?" "yes, ma'am," replied joe, "i've bin more nor tin years at the business now." "you must find it a very warm business, i should imagine," said mrs denman, with a smile. "true for ye, ma'am. my body's bin a'most burnt off my sowl over and over again; but it's cowld enough, too, sometimes, specially when ye've got to watch the premises after the fire's bin put out of a cowld winter night, as i had to do at _your_ house, ma'am." mrs denman started and turned pale. "what! d'you mean to say that you were at the fire in--in holborn that night?" "indeed i do, ma'am. och! but ye must be ill, ma'am, for yer face is as white as a ghost. shure but it's _red_ now. let me shout for some wather for ye, ma'am." "no, no, my good man," said mrs denman, recovering herself a little. "i--i--the fact is, it did not occur to me that you had been at _that_ fire, else i would never--but no matter. you didn't see--see--any one saved, did you?" "see any one saved, is it? shure, i did, an' yerself among the lot. och! but it's frank willders as knows how to do a thing nately. he brought ye out o' the windy, ma'am, on his showlder as handy as if ye'd bin a carpet-bag, or a porkmanty, ma'am--" "hush, _man_!" exclaimed poor mrs denman, blushing scarlet, for she was a very sensitive old lady; "i cannot bear to think of it. but how could--you know it was me? _it--it--might_ have been anything--a bundle, you know." "not by no manes," replied the candid joe. "we seed your shape quite plain, ma'am, for the blankit was tight round ye." mrs denman covered her face with her hand at this point, and resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, reflected that the thing was beyond remedy, and that, as the man had come and was now looking at her, matters could not be worse; so she resolved to carry out her original intention, and question him as to the best course of action in the event of fire. "my good man," she said, "i have taken the liberty of asking you to come here to tell me what i should do to guard against fire in future." joe rubbed his nose and looked at the ground; then he stroked his chin and looked at the old lady; then a look of intelligence lighted up his expressive countenance as he said abruptly-- "is yer house an' furniture insured, ma'am?" "no, it is not," replied mrs denman. "i have never insured in my life, because although i hear of fires every day in london, it has never occurred to me until lately that there was any probability of _my_ house being burned. i know it was very foolish of me, but i shall see to having it done directly." "that's right, ma'am," said joe, with an approving nod. "if you seed the heaps an' heaps o' splendid furnitur' an' goods an' buildin's as is burnt every day a'most in london, an' lost to the owners 'cause they grudged the few shillin's of insurance, or 'cause they was careless an' didn't b'lieve a fire would ever come to them, no matter how many might come to other folk, you'd insure yer house an' furnitur' first thing i' the mornin', ma'am." "i have no doubt you say what is quite correct, mr corney, and i will certainly attend to this matter in future; but i am more particularly anxious to know how i should act if the house in which i live were to take fire." "get out of it as fast as possible," said joe promptly, "an' screech out _fire_! till yer sides is sore." "but suppose," said mrs denman, with a faint smile, "that the fire is burning in the stair, and the house full of smoke, what am i to do?" "och! i see yer drift now, ma'am," said joe, with a knowing look. "av it's that what ye wants to know, i'll just, with your lave, ma'am, give ye a small discourse on the subjic'." joe cleared his throat, and began with the air of a man who knows what he is talking about. "it's as well, ma'am, to begin by tryin' to prevent yer house ketchin' fire--prevention bein' better nor cure. if ye'd kape clear o' that, there's two or three small matters to remimber. first of all, take oncommon good care o' your matches, an' don't let the childer git at 'em, if you've any in the house. would you believe it, ma'am, there was above fifty fires in london last year that was known to ha' bin set alight by childers playin' wid matches, or by careless servants lettin' 'em drop an' treadin' on 'em?" "how many?" asked mrs denman in surprise. "fifty, ma'am." "dear me! you amaze me, fireman; i had supposed there were not so many fires in london in a year." "a year!" exclaimed joe. "why, there's nearly three fires, on the average, every twinty-four hours in london, an' that's about a thousand fires in the year, ma'am." "are you sure of what you say, fireman?" "quite sure, ma'am; ye can ax mr braidwood if ye don't b'lieve me." mrs denman, still in a state of blank amazement, said that she did not doubt him, and bade him go on. "well, then," resumed joe, "look well arter yer matches, an' niver read in bed; that's the way hundreds o' houses get a light. when you light a candle with a bit o' paper, ma'am, don't throw it on the floor an' tramp on it an' think it's out, for many a time there's a small spark left, an' the wind as always blows along the floor sets it up an' it kitches somethin', and there you are--blazes an' hollerin' an' ingins goin' full swing in no time. then, ma'am, never go for to blow out yer gas, an' if there's an escape don't rest till ye get a gasfitter and find it out. but more particularly don't try to find it yerself with a candle. och! if ye'd only seen the blows up as i've seen from gas, ye'd look better arter it. not more nor two weeks gone by, ma'am, we was called to attend a fire which was caused by an escape o' gas. w'en we got there the fire was out, but sitch a mess you niver did see. it was a house, ma'am, in the west end, with the most illigant painted walls and cornices and gimcracks, idged all with goold. the family had just got into it--noo done up for 'em, only, by good luck, there wasn't much o' the furnitur' in. they had smelled a horrid smell o' gas for a good while, but couldn't find it. at last the missis, she goes with a workman an a _candle_ to look for it, an' sure enough they found it in a bathroom. it had been escapin' in a small closet at the end o' the bath, and not bein' able to git out, for the door was a tight fit, it had gone away an' filled all the space between the ceilin's an' floors, an' between the lath, and plaster, and the walls. the moment the door in the bath-room was opened all this gas took light an' blowed up like gunpowder. the whole inner skin o' the beautiful drawing-room, ma'am, was blowed into the middle of the room. the cook, who was in the drawin'-room passage, she was blow'd down stairs; the workman as opened the little door, he was blow'd flat on his back; an' the missis, as was standin' with her back to a door, she was lifted off her legs and blow'd right through the doorway into a bedroom." "gracious!" exclaimed the horrified mrs denman, "was she killed?" "no, ma'am, she warn't killed. be good luck they was only stunned an' dreadful skeared, but no bones was broken." mrs denman found relief in a sigh. "well, ma'am," continued joe, "let me advise you to sweep yer chimleys once a month. when your chimley gets afire the sparks they get out, and when sparks get out of a windy night there's no tellin' what they won't light up. it's my opinion, ma'am, that them as makes the laws should more nor double the fines for chimleys goin' afire. but suppose, ma'am, your house gets alight in spite of you--well then, the question is what's best to do?" mrs denman nodded her old head six or seven times, as though to say, "that is precisely the question." "i'll tell you, ma'am,"--here joe held up the fore-finger of his right hand impressively. "in the first place, every one in a house ought to know all the outs and ins of it, 'cause if you've got to look for things for the first time when the cry of `fire' is raised, it's not likely that you'll find 'em. now, d'ye know, or do the servants know, or does anybody in the house know, where the trap in the roof is?" mrs denman appeared to meditate for a minute, and then said that she was not sure. she herself did not know, and she thought the servants might be ignorant on the point, but she rather thought there was an old one in the pantry, but they had long kept a cat, and so didn't require it. "och!" exclaimed joe, with a broad grin, "sure it's a trap-door i'm spakin' of." mrs denman professed utter ignorance on this point, and when told that it ought to be known to every one in the house as a mode of escape in the event of fire, she mildly requested to know what she would have to do if there were such a trap. "why, get out on the roof to be sure," (mrs denman shivered) "and get along the tiles to the next house," (mrs denman shut her eyes and shuddered) "an' so make yer escape. then you should have a ladder fixed to this trap-door so as it couldn't be took away, and ye should have some dozen fathoms o' half-inch rope always handy, cause if ye was cut off from the staircase by fire an' from the roof by smoke ye might have to let yourself down from a windy. it's as well, too, to know how to knot sheets and blankets together, so that the ties won't slip, for if you have no rope they'd be better than nothin'. you should also have a hand-pump, ma'am, and a bucket of water always handy, 'cause if you take a fire at the beginnin' it's easy put out. an' it's as well to know that you should go into a room on fire on your hands and knees, with your nose close to the ground--just as a pinter-dog goes--'cause there's more air there than overhead; an' it's better to go in wi' the hand-pump the first thing. don't wait to dress, ma'am." "stop, stop, mr corney!" cried mrs denman, holding up her hand. the little lady was stunned with the rapid utterance of the enthusiastic fireman, and with the dreadful suggestion that she, mrs denman, should, in the dead of night, get upon the roof of her dwelling and scramble over the tiles, or let herself down by a rope from a window into the public street, or creep into a burning room on her hands and knees with her nose to the ground like a pointer, and all this, too, in her night-dress, so she begged of him to stop, and said: "but you forget, fireman, it is impossible for _me_ to do any of these dreadful things." "well, ma'am," returned joe coolly, "it wouldn't be easy--though, for the matter o' that, it's wonderful what people will do for their lives; but i was tellin' ye, ma'am, what ought to be done, so as somebody else in the house might do it, if you couldn't. "but suppose, ma'am," continued joe, without waiting for a reply; "suppose that the house is alight. well, the first thing you've got to do, is not to get into a fluster. that can't do no good, you know, and is sure to do mischief. keep cool. that's the first thing, ma'am; and be deliberate in all ye do. the second thing is, to wrap a blanket round ye, an' get out of the house as fast as ye can without stoppin' to dress. it's of no use lookin' put out, ma'am; for it's better to escape without yer clo'es than to be burnt alive in 'em. then be careful to _shut all doors after ye_ as ye go. this keeps the air from gittin' at the fire, and so smothers it down till the ingines come up. also keep all windows shut. if the smoke is like to choke ye, git yer nose as near the ground as possible, an' go along on yer hands and knees. a bit o' flannel or a worsted sock held over yer mouth an' nose, will help you to bear it better. "if ye can't escape by the street-door, or the trap in the roof, then get into a front room, where you will be more easy to be got at wid ladders or fire-escapes, an' see that _every mimber o' the household_ is there. many a wan has bin forgotten in the hurry-skurry of a fire, and left asleep in bed, ignorant o' the danger till too late; when a cool head might have missed 'em, and wakened 'em in time. whatever ye do, ma'am--keep cool." the probability of poor mrs denman keeping cool in such circumstances was uncommonly small; for she was at that moment hot all over, and her face flushed at the mere recital of such horrors! joe then went on to state, that the very last thing she should do was to jump from a window (a somewhat unnecessary piece of advice, poor miss denman thought), and that, when she was compelled to take such a step, she should first of all pitch over all the blankets and bedding she could lay hold of to make her fall easy. he wound up with an emphatic reiteration of the assurance that her only chance lay in "keeping cool." that night, poor mrs denman, in a condition of mind that is utterly indescribable, because inconceivable, went through the whole of the dreadful processes which joe had described; and did it, too, with miraculous presence of mind and energy--in her dreams. chapter nineteen. dark plots are hatched. gorman was one of those peculiar characters who, in personal appearance, are totally devoid of peculiarity. he was a middle-sized, thick-set, commonplace, grave, quiet man; very powerful--but not apparently so; one whom it was impossible to "find out" unless he chose to let himself be found out. above all, he was a reserved man. everybody knew well enough, at least among his intimates, that he was named gorman; but not one of the number knew what his christian name was. a few were aware that he signed himself "d. gorman"; but whether the "d" represented david, dastard, drunkard, or demon, was a matter of pure speculation to all, a few of his female acquaintance excepted (for he had no friends), who asserted roundly that it represented them all, and some were even willing to go the length of saying that it represented more, and stood for dirty, drivelling, desperate, and a few other choice words which it is quite unnecessary to mention. only a few, and these were among the knowing and peculiarly observant ones of gorman's intimates, said that "d" stood for "deep." but then, many of those who thus pronounced their opinion, were comparatively worthless characters, given to scandal and slander; so the reader must not allow himself to be biassed too much by their report. certain it is, however, that when gorman was asked on one occasion what his christian name was, he replied that he had no christian name; because he didn't believe in christianity, and that he signed himself "d," to be distinguished from the other gormans who might chance to exist in the universe. people were not at all shocked at his bold statement of unbelief; because, in the circle in which he moved, the same disbelief was pretty general. besides many other traits and qualities, definable and indefinable, gorman had the power of assuming the appearance either of a burglar of the lowest type, or a well-to-do contractor or tradesman. a slight change in dress and manner were sufficient to metamorphose him beyond recognition. everybody knew, also, that gorman was the landlord of a small public-house at the corner of a dirty street, not far from london bridge; and that he kept a stout, middle-aged man on the premises to do the duty of host, while he himself went about "other business," which nobody knew of, and which no one could find out, although many had tried to do so with all their might. every day in the year, gorman might have been seen at the "golden swan"; but never for longer than a few minutes at a time, when he inspected the books, received the cash drawn the day before; and made an impression on all in the premises, that tended to convince them they were well looked after. "humph!" ejaculated gorman, as he finished counting the dirty coppers and pieces of silver which his agent had delivered to him, and dropped them from his dirty fingers into a dirty leather bag: "business is dull, i think." "it ain't brisk just now, sir," replied the deputy-landlord of the "golden swan." gorman received this reply with another "humph," and then, putting the bag in his coat pocket, prepared to leave. "no one bin askin' for me?" inquired gorman. "no, sir; no one." "i'll be back to-morrow about this time." the deputy knew that this was false, for his employer invariably came at a different hour each day, in order to take "the house" by surprise; but he said, "very well, sir," as usual. "and mind," continued gorman, "that you put the lights out. you're uncommon careful about that, i hope?" it is worthy of remark, in reference to gorman's anxiety about putting out lights, that he had been burned out of several sets of premises in the course of a few years. he was quite a martyr, as it were, to fire. unaccountably worried, pursued, and damaged by it--no, not damaged, by the way; because gorman was a prudent man, and always insured to the full amount. his enemies sometimes said _above_ it; but neither they nor we have any means of proving or disproving that. the deputy protested that he always exercised the utmost precaution in putting everything out every night--from the last beery lingerer, to the gas--and that he felt quite put out himself at being asked the question, as it implied a doubt of his care and attention to business. hereupon gorman said "good-night," and the deputy returned to the counter, where besotted men and drunken women awaited his attendance. three-quarters of an hour sufficed to convey gorman from the east to the west end of london. here he sought the well-known precincts of poorthing lane, and entered the shop of mr david boone. that worthy received him with a look of glad surprise; but with a feeling of the deepest misery. "anyone inside?" asked gorman. "no," said boone, "'cept the boy. i'll call him to mind the shop, and then we can be alone." as gorman did not vouchsafe a reply, but walked straight into the little room behind the shop, boone called the boy, and bade him mind the shop, while he held private consultation with his friend. the shop-boy enjoyed the name of robert roddy. he was a soft-faced, washed-out youth, with a disposition to wink both eyes in a meek manner. rough-spoken people called him an idiot, but roddy was not quite such an idiot as they took him for. he obeyed his master's mandate by sitting down on a tall stool near the window, and occupied himself in attempting to carve a human face on the head of a walking-stick. "glad to see you, mr gorman," said boone, seating his tall body on a low stool at the side of his friend, who, with his hat on, had thrown himself into an armchair, and spread out both legs before the fire. "very glad to see you, indeed, in my--little sanctum, my withdrawing room, if i may venture to use the name, to which i retire during the intervals of business." boone said this with an air of pleasantry, and smiled, but his visitor did not encourage him. "pretty long intervals, i should suppose," he growled, pulling out his pipe and lighting it. boone admitted, with a sigh, that they were, and observed that trade was extremely dull--astonishingly dull. "why, would you believe it, sir, i have not sold twenty shillings' worth o' goods all last week, and only one wax-doll within the month, although it's gettin' well on for christmas-time? one would a'most fancy the childr'n was about to give up such vanities an' devote themselves to serious business. it's a serious business for the like of us, anyhow." again mr boone smiled, and again failed to make an agreeable impression on his visitor, who demanded in a surly tone if he had been thinking over it, and made up his mind to do it. boone's face changed at this indefinite question, and became a shade paler than it was by nature, as he replied, hesitatingly, that he _had_ been thinking over it, and that he had made up his mind _not_ to do it. "oh, you have, have you?" said gorman in a tone of irony. "very good; then i'll trouble you to pay me the three hundred pounds you owe me by this day next week, and the rent of this here tenement for last half." boone's face became still paler. "you're a hard landlord," said he. "you're a soft tenant," retorted gorman. "you know what the punishment is by law," continued boone. "yes--death," said the other drily; "but you know as well as i do that it's never carried out nowadays." "but penal servitude for ten or twenty years ain't much better." "some men think it's worse," replied gorman, with a savage grin; "but you've no need to fear. if you only take the right precautions it's impossible to find it out, an' i'll engage to put ye up to doin' it in such a way that there won't be a scrap the size of a sixpence left to convict you. only put a bold face on it and the thing's done, and your fortune made as well as mine." the man's voice and manner softened a little as he said this, for he thought he perceived symptoms of wavering in his tenant, who covered his face with his large thin hands and sighed deeply. "come, don't be hard on me," he said at length; "i really haven't got courage to go through with this. only give me a little more time, and i'll--" "very good," interrupted gorman, with an oath, as he rose and dashed his pipe into fragments on the hearth; "if you won't burn yourself out o' this scrape." "hush! hush, man!" said boone in a hoarse whisper; "not so loud; my lad will hear you. come, i'll think of it." "will you _do_ it?" demanded the other fiercely. "you know the alternative if you don't?" "ruination?" "exactly so; and that without delay." "ruination either way," murmured boone sadly to himself, as though he were counting the cost. "tut, man," said his landlord, becoming more gentle, "it's nothing of the sort. if you only take my advice, it'll be a jolly blaze, which, instead of ending in smoke will end in some thousands of pounds and commencing business again on fresh capital. come, i've not got time to waste with you. there's no escape for you, so you'd better say yes, else i'll go and have a talk with a legal friend of mine who is used to screwing gold out of most unpromising mines." david boone's face had by this time become so pale that it could not become paler, so it turned somewhat green instead. his teeth, too, had a tendency to chatter when he spoke, but by a strong mental effort he prevented this, and said in a subdued voice that he was willing to do whatever his landlord pleased to command. "that's all right," said gorman, resuming his seat in front of the fire; "now you speak like a man. sit down and i'll go over the matter with you, and make your mind easy by showing you that it ain't either a difficult or risky piece of work. bless you, it ain't the first time i've been up to that sort o' thing." it did not require the diabolical leer that accompanied this remark to convince his hearer of its truth. "now, then," said gorman, with a business air, "first of all, how stands the stock in the shop?" "rather low," answered boone, who had reseated himself on the stool; "in fact, i've got little or nothing more than what is visible. i've bin so hard-up of late that i've had to crowd everything into view an' make the most of appearances. all the dressed dolls has got their frocks spread out, and the undressed ones their arms an' legs throwed about to make 'em take up as much room as possible. the lids of all the work boxes is open, the slates and puzzle boxes stuck up in single rows, with their broadsides to the front, and the collapsin' worlds is all inflated. everything in the front is real, but all behind is sham dummies an' empty boxes." gorman opened his eyes a little on hearing this. "good," he said, after a pause; "you're a cleverer fellow than i took you for. i thought you was well off, and i'm sure the neighbours think the same, for the place looks pretty full an' thrivin'. i suppose, now, if it was all sold off you wouldn't have enough to pay up my loans?" "nothink like it," said boone earnestly. "i've slaved night and day, an' done my best, but luck's again' me." "ah, that's 'cause you've bin faint-hearted in time past; you're goin' to be bold in time to come, my good fellow; you'll have to be bold, you will. come, i'll explain how. but first, let me ask how much you think the stock is worth." "not much above fifty pounds." "hum! it looks like more." "that's true, an' the people about think it's worth two or three hundred, for you see i have a lot o' cheap jewellery, and some of the inquisitive ones have been trying to pump me of late. they all think i'm thriving," said boone, shaking his head sorrowfully. "so you are, so you are, man," said gorman jocosely, "and you're going to make your fortune soon, and so am i, though at present i'm poor enough. however, that don't matter. here's your course for the future, which you're to steer by. you'll go an' begin chatting with your neighbours at odd times, and your conversation, curiously enough, will always be about the times bein' better than usual, an' about the approach of christmas, an' the stock you mean to lay in against that festive season. after that you'll lay in the stock--fifty pounds' worth; and it won't be sham; it'll be real--" "but where is the money to come from?" asked boone. "oh, don't you trouble about the money; i'll provide that. i've a curious power of raisin' the wind on easy terms. fifty pounds' worth of real goods will be bought by you, my thriving shopman, and you'll let some of the neighbours, partiklerly these same inquisitive 'uns, see the goods and some of the invoices, and you'll tell them that you've laid in pounds worth of stock, and that you think of layin' in more. on the strength of the press o' business you'll get another shop-lad, and you'll keep 'em employed a good deal goin' messages, so that they won't get to know much about the state o' things, and i'll take care to send you a rare lot o' customers, who'll come pretty often for small purchases, and give the shop an uncommon thrivin' look. oh, we'll make a splendid appearance of doin' business, and we'll have lots of witnesses ready to bother these sharp lawyers if need be--won't we, boone?" poor boone, whose colour had not yet improved much, smiled in a ghastly way, but said nothing. "well, then," resumed gorman, after a few minutes' meditation, "when this thriving trade is in full swing we'll get it insured. you know it would never do to risk the loss of such valuable stock by fire--eh, boone? common prudence pints that out! you say what you have is worth fifty, and what you'll lay in is fifty more, makin' a hundred, so we'll insure for five hundred; there's a clear gain of four hundred per cent, only think of that! well, the house i have already insured for five hundred, that makes nine hundred, and we'll insure the furniture and fixings for fifty; that'll look business-like, you know. then the goods laid in will be carefully removed in the night at various times before the fire, so you had better see that they are small and portable objects; that'll make another fifty pounds, if not more. so i see my way to a thousand pounds. that's a neat sum, ain't it, boone?" still boone made no reply, but favoured his visitor with another ghastly smile. "well, then," pursued gorman, "all you've got to do is, on a certain night that i will fix, to set the shop alight, and the thing's done quite easy. but that's not all. you've got an old mother, i believe; well, it would be very unnatural in you to run the risk of being burned to death, an' leaving her penniless; so you'll insure your life for five hundred pounds, and i'll pay the first premium on it, and then you'll die--" "die!" exclaimed boone, with a start. "ay; why not, if you're to get a small fortune by it." "but how's that to be managed?" inquired boone, with a look of doubt. "managed? nothing easier. you'll be so desperately upset by the fire-- perhaps singed a little too--that you'll be taken ill and won't get better. i'll look carefully after you as your loving friend, and when you're about dead you'll get up and clear off in a quiet way. i'll make arrangements to have a corpse as like you as possible put in your bed, and then you'll be buried comfortably, and we'll share the insurance. of course you'll have to leave this part of the town and disguise yourself, but that won't be difficult. why, man, if you were only fond of a joke you might even attend your own funeral! it's not the first time that sort of thing has bin done. so, then, you'll have your life insured, but not yet. your first business is to set about the purchase of the stock, and, let me tell you, there's no time to lose, so i advise you to write out the orders this very night. i'll fetch you fifty pounds in a day or two, and you'll pay up at once. it'll look well, you know, and after it's all settled we'll divide the plunder. now then, good-night. i congratulate you on your thriving business." gorman opened the door of the inner room as he said the last words, so that the lad in the shop might hear them. as he passed through the shop he whispered in his friend's ear, "mind the consequences if you fail," and then left him with another hearty good-night. poor david boone, having sold himself to the tempter, went about his duties like an abject slave. he began by ordering goods from various wholesale dealers in the city, after which he took occasion to stand a good deal at his shop door and accost such of his neighbours as chanced to pass. the conversation at such times invariably began with the interesting topic of the weather, on which abstruse subject boone and his friends displayed a surprising profundity of knowledge, by stating not only what the weather was at the time being, and what it had been in time past, but what it was likely to be in time to come. it soon diverged, however, to business, and usually ended in a display of fresh goods and invoices, and in references, on the part of boone, to the felicitous state of trade at the time. do what he would, however, this thriving tradesman could not act his part well. in the midst of his prosperity his smiles were ghastly and his laughter was sardonic. even when commenting on the prosperity of trade his sighs were frequent and deep. one of his friends thought and said that prosperity was turning the poor man's brain. others thought that he was becoming quite unnatural and unaccountable in his deportment; and a few, acting on the principle of the sailor's parrot, which "could not speak much, but was a tremendous thinker," gave no outward indication of their thoughts beyond wise looks and grave shakes of the head, by which most people understood them to signify that they feared there was a screw loose somewhere. this latter sentiment, it will be observed, is a very common one among the unusually wise ones of the earth, and is conveniently safe, inasmuch as it is more or less true of every person, place, and thing in this sad world of loose screws. chapter twenty. a little more hatching. one night edward hooper, having consulted his watch frequently, and compared it with the clock of slow notoriety in the warehouse in tooley street, until his patience was almost gone, at last received the warning hiss, and had his books shut and put away before the minute-gun began to boom. he was out at the door and half-way up the lane, with his hat a good deal on one side of his head and very much over one eye, before the last shot was fired. "it's a jolly time of day this--the jolliest hour of the twenty-four," muttered ned to himself, with a smile. his speech was thick, and his smile was rather idiotic, by reason of his having drunk more than his usual allowance at dinner that day. by way of mending matters, ned resolved to renew his potations immediately, and announced his intentions to himself in the following words: "com--mi--boy--y-you'll go--ave an--urrer por-o-porer--thash yer sort!" at a certain point in the drunkard's downward career he ceases to have any control over himself, and increases his speed from the usual staggering jog-trot to a brisk zigzag gallop that generally terminates abruptly in the grave. ned hooper, a kind-hearted fellow enough, and thinking himself not so bad as he seemed because of that same kind-heartedness, had reached the galloping point, and was travelling unusually fast along the high road to ruin. being of a generous nature, ned was in the habit of extending his patronage to various beer-shops, among others to that one near london bridge which has been described as the property of gorman. business, pleasure, or fancy led him to that shop on the evening in question. he was standing at the counter steadying himself with his left hand and holding a pewter-pot in his right, when the door of the inner room opened, and gorman crossed the floor. he was in a thoughtful mood, and was about to pass out without raising his eyes, when ned arrested him with: "good ev-n'in', misher gorm'n." gorman glanced back, and then turned away as if in contempt, but, suddenly checking himself, returned, and going up to hooper with as affable a smile as his countenance would admit of, said that he was delighted to shake hands with him, and that he was the very man he wanted to see, as he wished to have a word of conversation with him. "conv'shas'n wi' me?" said ned, swaying himself to and fro as he endeavoured to look steadily in the face of his friend; "fire away, shen. i'm sh' man f'r conv'shash'n, grave or gay, comic--'r--shublime, 's all the shame to me!" he finished the pot, and laid it, with an immense assumption of care, on the counter. "come out, we'll walk as we talk," said gorman. "ha! to b'shure; 'at's poetical--very good, very good, we'll wa-alk as we talk--ha! ha! very good. didn't know you wash a poet--eh? don't look like 'un." "come along, then," said gorman, taking him by the arm. "shtop!" said ned, drawing himself up with an air of drivelling dignity, and thrusting his hand into his trouser-pocket. "what for?" asked the other. "i haven't p-paid for my b-beer." "never mind the beer. i'll stand that," said gorman, dragging his friend away. ned consented to be dragged, and said something to the effect that he hoped to have the pleasure of standing treat on some future occasion. "now, then," said gorman, somewhat firmly, though not sternly, for he knew that ned hooper was not to be browbeat; "are you sober enough to attend to what i've got to say?" "shober as a dudge," answered ned. gorman looked earnestly in his face for a few moments, and then began to talk to him in a continuous strain by way of testing him. "c'found these cabs an' b-busseses; a feller c-can't hear a word," said ned. "your lodgin's an't far off, are they?" "close 't 'and," answered ned. "let's go to 'em," said gorman. in silence ned hooper led the way, and, conducting his friend into his "chamber," as he styled his poor abode, begged him to be seated, and threw himself into an armchair beside the little fire. there was a pipe on the chimney-piece, which ned began to fill, while gorman opened the conversation. "you're hard up, rather, just now?" said the latter. "'xactly so, that's my c'ndition to a tee." ned smiled as he said this, as though it were the most satisfactory state of things possible, and lighted his pipe. "of course you've no objection to make a fifty pound note or so?" asked gorman. "none in sh' wo'ld; always," he became very earnest here, "_always_ sh'posin' that i make it honestly." "of course, of course," rejoined the other; "i would never propose anything that would lead you into a scrape. you don't suppose i would do that, i hope?" "shertenly not," replied ned with a smile; "fire away." "well, then, i'm anxious just now to procure a dead corpse." ned hooper, drunk as he was, felt somewhat startled by this, but, being a man of wandering and lively imagination, turned from the point in question to an idea suggested by it. "i sh'pose a living corpse wouldn't do, would it? it must be a dead one--eh?" "be serious if you can," said gorman angrily. "i want a corpse." ned hooper, who, like many good-humoured men, was easily roused when in a state of intoxication, fired at the tone of gorman's voice, and looked at him as sternly as he could, while he replied: "what have _i_ got to do with yer wants an' yer co'pses--eh? you don't sh'pose i keep a stock of 'em on hand ready-made, do you--eh?" then relapsing into a placid frame, he smiled, and added, "but fire away, ol' feller, i'm yer man for conv'sashin, specially w'en it's in the comic line." "that's right," said gorman, clapping ned on the shoulder and endeavouring to conciliate him; "now, then, the question is, how am i to get 'un?" "ah, thash the question, if shakspr's to be b'lieved." "well, but couldn't you think?" said gorman. "think!" exclaimed the other, "what am i paid a salary for? what are my brains doin' night an day--eh? of course i can think; thash's my pr'feshion, is thinking." gorman cast a scornful look at his friend, but he deemed it prudent to admit the truth of what he said, and suggested that he might perhaps remember a certain medical student with whom he had once held pleasant converse in his (gorman's) house of entertainment. "r'member him, of course," hiccuped ned. "well, then, he could get us a corpse, you know--couldn't he?" ned looked uncommonly knowing at this point, and admitted that he rather thought he could--a dozen of them, if necessary. "well, i want one, and i'll pay well for it if it's of the right sort. it must be at least six-foot two, thin about the jaws, with lanky black hair, and a yellow complexion." ned smiled facetiously, but at the same time shook his head. "six f't two," said he, "an't a common height; it won't be easy to get 'un so tall; but--but," he pondered here with a grave expression of countenance, "but it might be stretched a bit, you know--eh? as to thin jaws, most of 'em is thin about sh' jaws, an' black hair ain't un-- uncommon." ned yawned at this point, and looked very sleepy. "well, you'll speak to him, won't you, and i'll make it worth while for both of you?" "oh yesh, i'll shpeak to him," said ned, as his head fell on the table and his senses utterly forsook him. "bah! you beast," muttered gorman, casting a glance of scorn on his friend as he rose to leave. he had the sense, before going, to extinguish the candle, lest ned should overturn it and set the house on fire; not that he cared either for ned or the house, but as the former happened to be necessary to him just then, he did not wish him to be burned too soon. then he went out, closing the door softly after him. half an hour afterwards ned's friend and fellow-lodger, john barret, entered the room, accompanied by fred auberly. "come, fred," said the former, "we can chat here without interr-- hallo--" "what's wrong?" inquired fred, endeavouring to make out objects by the feeble flicker of the fire, while his friend struck a light. barret did not reply, but the light soon revealed ned's disreputable figure half sprawling on and half clinging to the table. "surely this is not your chum, john?" asked fred in surprise. "yes, that's him," answered barret in a low sad voice. "help me to get him into bed, like a good fellow." without a word the young men raised the drunken figure in their arms, and laid it like some loathsome object on one of the beds in the adjoining room. "how can you stay with him?" asked auberly, after they had returned to the other room and seated themselves at the fire. "he is an old schoolfellow of mine," said barret in a low voice. "i'm sorry you've seen him in this state. he was a very different fellow once, i assure you; and if it were not for that accursed drink he would be as pleasant a companion as exists. you know i have no friends in london save yourself, fred, and this young fellow.--i came to stay with him at first, not knowing his character, and now i remain to try to-- to--save him; but i fear his case is hopeless. come, fred, we won't talk of it. you were saying, as we came along, that your father is sterner than ever, were you not?" "ay," said fred, with a sigh, "he won't even let me call to see my sister too--that's the worst of it. for the rest i care not; my brush has sustained me hitherto, and my love for my profession increases every hour. i feel towards it, john, as a man may be supposed to feel towards the sweet, young girl whom wicked guardians had for a long time refused to let him wed. nothing but death shall separate us now!" barret smiled, and was about to make some rejoinder, but he checked himself and changed the subject. "how is your sister?" said he, "i have not heard of her for a long time." "not well," answered fred; "the doctors shake their heads and speak of the shock having been too much for her. dear loo, she never was strong, and i'm afraid that she has received fatal injury on the night of the fire. i'm told that my poor father is sadly cut up about her--attends on her night and day, and humours her every whim. this is so unlike him that it fills me with anxiety on account of dear loo, whom i have not seen since i went to live at kensington." "kensington, fred? i did not know you had gone to live there." "i was just going to mention that when we came in. i have got a very comfortable lodging with--who do you think? you'll never guess--mrs willders, the mother of our young friend willie who works with old tom tippet upstairs. you may well look surprised. i came upon the lodging quite accidentally, and, finding that it suited my inclinations and my purse, i took it at once for a few weeks. it's in a very poor locality, no doubt, but you know a man must cut his coat according to his cloth, and my cloth is not broad at present. but then," continued fred, with sudden animation, "it's a splendid place for a painter! there are such picturesque regions and bits near it. why, kensington gardens are sufficient to make the fortune of a landscape-painter--at least in the way of trees; then an hour's walk takes you to rural scenery, or canal scenery, with barges, bridges, boats, old stores, cottages, etcetera. oh! it's a magnificent spot, and i'm hard at work on a picturesque old pump near shepherd's bush common, with a bit of old brick wall behind it, half-covered with ivy, and a gipsy-like beggar-girl drinking at it out of her hand; that--that'll make an impression, i think, on the royal academy, if--if _they take it in_." "ah! _if_ they take it in," said john barret, smiling. "well," retorted fred auberly, "i know that is a point of uncertainty, and i'm not very sanguine, because there is great lack of room. nevertheless, i mean to send it. and you know, john, `faint heart never won fair lady,' so--" at this point the conversation was interrupted by a shrill whistle at the top of the house, which, as it drew nearer, became identified with the air of "rule britannia!" "that's willie willders," said barret, laughing. "i guessed as much, and with your leave i'll call him in. he knows of my having become an inmate of his mother's house, and as he is probably going home i would like to send a message to his mother. hallo, willie." "ay, ay, sir!" answered the youth, in the tones of a thoroughbred seaman. not that willie had ever been at sea, but he was so fond of seamen, and had mingled with them so much at the docks, as well as those of them who had become firemen, that he tried to imitate their gait and tones. "come here, you scamp, and stop your noise." "certainly, sir," said willie, with a grin, as he entered the room, cap in hand. "going home, lad?" asked fred. "yes, sir--at least in a permiscuous sort of way entertainin' myself as i goes with agreeable talk, and improvin' obsarvation of the shop winders, etceterrer." "will you take a message to your mother?" "sure-ly," answered willie. "well, say to her that i have several calls to make to-night and may be late in getting home, but she need not sit up for me as i have the door-key; tell her not to forget to leave the door on the latch." "wery good, sir," said willie. "may i make so bold as to ask how miss loo was when you seed her last?" "not well, i regret to say," replied fred. "indeed! i'm surprised to hear that, for she's agoin' out to tea to-morrow night, sir." "my surprise is greater than yours, lad; how d'you know that, and where is she going to?" asked auberly. here willie explained in a very elaborate manner that a note had arrived that forenoon from miss tippet, inviting mr tippet to tea the following evening, and expressing a hope that he would bring with him his clerk, "_mister_" willders, the brother of the brave fireman who had saved loo's life, and that miss louisa auberly was to be there, and that mr tippet had written a note accepting the same. "then you'll have to take another message from me, willie. tell miss tippet when you go to-morrow that i will give myself the pleasure of looking in on her in the course of the evening," said fred. "mr auberly is not to be there, is he?" "no, not as i knows of." "well, good-night, willie." willie took his departure, marching to the usual national air, and soon after fred auberly bade his friend good-night and left him. chapter twenty one. a small tea-party. miss tippet's tea-party began by the arrival of willie willders, who, being fond of society, and regardless of fashion, understood his hostess literally when she named her tea-hour! for full half an hour, therefore, he had the field to himself, and improved the occasion by entertaining miss tippet and emma ward with an account of the wonderful inventions that emanated from the fertile brain of mr thomas tippet. strange to say, a deep and lasting friendship had sprung up between the eccentric old gentleman and his volatile assistant. willie sympathised so fully with his master in his wild schemes, and displayed withal such an aptitude for mechanical contrivance, and such a ready appreciation of complex theories, that mr tippet soon came to forget his extreme youth, and to converse with him, propound schemes and new ideas to him, and even to ask his advice; with as much seriousness as though he had been a full-grown man. this was of course very gratifying to willie, who repaid his master's condescension and kindness by devoting himself heart and soul to the duties of what he styled his "profession." he was a good deal put out when his brother frank asked him one day what his "profession" was, and resolving never again to be placed in such an awkward position of ignorance, asked his employer what was the name of his business, to which the employer replied that it had no particular name; but, on being urged by his assistant to give it a name, he suggested that he might, if so disposed, style himself a poly-artist, which, he explained, meant an artist of many occupations. willie felt that this might be translated "jack-of-all-trades," but on mature consideration he resolved to adopt it, in the belief that few people would understand what it meant, and that thereby he would be invested with a halo of mystery, which was, upon the whole, a gratifying reflection. gradually, however, willie was led to diverge from his employer to his brother frank, in regard to whom miss tippet entertained the strongest feelings of admiration, because of his courageous conduct in saving louisa auberly. willie pursued this theme all the more willingly that emma appeared to be deeply interested in it. emma ward was very romantic in her nature; yet she had a keen appreciation of the ludicrous,--which caused her to appear somewhat light-headed and giddy in the eyes of superficial observers; but she possessed an underlying earnestness of soul, which displayed itself in a thousand ways to those who had much intercourse with her. she was an ardent hero-worshipper; and while miss tippet was her heroine, frank willders was, at that time, her _beau ideal_ of a hero, although she only knew him from description. willie was still in the middle of a glowing account of a fire, in which frank and his friends dale and baxmore were the chief actors; and emma was listening with heightened colour, parted lips, and sparkling eyes, when matty merryon opened the door and announced mr tippet. that gentleman was still in the act of shaking his sister's hands with both of his, and kissing her on both cheeks heartily, when matty announced miss deemas. matty, being irish, allowed her soul to gush out too obviously in her tones; so that her feelings towards the eagle, though unexpressed, were discernible. miss deemas strode up to miss tippet, and pecked her on the right cheek, much as an eagle might peck a tender rabbit, which it could slay and devour if it chose, but which it preferred to spare for a time. she was immediately introduced to mr tippet, whom she favoured with a stiff bow, intended to express armed neutrality in the meantime; with a possibility, if not a probability, of war in the future. the eccentric gentleman felt chilled, but ventured to express an opinion in regard to the weather, glancing for confirmation of the same towards the window, through which he naturally enough expected to see the sky; but was baffled by only seeing the green venetian blinds, which ruled off the opposite houses in narrow stripes. before he had recovered himself to make any further observation, miss deemas had attempted, in a condescending way, to peck the cheek of emma ward; but that young lady, feeling disinclined, so managed that she received the peck on her forehead. on willie, miss deemas bestowed a glance of utter indifference, which willie replied to with a gaze of desperate defiance. then miss deemas seated herself on the sofa, and asked her "dear friend" how she did, and how she felt, and whether things in general were much as usual; from which elevated region of generalities she gradually descended into the more particular sphere of gossip and scandal. it is only just to miss tippet to say that the eagle did not find her a congenial bird of prey in this region. on the contrary, she had to drag her unwilling friend down into it; and as miss tippet was too conscientious and kind-hearted to agree with her in her sweeping censures and caustic observations and wilful misconstructions, it is difficult to conceive wherein she (the eagle) found pleasure in her society. probably it was because she found in her one who would submit meekly to any amount of contradiction, and listen patiently to any amount of vituperative declamation. "so it seems mr auberly has disinherited and dismissed his son, my dear," said miss deemas, smoothing her dress with both hands, as though she were about to lay mr auberly in her lap, and analyse him. "i'm sorry to say that it is too true, julia," answered miss tippet, with a sigh. "ha! it's so like one of these creatures," said miss deemas, pursing her thin lips; "so domineering, so towering, in their pride of mere physical power." mr tippet glanced at the eagle in surprise, not being able to understand to what sort of "creatures" she made reference. "poor frederick," sighed miss tippet, "i don't know what he'll do (ring the bell, emma, darling); he's such a bold, high-spirited young man, and it's all owing to his determination to take to--to what's-'is-name as a profession (bring the tea, matty). it's very sad." "that must be a new sort of profession," observed miss deemas pointedly. "oh! i mean painting, you know. it's impossible to arrange one's things in such very correct language, you know, dear julia; you are really too--oh! did you hear of joe corney, and what's-his--fireman's visit to mrs denman? to be sure you did; i forgot it was in your house. it was such a funny account; you heard of it, brother (ring the bell again, dear), didn't you?" mr tippet, whose wonted vivacity was quite subdued by the freezing influence of the eagle, said that he had not heard of it; whereupon miss tippet said that she had heard of it, and so had willie willders, who had heard of it from his brother frank, who had heard of it from joe corney himself; and then she attempted to relate the matter, but failed, and finally asked willie to tell the story, which willie did with much gusto; looking at miss deemas all the time, and speaking in a very positive tone, as if he thought she was doubting every word he said, and was resolved to hurl it in her teeth, whether she chose to believe it or not. "capital!" exclaimed mr tippet, laughing heartily, when willie had concluded; "what an energetic old lady she must be! really, i must get introduced to her, and show her the self-acting fire-extinguisher i have just invented. you remember it, willie?" willie nodded. "i've laid it aside for some time; but it is very nearly complete now. a little more work on it will finish it. my only difficulty in regard to it is, madam," he addressed himself to miss deemas here, "that it is apt to burst, and i am uncertain whether or not to add a safety-valve to prevent such a catastrophe, or to make the metal so very strong, that nothing short of gunpowder would burst it; but then, you see, that would make the whole affair too heavy. however, these are only minor difficulties of detail, which a little thought will overcome." miss deemas received all this with a sinister smile, and replied with the single word, "oh!" after which she turned immediately to miss tippet, and remarked that the weather had been unusually warm of late for the season of the year, which remark so exasperated willie willders that he turned with a face of crimson to emma, and asked her if she didn't feel a draught of cold air coming over her from somewhere, and whether she would not sit nearer the fire, and farther away from the window! willie meant this for an uncommonly severe cut; for miss deemas sat at the end of the sofa, near the window! fortunately, at this point, matty merryon ushered in loo auberly, who was instantly enfolded in miss tippet's arms, and thence transferred to emma's, in which she was led to the sofa, and gently deposited in the softest corner. "darling loo!" exclaimed miss tippet, with tears in her eyes; "you look _so_ thin and pale." there could be no doubt on that point. little loo, as emma styled her, was worn to a shadow by sickness, which had hitherto baffled the doctor's skill. but she was a beautiful shadow; such a sweet, gentle shadow, that one might feel thankful, rather than otherwise, to be haunted by it. "pray don't mind me; i'm too tired to speak to you yet; just go on talking. i like to listen," said loo softly. with ready kindness, miss tippet at once sought to draw attention from the child, by reverting to mrs denman; and matty created a little opportune confusion by stumbling into the room with the tea. matty usually tripped over the carpet at the door, and never seemed to become wiser from experience. "poor mrs denman," said miss tippet, pouring out the tea; "it must have been an awful shock; think of a (sugar, brother? i always forget), what was i--oh, yes; think of a fireman seizing one round the (cream, willie? i know you have a sweet tooth, so i don't need to ask if you take sugar)--yes, he carried her down that dreadful what-d'ye-call-it, and into the next house with nothing (a little more sugar, julia? no? )-- nothing on but her what's-'is-name. oh! it was sad; sad to lose all her fine things, too--her furniture, and--and thingumies. do try a piece of cake, brother." "i know a worse case than hers," said willie, with a knowing look. "do you?" exclaimed miss tippet. "oh! do tell it," cried emma earnestly; "he's just been telling it to me, and it is _so_ sad and interesting." "come, let's hear about it, lad," said mr tippet. thus encouraged, willie related his adventure with the clown's family, and told his tale with such genuine feeling, that miss tippet, loo, and emma found their eyes moist when he had concluded. there was a good deal of comment upon this subject, and miss deemas animadverted very strongly upon actors in general and clowns in particular. as to ballet-girls, she could not find words to express her contempt for them; but in reference to this miss tippet ventured to rebuke her friend, and to say that although she could not and would not defend the position of these unfortunates, yet she felt that they were very much to be pitied, seeing that they were in many cases trained to their peculiarly indelicate life by their parents, and had been taught to regard ballet-dancing as quite a proper and legitimate what's-its-name. no doubt this was only a palliation of the life they led, but she thought that if anyone was to be severely blamed in the matter it was the people who went to witness and encourage such wicked displays. miss deemas dissented generally from all her friend's observations, and, wishing to change the subject, asked loo if her father was coming to fetch her home. "no," said loo; "dear papa is not well to-night, but he is to send the carriage for me. oh, i wish," she continued, reverting to the previous subject, "i _wish_ i could do something for these poor people. i'm so very, very sorry for the fairy." "so you can, if you choose," said miss deemas sharply. "no, indeed i cannot," replied loo in an earnest voice; "i'm too ill and weak now to be of any use to anyone. once i was useful to dear papa, but ever since the fire i have not been of use to anybody; only a hindrance to them. since i have been ill i have thought much more about what i read in the bible, and i've had a great desire to do good in some way or other, but how can i--so weak and helpless?" loo almost sobbed, for her sympathies had been awakened by willie, and a chord had been touched which had been vibrating in her breast for some weeks past. "your father is rich, is he not?" asked the eagle. "yes, i believe so." "well, a word to him may be the cause of much good, in the shape of money at least, to people in distress; but rich people don't always like to spend their money in that way." loo hung down her head and made no reply, for she knew that her father did not like to part with money. she had often heard him refuse to do so in days gone by, even when very pathetic appeals (as she thought) were made to him; and experience told her that it was in vain to look for help in that quarter. the party was now increased by the arrival of frederick auberly, who at once infused life into everybody, except miss deemas, who had life enough of her own, and would by no means accept the loan of any from anyone else. fred therefore ignored her altogether, and told stories and cracked jokes and sang songs as if no such female iceberg were present. poor loo was overjoyed to see him, and laying her head on his breast, bade him speak away and not ask questions; only speak, and allow her to listen and rest. fred obeyed, and at once began an earnest discussion with willie as to the best method of getting a stout gentleman out of a third-floor window in case of fire, when matty merryon entered with a flushed face and said that a fireman who would not give his name wished to see willie willders for a minute; and she was inclined to think it was his brother. "what! frank?" exclaimed willie, rising to go downstairs. "stay, willie," cried miss tippet eagerly; "don't go down. pray let me have him up; i should so like to see him, and i'm sure so would loo; the man, you know, who went up the what's-its-name, and brought you--yes, send him up, matty." "plaze, mim, he won't come," replied the girl, "i know'd ye would like to see him, an' axed him in." "tell him," said miss tippet, "that i request it as a favour." while matty was delivering this message, the eagle took occasion to sniff once or twice in a contemptuous manner, and wondered why people worshipped men just because they happened to be big, and what they called handsome. for her part, she hated all men, but if she were to be obliged to choose between any class (which she was thankful to say was _not_ necessary in her case), she would certainly give the preference to ugly men and small. willie willders nodded his head approvingly, and, being exasperated into a savage serio-comic condition, as well by the eagle's voice and aspect as by her sentiments, he said that she was quite right, and that if _he_ were a lady like her he would hold the same opinions, because then, said he, "being stout, i could wallop my husband an' keep him down, an' the contrast of his ugly face with mine would not be so obvious." frank's step on the stair fortunately prevented this open and desperate attack being noticed. next moment all turned their eyes in breathless expectation towards the door. being on duty, frank appeared in fireman's costume, with the sailor-like undress cap in his hand. he bowed to the company, and apologised to miss tippet for intruding, but he had wished to ask his brother willie to call at the fire station on his way home to convey a letter to his mother, and merely meant to see him at the door. "i'm _very_ glad you came, mr willders," said miss tippet, "for i assure you we all regard you as the preserver of our dear miss auberly's life when you went up the--the--thing. here she is. you must shake-- that's it--so nice!" the last part of miss tippet's remark referred to loo stretching out her hand to frank, who advanced promptly and shook it with great tenderness. he then shook hands with fred, who expressed his regard for him in warm terms; also with mr tippet, who paid him some enthusiastic compliments, and said something to the effect that the parent stem from which two such branches as he and willie had grown must be a prime plant. as he turned from mr tippet--who, being very short, appeared to be looking up at a steeple while he delivered this opinion--frank's eyes encountered those of emma ward, who was gazing at him in such undisguised admiration, that, being a somewhat bashful man, he felt a little confused, and dropped his eyes, figuratively, on the floor. emma blushed scarlet with shame at being caught in this way, and thereafter became rigidly grave and indifferent. when frank again raised his eyes--which, by the way, he did immediately--they encountered the eagle glance of miss deemas frowning defiance on him, as being a sort of type or pattern specimen of his highly objectionable race. had miss deemas been a man (which would have gratified her more than she could have expressed) frank could have met the frown with a smile of pity. as it was, he turned to the little eager countenance of miss tippet, and felt deeper respect than ever for the sex; thus showing that just as an exception proves a rule, so an unfavourable contrast strengthens a cause. "pray sit down, mr willders," entreated miss tippet earnestly; "i should like _so_ much to hear how you did it from your own lips, and how you can possibly venture up such dreadful things, just like going up the outside of the monument. dear loo, and you came down it, too; but, to be sure, your eyes were shut, which was as well, for you were only in your night--ah, well, yes, _do_ sit down mr firem---willders, i mean." frank thanked her, but declined, on the ground that he was on duty, and that he feared he was doing wrong in even looking in on them for the few minutes he had stayed. "good-night, ma'am," he continued, "good-night. you'll call at the station on your way home, willie?" willie said he would, and then all the company, excepting the eagle, shook hands with the stalwart fireman, looking up at him as if he were a hero just returned from the proverbial "hundred fights." even emma ward condescended to shake hands with him at parting. "perhaps you'll be in the middle of a fire this very night," cried tom tippet, following him to the door. "it is quite possible," said frank, with a smile. miss deemas was heard to snort contemptuously at this. "perhaps you may even save more lives!" cried miss tippet. "it may be so," answered frank, again smiling, but evidently feeling anxious to make his escape, for he was not one of those men who like to be lionised. "only think!" exclaimed miss tippet as frank quitted the room. "ha!" ejaculated the eagle, in a tone which was meant to convey her well-known opinion that women would do such things quite as well as men if their muscles were a little stronger. it is but justice to miss deemas to explain that she did not champion and exalt women out of love to her sex. love was not one of her strong points. rampant indignation against those whom she bitterly termed "lords of creation" was her strong tower of refuge, in which she habitually dwelt, and from the giddy summit of which she hurled would-be destruction on the doomed males below. among her various missiles she counted the "wrongs of her sex" the most telling shaft, and was in consequence always busy sharpening and polishing and flourishing this dread weapon in the eyes of her friends as well as her enemies, although, of course, she only launched it at the latter. perched on her self-exalted eyrie, miss deemas did not know that there was a pretty large number of her own sex in the comparatively humble multitude below, who, while they clearly recognised the "wrongs of women" (and preferred to call them "misfortunes") did not attribute them solely, or even largely, to the wickedness of men, but to the combined wickedness and folly of society in general, and who were of opinion that such matters were to be put right by patient, persevering, laborious, and persistent efforts on the part of men and women acting in concert, and not by the unwomanly acts and declamation of ladies of the deemas stamp, whom they counted the worst enemies of the good cause--some wittingly, others unwittingly so. these people among the comparatively humble multitude below, also had the penetration to perceive that the so-called "wrongs" did not lie all on one side, but that there was a pretty large class of the so-called "lords" who went about the world habitually in a sad and disgraceful state of moral semi-nakedness, in consequence of their trousers having been appropriated and put on by their better-halves, and that therefore it was only meet that men and women should be united (as indeed they were from the first intended to be) in their efforts to put each other's "wrongs" to "rights." in addition to all this, these weak-minded (shall we call them?) people, moving in the comparatively humble multitude below, entertained the belief that rising in antagonism to the male sex in this matter was not only unnecessary and unjust and impolitic, but also ungenerous, for they reflected with much calm satisfaction that the "lords" are, after all, "under woman's control." but miss deemas and all the ladies of the eagle stamp did not think so. they did not believe that a strong mind means a mind strong enough to exercise its own powers to the ascertainment and reception of truth and the rejection of falsehood and fallacy; strong enough, under the influence of god's love, to perceive the paths of duty in all their ramifications, and to resolve to follow them. they did not believe that a high spirit, in the true sense of the word, meant a spirit broken down altogether and brought into subjection to its owner's, not another's, will. by no means. a strong mind with the deemas-eagles meant unutterable and unalterable obstinacy, blind as a bat, with the great guns blazing all round, and the colours nailed to the mast. high spirit with them meant the inclination--ever present, always strong, and often asserted--to seize all the rest of the world, male and female, and lead it by the nose! the deemas-eagles as a class receive ready-made opinions, fabricated by someone else, and call them their own--receiving them originally and holding them subsequently, not because they are true, but because they are pleasant to their eyes and sweet to their taste. they hold them stoutly, too, probably because, having no foundation, they would be apt to fall and get broken if not upheld. having said thus much in behalf of the deemas eagles, we now dismiss them, with an apology to the reader. chapter twenty two. a fireman's life. the clocks were striking nine when frank issued from miss tippet's dwelling and walked briskly away. on turning a corner he came upon one of the numerous fire-escapes that nightly rear their tall heads against the houses all over london, in a somewhat rampant way, as though they knew of the fires that were about to take place, and, like mettlesome war-horses, were anxious to rush into action without delay. on the pavement, close by the escape, stood a small sentry-box, and the moment frank came in sight of it he remembered that it was the nocturnal habitation of his friend conductor samuel forest. sam himself was leaning his arms on the lower half of his divided door, and gazing contemplatively along the street. "well, sam, what news?" inquired frank as he came up. "that you, willders?" said sam, a quiet smile of recognition playing on his good-humoured features. "i thought it must be the giant they're exhibitin' in saint james's hall just now, takin' a stroll at night to escape the boys. why, when do you mean to stop growing?" "i don't mean to interfere with nature at all," replied frank; "and i believe the world will be big enough to hold me, whatever size i grow to." "well, what's the news?" inquired sam, emerging from his narrow residence, and proving in the act, that, though not quite so tall as his friend, he was one who required a pretty fair share of room in the world for himself. "nothing particular," said frank, leaning against the escape; "only a chimney and a cut-away affair last night, and a false alarm and a first-floor burnt out the day before." "how's thompson?" asked forest. "poorly, i fear," said frank, with a shake of his head. "the sprained ankle he got when he fell off the folding-board is getting well, but the injury to his spine from the engine is more serious." "ah! poor fellow!" said forest, "he's just a little too reckless. how came he by the sprain?" "it was in the basement of a bookbinder's in littleton street," said frank, lighting a cigar. "we got the call about p.m., and on getting there found three engines at work. mr braidwood ordered our fellows to go down into the basement. it was very dark, and so thick of smoke that i couldn't see half-an-inch before my nose. we broke through the windows, and found ourselves ankle-deep in water. the engines had been at work flooding the place for some time, and there was more water than we expected; but we had got on the folding-boards without knowing it, an' before we knew where we were, down went thompson into water four feet deep. i think myself some of the water-pipes had burst. he rose gasping, and i caught him by the collar and hauled him out. it was in trying to recover himself when he fell that he got the sprain. you've heard how he came by the other mishap?" "yes, it was gallopin' down ludgate hill, wasn't it?" "ay; the engine went over a barrow, and the jolt threw him off, and before he got up it was on him. by good fortune it did not go over him; it only bruised his back; but it's worse than we thought it would be, i fear." "ah! one never knows," said forest gravely. "there's one man jackson, now, only two weeks ago he was up in a third floor in lambeth, and had brought down two women and a child, and was in the back-rooms groping for more, when the floor above gave way and came down on him. we all thought he was done for, but some of the beams had got jammed, and not five minutes after he steps out of a window all right--only a scratch or two, not worth mentioning; yet that same man fell down a flight of stairs at the same fire, with a boy on his shoulder, and sprained his ankle so bad that he's bin laid up for three weeks; but he saved the boy." "ah! it was worth the sprain," said frank. "it was," responded forest. "well, good-night," said frank, resuming his walk. samuel forest responded "good-night," and then, getting into his box, sat down on its little seat, which was warranted not to hold two, trimmed the lamp that hung at his side, and, pulling out a book from a corner, began to peruse it. sam was of a literary turn of mind. he read a great deal during his lonely watches, and used often to say that some of his happiest hours were those spent in the dead of night in his sentry-box. his helmet hung on a peg beside him. his hatchet was in his girdle, and a small cap covered his head. looking at him in his snug and brightly illuminated little apartment, he appeared--by contrast with the surrounding darkness--inexpressibly comfortable. nevertheless, sam forest could have told you that appearances are often deceptive, and that no matter how it looked, his box was but a cold habitation on a biting december night. while deeply immersed in his book, sam heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and pricked up his ears. he was a good judge of such sounds. as they drew near, he quietly took off his cap, put on his helmet, and stepped from his box. the street was very silent; and, perhaps, not one of the hundreds of sleepers there thought of the solitary man who held vigil, and was so alert to do them service, if the hour of their extremity should come. but a cry arose that startled them--"fire! fire!!" another moment, and two men dashed round the corner, yelling at the top of their voices. gasping for breath, they named the locality. almost before they had done so, two policemen were on the spot, and in another moment the fire-escape was in motion. instructed by the conductor, the two strangers and the policemen lent their willing aid. before ten minutes had passed, the tall machine was run up to a burning house, the lower part of which was blazing; while, from the upper windows, frantic cries were heard for help, and sundry figures in dishabille were seen waving their arms. the escape was run up, and one after another the inmates were rescued from their perilous position. while this scene was enacting frank was pursuing his way to the regent street fire station; but news of the fire got there before him. he arrived just in time to don his helmet and take his place on the engine. away they went, and in ten minutes after the arrival of the fire-escape, they dashed up, almost running into an engine which appeared from an opposite direction. the fire was blazing brightly by this time, and the whole neighbourhood was in a state of commotion and excitement. the two engines were got to work with as little delay as possible. a body of police kept the gathering crowd back, and soon volumes of steam began to mingle with the black smoke of the burning building. the superintendent was early on the scene, and he directed frank and another fireman to try to persuade the people in the adjoining houses to remain quiet, and not throw their furniture over the window; but this, some of them would not consent to do. it was plain that one or two were mad with fear and excitement; and as the ruling passion is strong in death, so it would seem to be by no means weak in the midst of danger from fire; for many of them bent their whole energies to the saving of their goods and chattels--regardless of their lives. one stout old gentleman, in particular, was seen at a third-floor window, heaving out chairs and stools and books, and small tables, and clocks, and even quantities of crockery, with desperate energy, to the great danger of the onlookers, at whose feet the various articles fell, and were dashed to atoms! frank darted up the stairs that led to this man's apartments, and burst in upon him. "oh! come along, fireman; help me to save my things," he exclaimed, as he struggled with superhuman efforts to thrust a table through the window, which was too small to permit its passage. "stop, sir, are you mad?" cried frank sternly. "help me! help me! oh! fireman, it will be all burned. fire! fire! fire!!!" his voice rose into a fierce yell, as he strove in vain with the table. "you're quite safe," cried frank, holding him; "_your_ house ain't alight, and the engines have got it almost under." but frank spoke to deaf ears; so he coolly lifted the man in his arms, carried him kicking downstairs, and placed him in charge of a policeman. just then, a cry was raised that there were two kegs of gunpowder in one of the shops on the ground floor. the owner of the shop came up in a frantic state, and corroborated this statement. "it'll blow the house to bits, sir," he said to mr braidwood. "of course it will," remarked the latter in a quiet voice. "come here, my man," he added, taking the shopkeeper apart from the crowd, and questioning him closely. immediately after, he ordered the engines to play on a particular part of the building. just then, frank came up to the superintendent. "there's gunpowder in the back-shop somewhere, i'm told, sir; shall i go in for it?" "no, willders; you couldn't find it in the smoke. take the branch, lad, and get up into that window above the door." frank sprang to obey. at the same time, mr braidwood suddenly seized a horse-cloth, and dashed in through the smoke. in a few seconds, he returned with one of the kegs of powder in his arms. giving it to one of his men, he darted in again, and speedily re-issued with the second keg of powder, amid the frantic cheering of the crowd. having done this, he continued to superintend the men until the fire was got under, which was soon accomplished, having been attacked promptly and with great vigour soon after it broke out. "you needn't wait, mr dale," said braidwood, going up to his foreman. "it's all safe now. i'll keep one engine; but you and your lads get off to your beds as fast as ye can." dale obeyed, and a few minutes after, the engine was galloping homewards. willie willders was in the station when it arrived, and so was fred auberly, who, having accompanied willie, had got into such an interesting talk with the sub-engineer in charge, that he forgot time, and was still in animated conversation when the wheels were heard in the distance. the three were out at the door in an instant. on came the engine, the horses' feet and the wheels crashing harshly in the silent night. they came round the corner with a sharp swing. either the driver had become careless, or he was very sleepy that night, for he dashed against an iron post that stood at the corner, and carried off two wheels. the engine went full thirty yards on the two off-wheels, before it came to the ground, which it did at last with a terrific crash, throwing the firemen violently to the ground. the sub-engineer and fred and willie sprang forward in great alarm; but the most of the men leaped up at once, and one or two of them laughed, as if to show that they had got no damage. but one of them lay extended on the pavement. it needed not a second glance to tell that it was frank willders. "lift him gently, lads," said dale, who was himself severely bruised. "stop," exclaimed frank in a low voice; "i've got no harm except to my left leg. it's broken, i think. there's no use of lifting me till you get a cab. i'll go straight home, if--" he fainted as he spoke. "run for a cab, willie," said fred auberly. willie was off in a moment. at the same instant, a messenger was despatched for dr offley, and in a short time after that, frank willders was lying on his mother's sofa, with his left leg broken below the knee. chapter twenty three. mr james auberly. with a very stiff cravat, and a dreadfully stiff back, and a painfully stiff aspect, mr james auberly sat by the side of a couch and nursed his sick child. stiff and starched and stern though he was, mr auberly, had a soft point in his nature, and this point had been reached at last, for through all the stiffness and starch there shone on his countenance an expression of deep anxiety as he gazed at loo's emaciated form. mr auberly performed the duties of a nurse awkwardly enough, not being accustomed to such work, but he did them with care and with an evident effort to please, which made a deep impression on the child's heart. "dear papa," she said, after he had given her a drink and arranged her coverings. "i want you to do me a favour." she said this timidly, for she knew from past experience that her father was not fond of granting favours, but since her illness he had been so kind to her that she felt emboldened to make her request. "i will do it, dear," said the stiff man, bending, morally as well as physically, as he had never bent before--for the prospect of loo's death had been presented to him by the physicians. "i will do it, dear, if i can, and if the request be reasonable." "oh, then, do forgive fred, and let him be an artist!" cried loo, eagerly stretching out one of her thin hands. "hush, darling," said mr auberly, with a look of distress; "you must not excite yourself so. i have forgiven fred long ago, and he has become an artist in spite of my objections." "yes, but let him come home, i mean, and be happy with us again as he used to be, and go to the office with you," said loo. mr auberly replied somewhat coldly to this that fred was welcome to return home if he chose, but that his place in the office had been filled up. besides, it was impossible for him to be both a painter and a man of business, he said, and added that loo had better not talk about such things, because she did not understand them. all he could say was that he was willing to receive fred, if fred was willing to return. he did not say, however, that he was willing to restore fred to his former position in regard to his fortune, and as loo knew nothing about her brother having been disinherited, she felt that she must be satisfied with this cold concession. "can you not ask some other favour, such as i could grant?" said mr auberly, with a smile, which was not nearly so grim as it used to be before "the fire." (the family always talked of the burning of mr auberly's house as "the fire," to the utter repudiation of all other fires--the great one of monumental fame included.) loo meditated some time before replying. "oh, yes," she exclaimed suddenly, "i _have_ another favour to ask. how stupid of me to forget it. i want you very much to go and see a fairy that lives--" "a fairy, loo!" said mr auberly, while a shade of anxiety crossed his face. "you--you are rather weak just now; i must make you be quiet, and try to sleep, if you talk nonsense, dear." "it's not nonsense," said loo, again stretching out the thin hand, which her father grasped, replaced under the coverings, and held there; "it's quite true, papa," she continued energetically! "it _is_ a fairy i want you to go and see--she's a pantomime fairy, and lives somewhere near london bridge, and she's been very ill, and is so poor that they say she's dying for want of good food." "who told you about her, loo?" "willie willders," she replied, "he has been to see her and her father the clown a good many times." mr auberly, frowned, for the name of willie willders did not sound pleasantly in his ears. "_do_ go to see her, pray, dear papa," pleaded loo with much earnestness, "and give her some money. you know that darling mamma said, just before she was taken away," (the poor child persistently refused to use the expression "when she died"), "she wanted you to take me sometimes to see poor people when they were sick, and i've often thought of that since--especially when i have come to the verse in my bible which tells me to `consider the poor,' and i have often--oh, so very often--longed to go, but you were always so busy, dear papa, that you never had time, you know," (the stiff man winced a little at this) "but you seem to have more time now, papa, and although i'm too weak to go with you, i thought i would ask you to go to see this poor fairy, and tell her i will go to see her some day--if--if god makes me strong again." the stiff man winced still more at this, but it was only a momentary wince, such as a man gives when he gets a sudden and severe twinge of toothache. it instantly passed away. still, as in the case of toothache, it left behind an uneasy impression that there might be something very sharp and difficult to bear looming in the not distant future. mr auberly had covered his face with his hand, and leant his elbow on the head of the couch. looking up quickly with a smile--still tinged with grimness, for evil habits and their results are not to be got rid of in a day--he said: "_well_, loo, i will go to see this fairy if it will please you; but somewhere near london bridge is not a very definite address." "oh, but willie willders knows it," said loo. "but where is willie willders?" objected her father. "perhaps at home; perhaps at mr tippet's place." "well, we shall soon find out," said mr auberly, rising and ringing the bell. hopkins answered the summons. stiff, thin, tall, sedate, powdered, superfine hopkins, how different from the personage we saw but lately plunging like a maniac at the fire-bell! could it have been thee, hopkins? is it possible that anything so spruce, dignified, almost stately, could have fallen so very low? we fear it is too true, for human nature not unfrequently furnishes instances of tremendous contrast, just as material nature sometimes furnishes the spectacle of the serene summer sky being engulfed in the black thunderstorm! "hopkins!" said mr auberly, handing him a slip of paper, "go to this address and ask for the boy william willders; if he is there, bring him here immediately; if not, find out where he is, search for him, and bring him here without delay. take a cab." hopkins folded the paper delicately with both his little fingers projecting very much, as though they wished it to be distinctly understood that they had no connection whatever with the others, and would not on any account assist the low-born and hard-working forefingers and thumbs in such menial employment. hopkins's nose appeared to be affected with something of the same spirit. then hopkins bowed--that is to say, he broke across suddenly at the middle, causing his stiff upper man to form an obtuse angle with his rigid legs for one moment, recovered his perpendicular--and retired. oh! hopkins, how difficult to believe that thy back was once as round as a hoop, and thy legs bent at acute angles whilst thou didst lay violent hands on--well, well; let bygones be bygones, and let us all, in kindness to thee, learn the song which says-- "teach, o teach me to forget." hailing a cab with the air of six emperors rolled into one, hopkins drove to mr tippet's residence, where he learned that willie had gone home, so he followed him up, and soon found himself at notting hill before the door of mrs willders' humble abode. the door was opened by willie himself, who stared in some surprise at the stately visitor. "is william willders at 'ome?" said hopkins. "i rather think he is," replied willie, with a grin; "who shall i say calls on him--eh? you'd better send up your card." hopkins frowned, but, being a good-natured man, he immediately smiled, and said he would walk in. "i think," said willie, interposing his small person in the way, "that you'd as well stop where you are, for there's a invalid in the drawing-room, and all the other rooms is engaged 'cept the kitchen, which of course i could not show _you_ into. couldn't you deliver your message? i could manage to carry it if it ain't too heavy." in a state of uncertainty as to how far this was consistent with his dignity, hopkins hesitated for a moment, but at length delivered his message, with which willie returned to the parlour. here, on the little sofa, lay the tall form of frank willders, arrayed in an old dressing-gown, and with one of his legs bandaged up and motionless. his face was pale, and he was suffering great pain, but a free-and-easy smile was on his lips, for beside him sat a lady and a young girl, the latter of whom was afflicted with strong sympathy, but appeared afraid to show it. mrs willders, with a stocking and knitting-wires in her hands, sat on a chair at the head of the bed, looking anxious, but hopeful and mild. an open bible which lay on a small table at her side, showed how she had been engaged before the visitors entered. "my good sir," said the lady, with much earnestness of voice and manner, "i assure you it grieves me to the heart to see you lying in this state, and i'm quite sure it grieves emma too, and all your friends. when i think of the risks you run and the way you dash up these dreadful fire-- fire--things--what-d'ye-call-ums. what _do_ you call them?" "fire-escapes, ma'am," answered frank, with a smile. "ah, fire-escapes (how you ever come down them alive is a mystery to me, i'm sure!) but as i was saying, it makes one shudder to think of; and-- and--how does your leg feel _now_?" said miss tippet, forgetting what she had intended to say. "pretty well," replied frank; "the doctor tells me it has broken without splintering, and that i'll be all right in a few weeks, and fit for duty again." "fit for duty, young man!" exclaimed miss tippet; "do you mean to say that you will return to your dreadful profession when you recover? have you not received warning enough?" "why, madam," said frank, "some one must look after the fires, you know, else london would be in ashes in a few months; and i like the work." "like the work!" cried miss tippet, in amazement; "like to be almost smoked to death, and burned alive, and tumbled off roofs, and get upset off what's-its-names, and fall down fire--fire--things, and break all your legs and arms!" "well--no, i don't like all that," said frank, laughing; "but i like the vigour and energy that are called forth in the work, and i like the object of the work, which is to save life and property. why," exclaimed frank enthusiastically, "it has all the danger and excitement of a soldier's life without the bloody work, and with better ends in view." "nay, nay, frank," said the peaceful mrs willders, "you must not say `better ends,' because it is a great and glorious thing to defend one's native land." "a very just observation," said miss tippet, nodding approval. "why, mother, who would have expected to hear _you_ standing up for the red-coats in this fashion?" said frank. "i stand up for the blue-jackets too," observed mrs willders meekly; "they fight for their country as well." "true, mother," rejoined frank; "but i did not refer to ultimate ends, i only thought of the immediate results in connection with those engaged. the warrior fights, and, in so doing, destroys life and property. the fireman fights, and in doing so protects and preserves both." "hear! hear!" interrupted willie; "but the copy-book says `comparisons are _odiows_!' don't it? mother, here's a fathom and two inches or so of humanity as wants me to go with him to mr auberly. i s'pose frank can get along without me for a little while--eh?" "certainly, my son; why does he want you?" "don't know. p'raps he's goin' to offer to make me his secretary. but you don't seem at all alarmed at the prospect of my being carried off by a flunkey." "you'll come back, dearie, i doubt not." "don't you? oh, very well; then i'll just look after myself. if i don't return, i'll advertise myself in the _times_. good-bye." willie returned to the door and announced that he was ready to go. "but where is william?" asked hopkins. "mister william willders stands before you," said the boy, placing his hand on his heart and making a bow. "come now, long-legs," he added, seizing hopkins by the arm and pushing him downstairs and into the cab. leaping in after him he shut the door with a bang. "now then, cabby, all right, beverly square, full split; sixpence extra if you do it within the half!" away they went, and in a few seconds were in the mall driving at a rattling pace. "see that house?" asked willie, so suddenly as to startle hopkins, who was quite overwhelmed by the vigour and energy of his young companion. "eh! which! the one with the porch before the door?" "no, no, stoopid! the old red-brick house with the limbs of a vine all over the front of it, and the skeleton of a virginia creeper on the wall." "yes, i see it," said hopkins, looking out. "ah, a friend o' mine lives there. i'm on wisitin' terms there, i am. now then, mind your eye, pump-handle," cried willie; "the turn's rather sharp--hallo!" as they swung round into the bayswater road the cab came in contact with a butcher's cart, which, being the lighter vehicle, was nearly upset. no serious damage resulted, however, and soon after they drew up at the door of the house next mr auberly's; for that gentleman still occupied the residence of his friend. "master willders," said hopkins, ushering him into the presence of mr auberly, who still sat at the head of the couch. willie nodded to loo and then to her father. "boy," said the latter, beckoning willie to approach, "my daughter wishes me to go and visit a poor family near london bridge. she tells me you know their name and address." "the fairy, you know," said loo, explaining. "ah, the cattleys," answered willie. "yes," resumed mr auberly. "will you conduct me to their abode?" in some surprise willie said that he would be happy to do so, and then asked loo how she did. while mr auberly was getting ready, willie was permitted to converse with loo and mrs rose, who was summoned to attend her young mistress. presently mr auberly returned, bade mrs rose be very careful of the invalid, and then set off with willie. at first the boy felt somewhat awed by the remarkably upright figure that stalked in silence at his side, but as they continued to thread their way through the streets he ventured to attempt a little conversation. "weather's improvin', sir," said willie, looking up. "it is," replied mr auberly, looking down in surprise at the boldness of his small guide. "good for the country, sir," observed willie. mr auberly, being utterly ignorant of rural matters, thought it best to say nothing to this. we may add that willie knew just as little (or as much), and had only ventured the remark because he had often heard it made in every possible variety of weather, and thought that it would be a safe observation, replete, for all he knew to the contrary, with hidden wisdom. there was silence after this for some time. "d'you know mr tippet well, sir?" inquired willie suddenly. "ye--yes; oh yes, i know him _pretty_ well." "ah, he's a first-rater," observed willie, with a look of enthusiasm; "you've no notion what a trump he is. did you hear ever of his noo machine for makin' artificial butter?" "no," said mr auberly, somewhat impatiently. "ah, it's a wonderful invention, that is, sir." "boy," said mr auberly, "will you be so good as to walk behind me?" "oh, _cer'nly_, sir," said willie, with a profound bow, as he fell to the rear. they walked on in silence until they came to the vicinity of the monument, when mr auberly turned round and asked willie which way they were to go now. "right back again," said willie. "how, boy; what do you mean?" "we've overshot the mark about half a mile, sir. but, please, i thought you must be wishin' to go somewhere else first, as you led the way." "lead the way, _now_, boy," said mr auberly, with a stern look. willie obeyed, and in a few minutes they were groping in the dark regions underground which mr cattley and his family inhabited. with some difficulty they found the door, and stood in the presence of "the fairy." thin though the fairy had been when willie saw her last, she might have been called fat compared with the condition in which they now found her. she appeared like a mere shadow, with a delicate skin thrown over it. a bad transparency would have been more substantial in appearance. she lay alone on her lonely pallet with a farthing candle beside her, which cast a light sufficient only to make darkness visible. being near the poor invalid, it caused her large dark eyes to glitter in an awful manner. willie at once forgot his companion, and running up to the fairy, seized her hand, and asked her how she did. "pretty well, willie. it's kind of you to come and see me so often." "not a bit, ziza; you know i like it; besides, i've only come to-day to show a gentleman the way." he pointed to mr auberly, who had stopped short in the doorway, but who now advanced and sat down beside the invalid, and put to her several formal questions in a very stately and stiff manner, with a great assumption of patronage. but it was evident that he was not accustomed to the duty of visiting the sick, and, like little boys and girls when they sit down to write a letter, was very much at a loss what to say! he began by asking the fairy about her complaint, and exhausted every point that entered into his imagination in reference to that. then he questioned her as to her circumstances; after which he told her that he had been sent to see her by his daughter louisa, who was herself very ill, owing to the effects of a fire in his own house. at this point the child became interested, and came to his relief by asking a great many eager and earnest questions about loo. she knew about the fire in beverly square and its incidents, willie having often related them to her during his visits; and she knew mr auberly by name, and was interested in him, but his frigid manner had repelled her, until he spoke of loo having sent him to see her. "oh, i've been so sorry about miss loo, sir," said ziza, raising her large eyes full in mr auberly's face; "i've heard of her, you know, from willie, and when i've been lying all alone here for hours and hours together, i have wondered how she spent her time, and if there were kind people about her to keep up her spirits. it's so strange that she and i should have been both hurt by a fire, an' both of us so different every way. i _do_ hope she'll get better, sir." mr auberly became suddenly much interested in the fairy, for just as "love begets love," so does interest beget interest. his feelings having been roused, his tongue was loosed, and forthwith he enjoyed a delightful conversation with the intelligent child; not that there was any remarkable change as to the matter of what was spoken, but there was a vast change in the manner of speaking it. willie also chimed in now and then, and volunteered his opinions in a way that would have called forth a sharp rebuke from his patron half an hour before; but he was permitted to speak, even encouraged, now, for mr auberly was being tickled pleasantly; he was having his feelings and affections roused in a way that he had never thought of or tried before; he was gathering golden experiences that he had never stooped to touch before, although the mine had been under his feet all his life, and his path had been strewn with neglected nuggets from the cradle--fortunately not, as yet, to the grave! ziza's bible lay on the counterpane close to her wasted little hand. while she was talking of loo, with deep sympathy beaming out of her eyes and trembling in her tones, mr auberly laid his hand inadvertently on it. she observed the action, and said-- "are you going to read and pray with me, sir?" mr auberly was taken very much aback indeed by this question. "well--no," said he, "that is--if--fact, i have not brought my prayer-book with me; but--but--i will read to you if you wish it." sympathy was gone now; the fairy felt that, and, not clearly understanding why, wondered at it. she thanked her visitor, however, and shut her eyes, while mr auberly opened the bible and cleared his voice. his confusion was only momentary; still the idea that he could be confused at all by two mere children in such a wretched cellar so nettled the worthy man, that he not only recovered his self-possession, but read a chapter with all the solemn dignity of tone and manner that he would have assumed had he been officiating in saint paul's or westminster abbey. this was such a successful essay, and overawed his little congregation so terribly, that for a moment he thought of concluding with the benediction; but, being uncertain whether he could go correctly through it, he wisely refrained. thereafter he rose, and bade the fairy good-night. "your father does not return till late, i suppose?" he said, while he held her hand. "no; it is morning generally before he gets away. the pantomimes are hurting him, i fear, for he's not so active as he once was, and he says he feels the falls very bad." "poor man! it's very sad; but i suppose it's the usual way with that class of men. well, goodnight again." "good-night, sir!" responded the fairy, with a bright smile, "and thank you very much for your visit. good-night, willie." willie said good-night in such a sulky tone, and followed mr auberly to the door with such a reckless swagger, that the fairy gazed after him in unutterable surprise. after shutting the door with a bang, he suddenly opened it again, and said in a loud voice-- "i say, i'll get my wages day arter to-morrow. i'll bring you a couple o' bobs then. it's all i can afford just now, for cigars are dear. if you're hard up for wittles in the meantime, just grin and bear it; you'll not die, you know, you'll only get thinner. i _have_ heard that a bit o' boiled shoe-leather ain't a bad thing to keep one easy till relief comes." "dear me!" exclaimed mr auberly in the distance, and bustling back as lie spoke; "i quite forgot; how stupid of me! i was directed by my daughter to give you this." he took a ten-pound note from his purse, and put it into the fairy's hand. "this is from louisa," he continued, "and i may add that it is the savings from her pocket-money. i did not wish the dear child to part with it, and said i would give it to you from myself; but she was so urgent, and seemed so distressed when i refused my consent, that i gave in; so you have to thank my daughter, not me." mr auberly smiled and nodded as he turned to go, and there was really very little grimness in the smile on this occasion--very little indeed! willie also nodded with great violence and frequency; he likewise winked with one eye, and otherwise sought to indicate that there were within him sundry deep and not easily expressed thoughts and feelings, which were, upon the whole, of a satisfactory nature. as for the fairy, she never once smiled or thanked mr auberly, but simply stared at him with her lustrous eyes open to their very widest, and she continued to stare at the door, as though she saw him through it, for some time after they were gone. then she turned suddenly to the wall, thanked god, and burst into tears--glad tears, such as only those can weep who have unexpectedly found relief when their extremity was greatest. chapter twenty four. a change in fortune. there is nothing more surprising in regard to sublunary matters than the way in which unexpected events arise out of what may be called unintentional causes. when david boone and his friend gorman planned the insurance and destruction of the toy shop and its contents, they no more expected that the very first steps towards that end would result in the conversion of a poor into a flourishing business, than they expected that the expression of a wish would convert poorthing lane into beverly square; yet so it was. poor david was rendered so desperate by his straits, and so anxious to escape from the crime into which his friend sought to plunge him, that he meditated suicide; but, lacking the courage to accomplish this, he relieved his feelings by carrying out the details of his business and the preliminary steps of his plan, with the wild and reckless energy of a maniac. the more he thought of the meshes which gorman had cast around him, the more did he regard escape impossible. he therefore sought relief in action. he not only talked to his neighbours (as per agreement) about his rapidly increasing business, but he made purchases on a scale more extensive than he had ever before contemplated, even in his dreams. being convinced that ruin, sooner or later, was his doom, he indulged in the most extravagant excesses, with much of the feeling which prompts some seamen, when the ship is sinking, to break into the spirit room and spend the short remnant of life in jollity. he experienced a sort of savage delight in ordering right and left from wholesale dealers in town and country, and even went so far as to write to germany for toys, using the name of a well-known london house which had hitherto (and justly) believed him to be an honest man. the result of this was that poorthing lane was besieged for some time by railway vans, and waggons so huge that apparently an inch more added to their bulk would have rendered their passage impossible. great deal boxes were constantly being unpacked in front of mr boone's door, much to the annoyance of miss tippet, who could not imagine how it happened that her sedate and slow-going landlord had got such a sudden increase of business. little did she think, poor lady, that this was the fuel with which it was intended to roast her alive! some of the smaller accounts for goods thus purchased boone paid at once with the money furnished to him by gorman, and thus got credit for being a capitalist. others he deferred payment of until a more convenient season. his friend gorman, who would not have bent the joint of his little finger to have saved him from destruction, was so anxious to get up a good appearance, for the sake of getting the insurance effected advantageously, that he did his best to carry out his part of the plan, and, being a man of energy who in the paths of virtue might have risen to a high position among men, he succeeded beyond his expectation. crowds of purchasers were sent by him to the shop of "the celebrated toy-man." some were mere decoy-ducks, who came and went (for a consideration) pretty frequently, and only "priced" the goods. others were genuine purchasers, and between the two they created so much traffic in the toy-shop, that the multitude--so difficult to move by mere suasion, but so prone to follow blindly in the wake of a senseless rush, when once the rush takes place--began to move in the direction of the toyshop, and shortly before christmas the demand for toys was so great, that boone had to engage two assistants to carry on the business, and even the lane itself began to feel the benefit of the sudden increase of traffic. all this was patent to the eyes of david boone, but he was so overwhelmed with a sense of the guilt he was about to incur, and the deception he was even then practising, that he regarded the whole affair as a hollow bubble, which would soon burst and leave nothing behind. even the rapid increase of the credit-balance in his bank-book did not affect his opinion, for he was not much of a financier, and, knowing that his transactions were founded on deception, he looked on the balance as being deceptive also. not so thought gorman. that wily individual perceived, to his amazement, that things were taking a turn which had never been contemplated, so he silently looked on and wondered, and chuckled and resolved to abide his time. as prosperity flowed in upon him, david boone became more insane--for his condition of mind was little, if at all, short of temporary insanity--and his proceedings became more eccentric than ever. among other things, he became suddenly smitten with a desire to advertise, and immediately in the columns of the tapers appeared advertisements to the effect that "the celebrated toy emporium" was to be found in poorthing lane. finding that this increased his business considerably, he hit upon a plan of advertising which has been practised rather extensively of late years in london. he sent out an army of boys with pots of whitewash and brushes, with directions to print in rough but large legible letters the words, "who's boone?" on all the blank walls of the metropolis, and in the papers he answered the question by having printed under the same title, "why, the manager of the toy emporium, to be sure, in poorthing lane." he also advertised specially that he had in stock, "an assortment of golden-haired dolls from germany, full-dressed, half-dressed, and naked." this last was irresistible. thousands of young hearts beat high at the mere thought of such numbers--"with _golden_ hair too!" and dozens of mammas, and papas too, visited poorthing lane in consequence. in course of time david boone's eyes began to open to the fact that he was rapidly making a fortune. it was after the bustle of the christmas season was over that he made this discovery. one of his new assistants, a young man named lyall, was the means of opening his employer's eyes to the truth. lyall was a clever accountant, and had been much surprised from the first that boone kept no regular system of books. at the end of the year he suggested that it would be well to take stock and find out the state of the business. boone agreed. lyall went to work, and in a short time the result of his labours showed, that after all debts were paid, there would remain a satisfactory credit-balance at the bank. on the evening of the day on which this marvellous fact was impressed on boone's mind, gorman called, and found his friend rubbing his hands, and smiling benignantly in the back room. "you seem jolly," said gorman, sitting down, as usual, by the fire, and pulling out, as usual, the short pipe. "business gittin' on well?" "it is," said boone, standing with his back to the fire, and swaying himself gently to and fro; "things don't look so bad. i can pay you the arrears of rent now." "oh, can you?" said gorman. "ah!" "yes, and i'm in a position to pay you fifty pounds of the debt i owe you besides," said boone. "and a bill at three months for the balance?" inquired gorman. no, he could not venture to do that exactly, but he hoped to pay a further instalment before the end of three months. "humph! how much may the profits be?" boone could not say precisely, not having had all his accounts squared, but he believed they were considerable. "i'll be bound they are," said gorman with a growl; "you won't want to set things alight now, i daresay." "well, i think it'll be as well to wait a bit, and let us make hay while this sunshine goes on." "let _you_ make hay, you mean?" "oh, as to that, the most of it will go to your stack for some time to come, gorman." "h'm! and what about the insurance?" "well, you know," observed boone, "it's of no use paying the premium for nothing. as we don't mean to set the place alight, you know." "ay, but the life insurance, i mean," said gorman. boone laughed, and observed that he thought it best not to die just at that particular time, whereupon gorman laughed, too, and said he was about right, and that it would be as well to delay both events in the meantime; after saying which, he took his leave in better humour than usual, for gorman was what men of his own stamp termed a "deep file." he saw into futurity--so he thought--a considerable way farther than most men, and in the future of his own imagination he saw such a pleasant picture that his amiable spirit was quite cheered by it. he saw david boone making money so fast, that his goods might be insured at a much larger amount; he saw him getting into fresh difficulties, of course, because such a business, on such a foundation, could not go on prosperously except under the most able management, and, even though it did prosper in spite of improbabilities, he foresaw that there was an amiable gentleman, much like himself, who would induce boone to traffic beyond his means, and when money was wanted, the same kind gentleman (he saw that quite clearly) would come forward generously with a loan, for which he would only ask boone to make over to him in security his two policies of insurance--fire and life; after which--well, we need not go on revealing the future as it appeared to gorman's mental vision; suffice it to say, that he saw upon the whole a prospect which gave him great satisfaction. there were one or two things which he did not see, however, and which might have modified his feelings considerably if he had seen them. of these we shall say nothing at present. as for david boone; his heart rejoiced, for he, too, had visions of the future which charmed him. he saw his debt to gorman paid, and himself set free from the power of that amiable friend. he saw a toyshop change its locality and its aspect. he saw it transplanted into regent street, with plate-glass windows, in which were displayed objects of marvellous ingenuity and transcendent beauty. one window especially exhibiting, not a crowd, but, a very nation of wax-dolls with blue eyes and golden hair! he saw, moreover, a very little old woman, lying in a bed, in an elegant and comfortable apartment, with a bible beside her, and a contented smile on her face. this old lady resembled his own mother so strongly, that all other prospects of the future faded from his view, and in the fulness of his heart and his success, he resolved then and there to go home and present her with a gift on the strength of the prosperity at that time attained to. david was sorely perplexed as to what this gift ought to be. he thought of a new silk gown at first; but the remembrance of the fact that his mother was bedridden banished this idea. owing to the same fact, new boots and gloves were inadmissible; but caps were not--happy thought! he started off at once, and returned home with a cap so gay, voluminous, and imposing, that the old lady, unused though she was to mirth, laughed with amusement, while she cried with joy, at this (not the first) evidence of her son's affection. chapter twenty five. changes and mysteries. seven years passed away. during that period london revolved in its usual course, reproducing its annual number of events--its births, deaths, and marriages; its plans, plots, and pleasures; its business, bustle, and bungle; its successes, sentiments, and sensations; its facts, fancies, and failures--also its fires; which last had increased steadily, until they reached the imposing number of about twelve hundred in the year. but although that time elapsed, and many changes took place, for better or for worse, in all circles of society, there had not been much change in the relative positions of the actors in our tale; at least, not much that was apparent. great alterations, however, had taken place in the physical condition of some of them, as the sequel will show. one bright morning in the spring-time of the year, a youth with the soft down of early manhood on his lips and cheeks, paced slowly to and fro near the margin of the pond in kensington gardens. being early, the spot was as complete a solitude as the backwoods of north america, and so thick was the foliage on the noble trees, that no glimpse of the surrounding city could be obtained in any direction. everything that greeted eye and ear was characteristic of "the woods," even to the swans, geese, ducks, and other water-fowl which sported on the clear surface of the pond; while the noise of traffic in the mighty metropolis was so subdued by distance as to resemble the deep-toned roar of a great cataract. a stranger, rambling there for the first time would have found it difficult to believe that he was surrounded on all sides by london! it was one of those soul-stirring mornings in which nature seems to smile. there was just enough of motion in the air to relieve the effect of what is called a dead calm. the ripple on the water caught the sun's rays, and, breaking them up, scattered them about in a shower of fragmentary diamonds. fleecy-white clouds floated in the blue sky, suggesting dreams of fairy-land, and scents of sprouting herbage filled the nostrils, reminding one of the fast-approaching summer. the youth who sauntered alone by the margin of the pond was broad of shoulder and stout of limb, though not unusually tall--not much above the middle height. his gait was easy, free--almost reckless--as though he cared not a fig for anybody, high or low, rich or poor; yet his eye was bright and his smile kindly, as though he cared for everybody--high, low, rich, and poor. he sauntered with his hands in the pockets of his short coat, and whistled an operatic air in a low melodious tone. he was evidently waiting for someone; and, judging from his impatient gestures, someone who was resolved to keep him waiting. presently, a female figure appeared in the far distance, on the broad avenue that leads direct from the serpentine. she was young and graceful in form; but she walked with a quick step, with her eyes looking down, like one who regarded neither youth nor grace. curiously enough, this downcast look gave to her fair face a modest, captivating grace, which is never seen to sit upon the lofty brow, or to circle round the elevated nose, of conscious beauty. the youth at first paid no attention to her (she was not the "someone" for whom he waited); but as she drew near, he became suddenly interested, and threw himself in her way. just as she was about to pass, she raised her eyes, started, blushed, and exclaimed: "mr willders!" "good morning, miss ward!" said the youth, advancing with a smile, and holding out his hand; "this is indeed an unexpected pleasure; i did not know that you were addicted to early walking." "i am indeed fond of early walking," replied emma, with a smile; "but i cannot say that it is so much pleasure as duty which brings me here. i am a day-governess, and pass this pond every morning on my way to kensington, where the family in which i teach resides." "indeed," said willie, with that amount of emphasis which denotes moderate surprise and solicits information. he paused for a single moment; but, seeing that emma did not intend to speak of her own affairs, he added quickly: "i am waiting for my brother frank. we arranged to meet here this morning. i hope that miss tippet is well?" "quite well," replied emma, with a blush, as she took a sudden interest in a large duck, which swam up to the edge of the pond at that moment, in the hope, no doubt, of obtaining food from her hand. its hopes were disappointed, however, for emma only called it a beautiful creature; and then, turning somewhat abruptly to willie, said, with a slight look of embarrassment, that she feared she should be late and must bid him good-morning. willie felt a good deal puzzled, and had he been the same willie that we introduced at the commencement of our tale, he would have told emma his mind candidly, and asked her what was the matter; but willie was a man now, so he smiled, lifted his hat politely, and wished her good-morning. five minutes later, frank appeared in the distance and hurried forward. seven years had added a little to the breadth of his shoulders, and the firm self-possession of his step and look; but they had made no other perceptible impression on him. there was, indeed, a deep scar on his right temple; but that was the result of accident, not of time. many a hairbreadth escape had he made during these seven years of fighting with the flames, and often had his life been in imminent danger; but he was fortunate in having escaped, hitherto, with only a broken leg and a variety of small cuts, scalds, and bruises. the cut on his temple was the severest, and most recent of these. he had got it in a fall through a second floor, which gave way under him as he was attempting to rescue an old bedridden man, who lay in an inner chamber. frank was carried out in a state of insensibility on the broad shoulders of his friend baxmore, while dale rescued the old man. "how goes it, frank?" cried willie, advancing and giving his brother's hand a warm shake; "the cut head mending--eh?" "oh, it's all right," replied frank, with a smile, as they sauntered up and down by the margin of the pond; "the headaches have left me now, i'm thankful to say, and the-doctor tells me it won't leave much of a mark." "you don't need to care much if it does, for it's an honourable scar, and does not spoil your beauty, old boy." "well, willie," said frank, "here i am at your request. what have you got to tell me; nothing serious, i hope?" the stalwart fireman looked earnestly into his brother's face, and exhibited more anxiety than there seemed to be any occasion for. "no, nothing very serious. it may be serious enough for all i know; but as far as my knowledge goes it's not bad enough to make you look so anxious. why, what's the matter with you?" "nothing, willie. perhaps my late accident has shaken my nerves a bit." willie burst into a loud laugh, and said that it was so awfully absurd to hear a man like frank talking of nerves at all that he could not help it. "well, but what _is_ the news you've got to tell me?" resumed frank. "you're not going to be married, are you?" frank asked this with a look and expression so peculiar that willie again laughed and said that really he could not understand him at all; for even suppose he had been going to be married, that was no reason why he should take it so much to heart, as the expression on his face implied he did. "perhaps not, willie," said frank with a quiet smile; "but _that_ is not what you want to speak about, then?" "no, certainly not." frank appeared relieved, and willie, observing the appearance, said-- "come, now, i really don't see why you should be so very much pleased to hear that. i'm young, it is true, but i'm old enough, and i have a good business, with brilliant prospects, and there appears to me no reason on earth why i should not marry if i felt so disposed." "none in the world, willie," said frank, with some haste, "but you tell me you are not thinking of that just now; so pray let's hear what you've got to say." "oh! it's all very well in you, old blazes, to change the subject in that way, but i'm nettled at your implied objection to my getting married if i choose. however, we won't quarrel over it, so here goes for the point." willie's bantering manner instantly left him. he walked in silence for a few seconds, as if he pondered what he had to say. "there are two points which trouble me just now, frank, and i want your opinion in regard to them. the first is, miss tippet. she is a small point, no doubt, whether we regard her physically or mentally, but she is by no means a small point if we regard her socially, for the good that that little woman does in a quiet, unobtrusive way is almost incredible. d'ye know, frank, i have a sort of triumphant feeling in regard to the sour, cynical folk of this world--whom it is so impossible to answer in their fallacious and sophistical arguments--when i reflect that there is a day coming when the meek and lowly and unknown workers for the sake of our lord shall be singled out from the multitude, and their true place and position assigned them. miss tippet will stand higher, i believe, in the next world than she does in this. well, miss tippet has been much out of sorts of late, mentally; and mr tippet, who is the kindest man alive, has been very anxious about her, and has begged of me to try to counsel and comfort her. now, it is not an easy matter to comply with this request, because, in the first place, miss tippet does not want me to counsel or comfort her, so far as i know; and, in the second place, my motives for attempting to do so might be misunderstood." "how so?" exclaimed frank quickly. "well, you know, miss ward lives with her," said willie, with a modest look. there was again something peculiar about frank's expression and manner, as he said, "well, it would not signify much, i daresay, if people were to make remarks about you and miss ward, for you know it would not be misconstruction after all." "what mean you?" asked willie in surprise. "you remember what you once said to me about your bosom being on fire," pursued frank. "i suppose the fire has not been got under yet, has it?" willie burst into a loud laugh. "why, blazes, do you not know--? but, no matter; we came here to talk of business; after that is done we can diverge to love." willie paused here again for a few seconds and then resumed: "you must know, frank, that the cause of miss tippet's disturbance just now is the strange conduct of her landlord, david boone, who has been going on of late in a way that would justify his friends putting him in an asylum. his business affairs are, i fear, in a bad way, and he not only comes with excessive punctuality for miss tippet's rent, but he asks her for loans of money in a wild incoherent fashion, and favours her with cautions and warnings of a kind that are utterly incomprehensible. only the other night he came to her and asked if she did not intend soon to visit some of her friends; and on being informed that she did not, he went further and advised her to do so, saying that she was looking very ill, and he feared she would certainly get into bad health if she did not. in fact, he even said that he feared she would die if she did not go to the country for a few weeks. now, all this would be laughable, as being the eccentricity of a half-cracked fellow, if it were not that he exhibits such a desperate anxiety that his advice should be followed, and even begged of the poor lady, with tears in his eyes, to go to visit her friends. what d'ye think of it, frank? i confess myself utterly nonplussed." "i don't know what to think," said frank after a pause. "either the man must be mad, or he wishes to rob miss tippet's house in her absence." willie admitted that the first supposition might be true, but he held stoutly that the second was impossible, for boone was too honest for that. they conversed for some time on this point, and both came ultimately to the conclusion that the thing was incomprehensible and mysterious, and that it ought to be watched and inquired into. willie, moreover, said he would go and consult his friend barret about it. "you know barret, frank?" "no; but i have heard of him." "ah, he's a first-rate fellow--in one of the insurance offices--i forget which. i came to know him when i first went to mr tippet's. he lived then in the floor below us with a drunken companion whom he was anxious to reclaim; but he found him so hard to manage that he at last left him, and went to live in hampstead. he and i became great friends when he lived under our workshop. he got married two years ago, and i have not seen much of him since, but he's a sharp fellow, and knows a good deal more of the tippets than i was aware of. i'll go and see if he can throw any light on this subject." "the next point," pursued willie, "is cattley the clown. have you seen or heard of him lately?" frank said he had not. "well, i am greatly troubled about him. he has become a regular drunkard, and leads his poor daughter a terrible life. he is so broken down with dissipation that he can scarcely procure employment anywhere. his son is fortunately a pretty decent fellow, though somewhat wild, and helps in a small way to support his father, having obtained a situation as clown at one of the minor theatres. the daughter, ziza, has long ago given up the profession, and has been struggling to maintain herself and her father by painting fire-screens, and making artificial flowers; but the work is severe and ill paid, and i see quite well that if the poor girl is not relieved in some way she will not be able to bear up." "i grieve to hear this, willie," said frank, "but how comes it that you take so great an interest in these people?" "frank," said willie, assuming a tone of deep seriousness, while a glow suffused his cheeks, "can you keep a secret?" "i think so, lad; at least i promise to try." "well, then," said willie, "i love ziza cattley. i knew her first as a fairy, i know her now as a woman who is worthy of a place among the angels, for none but those who know her well and have seen her fighting the battle of life can have the least idea of the self-denial, the perseverance under difficulties, the sweetness of temper, and the deep-seated love of that devoted girl. she goes every night, after the toil of each day, to the door of the theatre, where she waits to conduct her father safely past the gin-palaces, into which, but for her, he would infallibly stray, and she spends all she has in making him comfortable, but i see well enough that this is killing her. she can't stand it long, and i won't stand it at all! i've made up my mind to that. now, frank, i want your advice." to say that frank was hearty in his assurances that he would do what he could to help his brother, would be a faint way of stating the truth. frank shook willie by the hand and congratulated him on having gained the affections of one whom he knew to be a good girl, and then condoled with him on that girl's unfortunate circumstances; but willie stopped him short at this point by asking him in a tone of surprise what could be the matter with him, for at first he had been apparently annoyed at the notion of his (willie's) being in love, and now he seemed quite pleased about it. in short, his conduct was unaccountable! frank laughed, but said eagerly-- "why. willie, did you not tell me long ago that there was a fire in your bosom, lit up by a certain young friend of miss tippet's--" "oh," interrupted willie, "emma ward; ah, yes, i confess that i did feel spooney once in that direction when i was a boy, but the fairy displaced her long ago. no, no, frank, i'm not accountable for boyish fancies. by the way, i have just parted from the fair emma. we had a _tete-a-tete_ here not half an hour before you arrived." "here!" exclaimed frank in surprise. "ay, here," repeated willie; "she passes this pond every morning, she told me, on her way to teach a family in kensington; by the way, i didn't think of asking whether the father, mother, and servants were included among her pupils. why, frank, what an absent frame of mind you are in this morning! i declare it is not worth a man's while consulting you about anything." "i beg pardon," cried frank quickly, "your words caused my mind to wander a bit. come, what do you think of doing?" "what do you think i should do? that is the question." "you can offer to assist them," suggested frank. "i've done so," said the other, "but ziza won't accept of assistance." "could we not manage to get her a situation of some sort with light work and good pay?" "ah! a fireman's, for instance," cried willie, with a sarcastic laugh; "did you ever hear of a situation with light work and good pay except under government? _i_ never did; but we might perhaps find _steady_ work and good pay. it would only be required for a time, because i mean to--ah, well, no matter--but how and where is it to be got? good mr tippet is of no use, because he is mad." "mad, willie!" "ay, mad as a march hare. for years back i have suspected it, but now, i am sure of it; in fact i feel that i have gradually come to be his keeper--but more of that anon. meanwhile, what is to be done for the cattleys?" "could nothing be done with mr auberly?" willie shook his head. "no, i fear not. he was in a soft state once--long ago--six or seven years now, i think--when the dear fairy was ill and he seemed as if he were going to become a man; but his daughter loo had just begun to be ill at that time. she's been so long ill now that he has got used to it, and has relapsed again into an oyster." "he might be reached through loo yet," said frank. "perhaps," replied willie, "but i doubt it, for he's a blunt old fellow in his feelings, however sharp he may be in his business; besides, loo is so weak now that very few are allowed to see her except ziza, and miss tippet, and emma ward." the brothers remained silent after this for some time, for neither of them could see his way out of their difficulties; at last frank suggested that willie should go home and consult his mother. "she is wise, willie, and has never given us bad advice yet." "i know what her first advice will be," said willie. "what?" asked frank. "to go and pray about it," answered willie. "well, she might give worse advice than that," said frank, with much earnestness. "in fact, i doubt if she could give better." "true," assented willie, "and now, old fellow, i'm off. mr tippet likes punctuality. i'll look in at the station in passing if anything turns up to clear my mind on these matters; meanwhile good-bye." it is a remarkable fact that frank willders took an early walk, as frequently as possible, in kensington gardens, near the pond, after this conversation with his brother, and it is a still more remarkable fact, that he always felt like a guilty man on these occasions, as if he were taking some mean advantage of some one; yet it was certain that he took advantage of no one, for nobody ever met him there by any chance whatever! a fact even more remarkable still was, that never, after that day, did emma ward go to her duties through kensington gardens, but always by the bayswater road, although the latter was dusty and unpicturesque compared with the former; and it is a circumstance worthy of note, as savouring a little of mystery, that emma acted as if she too were a guilty creature during her morning walks, and glanced uneasily from side to side as she went along, expecting, apparently, that a policeman or a detective would pounce upon her suddenly and bear her off to prison. but, whether guilty or not guilty, it is plain that no policeman or detective had the heart to do it, for miss ward went on her mission daily without molestation. it is not easy to say what was the cause of these unaccountable proceedings. we might hazard an opinion, but we feel that our duty is accomplished when we have simply recorded them. perhaps love had something to do with them--perhaps not--who knows? chapter twenty six. what drink will do. time passed on, as time is wont to do, and christmas came again. the snow was deep in london streets and thick on the roofs and chimneys. it curled over the eaves of the houses in heavy white folds ready to fall and smother the unwary passengers. it capped the railings everywhere with little white knobs, and rounded off the corners of things so, that wherever the eye alighted, the same impressions were invariably conveyed to it, namely, whiteness and rotundity. corinthian capitals were rendered, if possible, more ornate than ever by snow; equestrian statues were laden with it so heavily, that the horses appeared to stagger beneath their trappings and the riders, having white tips to their noses, white lumps on their heads and shoulders, and white patches on their cheek-bones and chins, looked ineffably ridiculous, and miserably cold. everything, in fact, was covered and blocked up with snow, and londoners felt as if they had muffled drums in their ears. it was morning. the sky was clear, the air still, and the smoke of chimneys perpendicular. poulterers' shops were in their holiday attire; toy-shops were in the ascendant, and all other shops were gayer than usual. so were the people who thronged the streets and beat their hands and stamped their feet--for it was unusually cold. street boys were particularly lively, and chaff was flying as thickly as snow-flakes had fallen the night before. even the roughs--who forsook their dens, and, with shovels and brooms on their shoulders, paraded the streets, intent on clearing door-steps with or without the leave of inhabitants--seemed to be less gruff than usual, and some of them even went the length of cutting jokes with the cabmen and the boys. perhaps their spirits were elevated by the proud consciousness of being for once in the way of earning an honest penny! "i say, ned," observed one of these roughs (a lively one), who was very rough indeed, to a companion, who was rougher still and gloomy, "look at that there gal cleanin' of her steps with a fire-shovel! ain't that economy gone mad? hallo, young 'ooman, what's the use o' trying to do it with a teaspoon, when there's ned and me ready to do it with our shovels for next to nothin'?" the servant-girl declined the assistance thus liberally offered, so the two men moved slowly on, looking from side to side as they went, in expectation of employment, while a small boy, in a man's hat, who walked behind them, nodded to the girl, and said she was a "sensible thrifty gal," and that she might be sure there was "some feller unknown who would bless the day he was born after he'd got her." fifty yards farther on, a stout, red-faced, elderly gentleman was observed to look out at the street door and frown at things in general. "have your door-steps cleaned, sir?" asked the lively rough, taking the shovel off his shoulder. the elderly gentleman being angry, on private and unknown grounds (perhaps bad digestion), vouchsafed no reply, but looked up at the sky and then over the way. "do it cheap, sir," said the lively rough. "no!" said the elderly gentleman, with a sort of snapping look, as he turned his gaze up the street and then down it. "snow's wery deep on the steps, sir," said the rough. "d'you suppose i'm an ass?" exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in a sudden burst. "well, sir," said the lively rough, in the grave tone and manner of one who has had a difficult question in philosophy put to him, "well, sir, i don't know about that." his large mouth expanded gradually from ear to ear after this reply. the elderly gentleman's face became scarlet and his nose purple, and retreating two paces, he slammed the door violently in the rough's face. "ah, it all comes of over-feedin', poor feller," said the lively man, shouldering his shovel and resuming his walk beside his gloomy comrade, who neither smiled nor frowned at these pleasantries. "a warm old g'n'l'm'n!" remarked the boy in the man's hat as he passed. the lively man nodded and winked. "might eat his wittles raw an' cook 'em inside a'most!" continued the boy; "would advise him to keep out of 'yde park, though, for fear he'd git too near the powder-magazine!" at this point the gloomy rough--who did not appear, however, to be a genuine rough, but a pretty good imitation of one, made of material that had once seen better days--stopped, and said to his comrade that he was tired of that sort of work, and would bid him good-day. without waiting for an answer he walked away, and his companion, without vouchsafing a reply, looked after him with a sneer. "a rum cove!" he remarked to the small boy in the man's hat, as he continued his progress. "rayther," replied the boy. with this interchange of sentiment these casual acquaintances parted, to meet probably no more! meanwhile the gloomy rough, whom the lively one had called ned, walked with rapid steps along several streets, as though he had a distinct purpose in view. he turned at last into a narrow, quiet street, and going up to the door of a shabby-genteel house, applied the knocker with considerable vigour. "now then, go along with you; we don't want _your_ services here; we clear off our own snow, we do. imprence! to knock, too, as if he was a gentleman!" this was uttered by a servant-girl who had thrust her head out of a second-floor window to take an observation of the visitor before going down to open the door. "is he at home, betsy dear?" inquired the gloomy man, looking up with a leer which proved that he could be the reverse of gloomy when he chose. "oh, it's you, is it? i don't think he wants to see you; indeed, i'm sure of it," said the girl. "yes he does, dear; at all events i want to see him; and, betsy, say it's pressing business, and _not_ beggin'." betsy disappeared, and soon after, reappearing at the door, admitted the man, whom she ushered into a small apartment, which was redolent of tobacco, and in which sat a young man slippered and dressing-gowned, taking breakfast. "how are you, doctor?" said the visitor, in a tone that did not accord with his soiled and ragged garments, as he laid down his hat and shovel, and flung himself into a chair. "none the better for seeing you, hooper," replied the doctor sternly. "well, well!" exclaimed ned, "what a world we live in, to be sure! it was `hail fellow! well met,' when i was well off; now," (he scowled here) "my old familiars give me the cold shoulder _because i'm poor_." "you know that you are unjust," said the doctor, leaning back in his chair, and speaking less sternly though not less firmly; "you know, ned, that i have helped you with advice and with money to the utmost extent of my means, and you know that it was a long, long time before i ceased to call you one of my friends; but i do not choose to be annoyed by a man who has deliberately cast himself to the dogs, whose companions are the lowest wretches in london, and whose appearance is dirty and disgusting as well as disreputable." "i can't help it," pleaded hooper; "i can get no work." "i don't wonder at that," replied the doctor; every friend you ever had has got you work of one kind or another during the last few years, and you have drunk yourself out of it every time. do you imagine that your friends will continue to care for a man who cares not for himself? ned did not reply, but hung his head in moody silence. "now," continued the doctor, "my time is a little more valuable than yours; state what you have got to say, and then be off. stay," he added, in a softened tone, "have you breakfasted?" "no," answered ned, with a hungry glance at the table. "well, then, as you did not come to beg, you may draw in your chair and go to work." ned at once availed himself of this permission, and his spirits revived wonderfully as he progressed with the meal, during which he stated the cause of his visit. "the fact is," said he, "that i want your assistance, doctor--" "i told you already," interrupted the other, "that i have assisted you to the utmost extent of my means." "my good fellow, not so sharp, pray," said ned, helping himself to another roll, the first having vanished like a morning cloud; "i don't want money--ah: that is to say, i _do_ want money, but i don't want yours. no; i came here to ask you to help me to get a body." "a body. what do you mean?" "why, what i say; surely you've cut up enough of 'em to know 'em by name; a dead body, doctor,--a subject." the doctor smiled. "that's a strange request, ned. you're not going to turn to my profession as a last resort, i hope?" "no, not exactly; but a friend of mine wants a body--that's all, and offers to pay me a good round sum if i get one for him." "is your friend a medical man?" asked the doctor. "n-no, he's not. in fact, he has more to do with spirits than bodies; but he wants one of the latter--and i said i'd try to get him one--so, if you can help me, do so, like a good fellow. my friend is particular, however; he wants a _man_ one, above six feet, thin and sallow, and with long black hair." "you don't suppose i keep a stock of assorted subjects on hand, do you?" said the doctor. "i fear it won't be easy to get what you want. do you know what your friend intends to do with it?" "not i, and i don't care," said ned, pouring out another cup of coffee. "what does a body cost?" "between two and three pounds," replied the doctor. "dear me, so cheap," said ned, with a look of surprise; "then that knocks on the head a little plan i had. i thought of offering myself for sale at guy's or one of the hospitals, and drinking myself to death with the money, leaving my address, so that they might know where to find me; but it's not worth while to do it for so little; in fact, i don't believe i could accomplish it on three pounds' worth of dissipation." "don't jest about your besetting sin," said the doctor gravely; "it's bad enough without that." "bad enough," exclaimed ned, with a sudden flash of ferocity; "ay, bad enough in all conscience, and the worst of it is, that it makes me ready to jest about _anything_--in heaven, earth, or hell. oh, drink! accursed drink!" he started up and clutched the hair of his head with both hands for a moment; but the feeling passed away, and he sat down again and resumed breakfast, while he said in a graver tone than he had yet used-- "excuse me, doctor; i'm subject to these bursts now and then. well, what say you about the body? my friend offers me twenty pounds, if i get the right kind. that would be seventeen pounds of profit on the transaction. it's worth an effort. it might put me in the way of making one more stand." ned said this sadly, for he had made so many stands in time past, and failed to retain his position, that hope was at dead low-water of a very neap-tide now. "i don't like the look of the thing," said the doctor. "there's too much secrecy about it for me. why don't your friend speak out like a man; state what he wants it for, and get it in the regular way?" "it mayn't be a secret, for all i know," said ned hooper, as he concluded his repast. "i did not take the trouble to ask him; because i didn't care. you might help me in this, doctor." "well, i'll put you in the way of getting what you want," said the doctor, after a few moments reflection; "but you must manage it yourself. i'll not act personally in such an affair; and let me advise you to make sure that you are not getting into a scrape before you take any steps in the matter. meanwhile, i must wish you good-day. call here again to-night, at six." the doctor rose as he spoke, and accompanied ned to the door. he left a coin of some sort in his palm, when he shook hands. "thankee," said ned. "if you had come to beg, you should not have got it," said the doctor. "god help him!" he added as he shut the door; "it is an awful sight to see an old companion fall so low." chapter twenty seven. an old plot. it is evening now. the snow is still on the ground; but it looks ruddy and warm in the streets, because of the blaze of light from the shop-windows, and it looks colder than it did on the house-tops, by reason of the moon which sails in the wintry sky. the man in the moon must have been in good spirits that night, for his residence seemed almost fuller than the usual full moon, and decidedly brighter--to many, at least, of the inhabitants of london. it looked particularly bright to miss tippet, as she gazed at it through the windows of her upper rooms, and awaited the arrival of "a few friends" to tea. miss tippet's heart was animated with feelings of love to god and man; and she had that day, in obedience to the divine precept, attempted and accomplished a good many little things, all of which were, either directly or indirectly, calculated to make human beings happy. emma ward, too, thought the moon particularly bright that night; in fact she might almost have been regarded as a lunatic; so steadily did she gaze at the moon, and smile to herself without any apparent motive. there was reason for her joy, however, for she had come to know, in some mysterious way, that frank willders loved her; and she had known, for a long time past, that she loved frank willders. frank had become a foreman of the fire brigade, and had been removed from his former station and comrades to his new charge in the city. but frank had not only risen in his profession; he had also risen intellectually. his mother had secured to him a pretty good education to begin with, and his own natural taste and studious habits had led him to read extensively. his business required him to sit up and watch when other men slept. he seldom went to bed before four o'clock any morning, and when he did take his rest he lay down like the soldier in an enemy's country, ready to rush to arms at the first sound of the bugle. his bugle, by the way, was a speaking-trumpet, one end of which was close to the head of his bed, the other end being in the lobby where the men on duty for the night reposed. during these long watches in the silent lobby, with the two men belted and booted on their tressels, the clock ticking gently by his side, like the soft quiet voice of a chatty but not tiresome friend, frank read book after book with absorbing interest. history, poetry, travel, romance--all kinds were equally devoured. at the particular time of which we write, however, he read more of poetry than of anything else. the consequence was that frank, who was one of nature's gentlemen, became a well-informed man, and might have moved in any circle of society with credit to himself, and profit as well as pleasure to others. frank was by nature grave, sedate, earnest, thoughtful. emma was equally earnest--more so perhaps--but she was light-hearted (not light _headed_, observe) and volatile. the result was mutual attraction. let philosophers account for the mutual attraction of these qualities as they best may, we simply record the fact. history records it; nature records it; experience--everything records it; who has the temerity, or folly, to deny it? emma and frank _felt_ it, and, in some mysterious way, frank had come to know something or other about emma's feelings, which it is not our business to inquire into too particularly. so, then, frank also gazed--no, not at the moon; it would have required him to ascend three flights of stairs, and a ladder, besides passing through a trap to the roof of the station, to enable him to do that; but there was a lamp over the fireplace, with a tin reflector, which had quite a dazzling effect of its own--not a bad imitation of the moon in a small way--so he gazed at that, and thought it very bright indeed; brighter than usual. we may as well put the reader out of suspense at once by saying that we do not intend to describe miss tippet's evening with "a few friends." our own private opinion in regard to the matter is, that if they had been fewer than they were, and more worthy of the name of friends, the evening might have been worth recording, but it is sufficient to say that they all came; acted as usual, spoke as usual, felt as usual, "favoured the company" with songs, as usual, and--ah--yes--enjoyed themselves as usual till about half-past eleven o'clock, when they all took their leave, with the exception of miss deemas, who, in consideration of the coldness of the weather, had agreed to spend the night with her "dear friend." miss deemas was one of those unfortunates with whom it is impossible for any one to sleep. besides being angular and hard, she had a habit of kicking in her slumbers, and, being powerful, was a dangerous bedfellow. she knew this herself, and therefore wisely preferred, when visiting her friends, to sleep alone. hence it happened that miss tippet and emma went to bed in the back room with the green hangings, while miss deemas retired to the front room with the blue paper. there is a common fallacy in naval matters founded on poetical license, to the effect that the mariner is separated from death by a single plank; whereas, the unpoetical truth is, that the separation consists of many hundreds of planks, and a solid bulwark of timbers more than a foot thick, besides an inner "skin," the whole being held together by innumerable iron and oaken bolts and trenails, and tightened with oakum and pitch. we had almost fallen into this error--or poetical laxity of expression--by saying that, on the night of which we write, little did miss tippet know that she was separated from, not death exactly, but from something very awful, by a single plank; at least, by the floor of her own residence, and the ceiling of the house below--as the sequel will show. that same night, david boone, gaunt, tall, and cadaverous as of old, sat in his back parlour, talking with his friend gorman. "now, boone," said the latter, with an oath, "i'm not goin' to hang off and on any longer. it's more than seven years since we planned this business, the insurances have been effected, you've bin a prosperous man, yet here you are, deeper in my debt than ever." "quite true," replied boone, whose face was so pale that he might have easily been mistaken for a ghost, "but you know i have paid up my premiums quite regular, and your interest too, besides clearin' off some of the principal. come, don't be hard on me, gorman. if it had not been that trade has got worse of late, i would have cleared off all i owe you, but indeed, indeed i have not been so successful of late, and i'm again in difficulties. if you will only wait--" "no," cried gorman, "i'll not wait. i have waited long enough. how long would you have me wait--eh? moreover, i'm not hard on you. i show you an easy way to make a good thing of it, and you're so chicken-hearted that you're afraid to do it." "it's such a mean thing to do," said boone. "mean! why, what do you call the style of carrying on business that you started with seven years ago, and have practised more or less ever since?" "that is mean, too," said boone; "i'm ashamed of it; sorry for it. it was for a time successful no doubt, and i have actually paid off all my creditors except yourself, but i don't think it the less mean on that account, and i'm thoroughly ashamed of it." there was a good deal of firmness in boone's tone as he said this, and his companion was silent for a few minutes. "i have arranged," he said at last, "about your making over your policies of insurance to me as security for the debt you owe me. you won't have to pay them next half-year, i'll do that for you _if necessary_." he laughed as he said this. "i have now come to ask you to set the house alight, and have the plan carried out, and the whole affair comfortably settled." gorman said this in an encouraging voice, assuming that his dupe was ready to act. "b-but it's awful to think of," said boone; "suppose it's found out?" "how can it be found out?" "well, i don't know. it's wonderful how crime is discovered," said boone despondingly; "besides, think of the risk we run of burning the people who live above, as well as my two clerks who sleep in the room below us; that would be murder, you know. i'm sure i have tried my very best to get miss tippet to go from home for a short time, i've almost let the cat out of the bag in my anxiety, but she won't take the hint." "oho!" exclaimed gorman, with a laugh. "well, have you made the arrangements as i directed you last night?" "yes, i've got a lot of tarry oakum scattered about, and there is a pile of shavings," he added, pointing to a corner of the room; "the only thing i'm anxious about is that my young man robert roddy caught me pouring turpentine on the walls and floor of the shop. i pretended that it was water i had in the can, and that i was sprinkling it to lay the dust before sweeping up. roddy is a slow, stupid youth; he always was, and, i daresay, did not notice the smell." gorman was himself filled with anxiety on hearing the first part of this, but at the conclusion he appeared relieved. "it's lucky you turned it off so," said he, "and roddy _is_ a stupid fellow. i daresay he has no suspicion. in fact, i am sure of it." "it's not of much importance _now_, however," said boone, rising and confronting his friend with more firmness than he had ever before exhibited to him, "because i have resolved _not to do it_." gorman lit his pipe at the fire, looking at the bowl of it with a scornful smile as he replied-- "oh! you have made up your mind, have you?" "yes, decidedly. nothing will move me. you may do your worst." "very good," remarked gorman, advancing with the lighted paper towards the heap of shavings. boone sprang towards him, and, seizing his arms, grasped the light and crushed it out. "what would you do, madman?" he cried. "you can only ruin me, but do you not know that i will have the power to denounce you as a fire-raiser?" gorman laughed, and returned to the fireplace, while boone sat down on a chair almost overcome with terror. "what! you dare to defy me?" said gorman, with an air of assumed pity. "a pretty case you would have to make out of it. you fill your shop with combustibles, you warn your tenant upstairs to get out of the premises for a time in a way that must be quite unaccountable to her (until the fire accounts for it), and your own clerk sees you spilling turpentine about the place the day before the fire occurs, and yet you have the stupidity to suppose that people will believe you when you denounce _me_!" poor david boone's wits seemed to be sharpened by his despair, for he said suddenly, after a short pause-- "if the case is so bad it will tell against yourself, gorman, for i shall be certainly convicted, and the insurance will not be paid to you." "ay, but the case is not so bad as it looks," said gorman, "if you only have the sense to hold your tongue and do what you are told; for nobody knows all these things but you and me, and nobody can put them together except ourselves--d'ye see?" "it matters not," said boone firmly; "i _won't_ do it--there!" both men leaped up. at the same moment there was a sound as of something falling in the shop. they looked at each other. "go see what it is," said gorman. the other stepped to the door. "it's only two of my wax-dolls tumbled off the shelf," he said on returning. an exclamation of horror escaped him, for he saw that the heap of shavings had been set on fire during his momentary absence, and gorman stood watching them with a demoniacal grin. boone was struck dumb. he could not move or speak. he made a feeble effort to stretch out his hands as if to extinguish the fire, but gorman seized him in his powerful grasp and held him fast. in a few seconds the flames were leaping up the walls, and the room was so full of smoke that they were driven into the front shop. "now, then," said gorman in a fierce whisper, "your _only_ chance is to act out your part as wisely as you can. shout _fire_! now till you're black in the face--fire! _fire_!! fire!!!" david boone obeyed with all his might, and, when gorman released him, ran back into the parlour to try to extinguish the flames, but he was driven back again, scorched and half-choked, while gorman ran off at full speed to the nearest station, gave the alarm, received the shilling reward for being first to give the call, and then went leisurely home to bed. chapter twenty eight. at the post of duty. fire! there is something appalling in the cry to most ears; something deadly in the sound; something that tells of imminent danger and urgent haste. after david boone's first alarm was given, other voices took it up; passers-by became suddenly wild, darted about spasmodically and shouted it; late sitters-up flung open their windows and proclaimed it; sleepers awoke crying, "what! where?" and, huddling on their clothes, rushed out to look at it; little boys yelled it; frantic females screamed it, and in a few minutes the hubbub in poorthing lane swelled into a steady roar. among the sound sleepers in that region was miss deemas. the fair head of that lady reposed on its soft pillow all unconscious of the fact that she was even then being gently smoked before being roasted alive. miss tippet, on the very first note of alarm, bounced out of bed with an emphatic "there!" which was meant to announce the triumphant fulfilment of an old prophecy which she had been in the habit of making for some time past; namely, that matty merryon would certainly set the house on fire if she did not take care! the energy with which miss tippet sprang to the floor and exclaimed "there!" caused emma ward to open her eyes to the utmost possible extent, and exclaim, "where?" without waiting for a reply she too bounded out of bed like an indiarubber ball, and seeing (for there was always a night-light in the room) that miss tippet's face was as white as her night-dress, she attempted to shriek, but failed, owing to a lump of some kind that had got somehow into her throat, and which refused to be swallowed on any terms. the repetition of the cry, "fire! fire!" outside, induced both ladies at once to become insane. miss tippet, with a touch of method even in her madness, seized the counterpane, wrapped it round her, and rushed out of the room and downstairs. emma followed her example with a blanket, and also fled, just as matty merryon, who slept in an attic room above, tumbled down her wooden staircase and burst into the room by another door, uttering a wild exclamation that was choked in the bud partly by terror, partly by smoke. attempting in vain to wrap herself in a bolster, matty followed her mistress. all three had utterly forgotten the existence of miss deemas. that strong-minded lady being, as we have hinted, a sound sleeper, was not awakened by the commotion in the street. in fact, she was above such weaknesses. becoming aware of a crackling sound and a sensation of smoke, she smiled sweetly in her slumbers, and, turning gently on her other side, with a sigh, dreamed ardently of fried ham and eggs--her usual breakfast. while these events were occurring the cry of fire had reached the ears of one of london's guardians; our friend samuel forest. that stout-hearted man was seated at the time rapping the sides of his sentry-box with his head, in a useless struggle with sleep. he had just succumbed, and was snoring out his allegiance to the great conqueror, when the policeman on the beat dashed open his door and shouted "fire!" sam was a calm, self-possessed man. he was no more flurried by this sudden, unexpected, and fierce shout of "fire," than he would have been if the policeman had in a mild voice made a statement of water. but, although self-possessed and cool, sam was not slow. with one energetic effort he tripped up and floored the conqueror with one hand, as it were, while he put on his black helmet with the other, and in three minutes more the fire-escape was seen coming up the lane like a rampant monster of the antediluvian period. it was received by the crowd with frantic cheers, because they had just become aware that a lady was asleep in one of the upper rooms, which were by that time unapproachable, owing to the lower part of the staircase having caught fire. the fact was made known with a sudden look of horror by miss tippet, who, with emma ward, had been rescued from the first-floor window by a gallant policeman. this man, having procured a ladder, entered the house at considerable personal risk, and carried the ladies out in safety, one after the other; an event, we may remark in passing, which is not of rare occurrence at london fires, where the police are noted for their efficient services and for the daring of some of the members of the force, many of whom have received medals and other rewards for acts of personal daring in attempting to save life before the firemen had arrived on the ground. having put miss tippet and emma in a place of security, the policeman was about to make a desperate attempt to reach the upper floor by rushing through the flames, when the escape came up and rendered it unnecessary. dozens of tongues and hundreds of voices directed sam forest to the right window. he pointed his escape towards it, but so vigorous was the uninvited assistance lent by the crowd that the head of the machine went crashing through it and dashed the frame into the middle of the room. to say that miss deemas was horror-struck by such an awakening would be to use a mild expression. her strong mind was not strong enough to prevent her strong body from trembling like an aspen leaf, as she lay for a few moments unable to cry or move. suddenly she believed that she was dreaming, and that the instrument which had burst through her window was a nightmare or a guillotine, and she made dreadful efforts to pinch herself awake without success. next moment a man's head, looking very grim in the light of a bull's-eye lamp, appeared at the top of the guillotine. so far this was in keeping with her idea; but when the head leapt into the room, followed by its relative body, and made a rush at her, miss deemas cast courage and philosophy to the dogs, gave herself over to abject fear, uttered a piercing shriek, dipped her head under the bedclothes, and, drawing her knees up to her mouth, clasped her hands over them in agony. "come, ma'am, don't take on so; no time to lose; floor's goin' down!" said sam. he coughed as he said it, for the smoke was getting thicker every moment. shriek upon shriek was the only answer vouchsafed by the terrified eagle. a wild cheer from the mob outside seemed to be a reply of encouragement to her; but it was not so; it was called forth by the sudden appearance of a fire-engine dashing round the corner of the lane. "be quiet, my good lady," said sam forest in a voice of tenderness; but if his voice was tender his actions were the reverse, for it was now a matter of life or death; so he grasped the eagle, bedclothes and all, in his arms, and bore her to the window. it is probable that this act revived in miss deemas some reminiscences of her childhood, for she suddenly straightened herself out and struggled violently, after the manner of those sweet little ones who _won't_ be made to sit on nurse's knees. being a tall, heavy woman, she struggled out of sam's grasp and fell to the floor; but her victory was short-lived. another moment and that bold man had her round the waist, in a grasp from which she could not free herself. sam was considerate, however, and polite even in this extremity. he begged pardon as he wrapped the bedclothes round his victim, and lifting her into the head of the escape, let her go. no swoop that the eagle ever made (mentally) down upon base, unworthy, arrogant man, was at all comparable to the descent which she made (physically) on that occasion into the arms of an expectant fireman! she held her breath, also the blankets, tightly, as she went down like a lightning-flash, and felt that she was about to be dashed to pieces, but to her surprise soft cushions received her, and she was immediately borne, by another of these desperate men in helmets, into an adjoining house, and left unhurt in the arms of her sympathetic friend miss tippet. "oh, my dear, _dear_ julia!" exclaimed miss tippet, shutting the door of the room into which they had been ushered, and assisting her friend to disentangle herself from the bedclothes. "oh! what a mercy we've not all been roasted alive like beef steaks--or--oh! _what_ a sight you are, my darling! you must have got it coming down that dreadful thing--the what's-'is-name, you know. shall i ring for water?" "tut, nonsense!" exclaimed the eagle, panting as well from nervous excitement as exhaustion; "you are always so fussy, emelina. please assist me to tie this string, miss ward." "yes, i know i'm fussy, dear julia!" exclaimed miss tippet, bustling nervously about the room; "but i can't help it, and i'm so thankful for--; but it was so bold in these noble fellows to risk their lives to--" "noble fellows!" shouted miss deemas, with flashing eyes, "d'you call it noble to pull me out of bed, and roll me in a blanket and shoot me down a--a--i don't know what, like a sack of coals? noble fellows, indeed! brutes!" here miss deemas clasped her hands above her head in a passion of conflicting feelings, and, being unable to find words for utterance, burst into a flood of tears, dropped into a chair, and covered her face with both hands. "dear, dear, _darling_ julia!" said miss tippet soothingly. "don't speak to me!" sobbed the eagle passionately, and stamping her foot; "i can't bear to think of it." "but you know, dear," persevered her friend, "they could not help being--being--what d'you call it?--energetic, you know, for it was not rough. we should all have been roasted to death but for them, and i feel very, _very_ grateful to them. i shall respect that policeman as long as i live." "ah, sure an' he _is_ a dacent boy now," said matty merryon, who entered the room just then; "the way he lifted you an' miss emma up an' flung ye over his showlder, as aisy as if ye was two bolsters, was beautiful to look at; indade it was. shure it remimbered me o' the purty pottery ye was readin' just the other night, as was writ by o'dood or o'hood--" "hood," suggested miss tippet. "p'r'aps it was," said matty; "he'd be none the worse of an o before his name anyhow. but the pottery begood with--`take her up tinderly, lift her with care,' if i don't misremimber." "_will_ you hold your tongue!" cried the eagle, looking up suddenly and drying her eyes. "surely, miss," said matty, with a toss of her head; "anything to plaize ye." it is due to matty to say that, while the policeman was descending the ladder with her mistress, she had faithfully remained to comfort and encourage emma; and after emma was rescued she had quietly descended the ladder without assistance, having previously found time to clothe herself in something a little more ample and appropriate than a bolster. but where was david boone all this time? rather say, where was he not? everywhere by turns, and nowhere long, was david to be seen, in the frenzy of his excitement. conscience-smitten, for what he had done, or rather intended to do, he ran wildly about, making the most desperate efforts to extinguish the fire. no one knows what he can do till he is tried. that is a proverb (at least if it is not it ought to be) which embraces much deep truth. the way in which david boone set personal danger at defiance, and seemed to regard suffocation by smoke or roasting by fire as terminations of life worth courting, was astounding, and rendered his friends and neighbours dumb with amazement. david was now on the staircase among the firemen, fighting his way up through fire and smoke, for the purpose of saving miss tippet, until he was hauled forcibly back by dale or baxmore--who were in the thick of it as usual. anon, down in the basement, knee-deep in water, searching for the bodies of his two shopmen, both of whom were standing comfortably outside, looking on. presently he was on the leads of the adjoining house, directing, commanding, exhorting, entreating, the firemen there to point their branch at the "blue bedroom." soon after he was in the street, tearing his hair, shouting that it was all his fault; that he did it, and that it would kill him. before the fire was put out, poor boone's eyelashes and whiskers were singed off; little hair was left on his head, and that little was short and frizzled. his clothes, of course, were completely soaked; in addition to which, they were torn almost to shreds, and some of his skin was in the same condition. at last he had to be forcibly taken in charge, and kept shut up in an adjoining house, from the window of which he watched the destruction of his property and his hopes. almost superhuman efforts had been made by the firemen to save the house. many a house in london had they saved that year, partially or wholly; as, indeed, is the case every year, and many thousands of pounds' worth of property had they rescued; but this case utterly defied them. so well had the plot been laid; so thoroughly had the combustibles been distributed and lubricated with inflammable liquids, that all the engines in the metropolis would have failed to extinguish that fire. david boone knew this, and he groaned in spirit. the firemen knew it not, and they worked like heroes. there was a shout at last among the firemen to "look out!" it was feared one of the partition walls was coming down, so each man beat a hasty retreat. they swarmed out at the door like bees, and were all safe when the wall fell--all safe, but one, joe corney, who, being a reckless man, took things too leisurely, and was knocked down by the falling bricks. moxey and williams ran back, and carried him out of danger. then, seeing that he did not recover consciousness, although he breathed, they carried him at once to the hospital. the flames of the burning house sprang up, just then, as if they leaped in triumph over a fallen foe; but the polished surface of poor joe's helmet seemed to flash back defiance at the flames as they bore him away. after the partition wall fell, the fire sank, and in the course of a few hours it was extinguished altogether. but nothing whatever was saved, and the firemen had only the satisfaction of knowing that they had done their best, and had preserved the adjoining houses, which would certainly have gone, but for their untiring energy. by this time, david boone, besides being mad, was in a raging fever. the tenant of the house to which he had been taken was a friend, as well as a neighbour of his own--a greengrocer, named mrs craw, and she turned out to be a good samaritan, for she insisted on keeping boone in her house, and nursing him; asserting stoutly, and with a very red face (she almost always asserted things stoutly, and with a red face), that mister boone was one of 'er best an' holdest friends, as she wouldn't see 'im go to a hospital on charity--which she despised, so she did--as long as there was a spare bed in her 'ouse, so there was--which it wasn't as long as could be wished, considerin' mister boone's height; but that could be put right by knocking out the foot-board, and two cheers, so it could--and as long she had one copper to rub on another; no, though she was to be flayed alive for her hospitality. by which round statement, mrs craw was understood to imply a severe rebuke to mrs grab--another greengrocer over the way (and a widow)--who had been heard to say, during the progress of the fire, that it served boone right, and that she wouldn't give him a helping hand in his distress on any account whatever. why mrs grab was so bitter and mrs craw so humane is a matter of uncertainty; but it was generally believed that the former having had a matrimonial eye on boone, and that boone having expressed general objections to matrimony--besides having gone of late to mrs craw for his vegetables--had something to do with it. next day, d. gorman happened, quite in a casual way of course, to saunter into poorthing lane; and it was positively interesting to note-- as many people did note--the surprise and consternation with which he received the news of the fire from the people at the end of the lane who first met him, and who knew him well. "wery sad, ain't it, sir?" said a sympathetic barber. "he was sitch a droll dog too. he'll be quite a loss to the neighbourhood; won't he, sir?" "i hope he won't," said gorman, loud enough to be heard by several persons who lounged about their doors. "i hope to see him start afresh, an' git on better than ever, poor fellow; at least, i'll do all _i_ can to help him." "ah! you've helped him already, sir, more than once, i believe; at least so he told me," said the barber, with an approving nod. "well, so i have," returned gorman modestly, "but he may be assured that any trifle he owes me won't be called for just now. in fact, my small loan to him is an old debt, which i might have got any time these last six years, when he was flourishing; so i'm not going to press him now, poor fellow. he's ill, you say?" "yes, so i'm told; raither serious too." "that's very sad; where is he?" "with mrs craw, sir, the greengrocer." "ah, i'll go and see him. good-day." gorman passed on, with as much benignity thrown into his countenance as it could contain; and the barber observed, as he re-entered his shop, that, "that man was a better fellow than he looked." but gorman's intentions, whatever they might have been, were frustrated at that time; for he found boone in high fever, and quite delirious. he did not, however, quit the house without putting, as he expressed it, at least one spoke in his wheel; for he conducted himself in such a way towards mrs craw, and expressed so much feeling for her friend "and his," that he made quite a favourable impression on that worthy woman. he also left a sovereign, wherewith to purchase any little luxuries for the sick man, that might be conducive to his health and comfort, and went away with the assurance that he would look in to inquire for him as often as he could. chapter twenty nine. willie willders in difficulties. mr thomas tippet, beaming and perspiring as of old, was standing at his bench, chisel in hand, and willie willders was standing with his back to the fire, and his legs pretty wide apart; not because he preferred that _degage_ attitude, but because chips and puss were asleep side by side between his feet. it must not be supposed that although willie had changed so much since the first day he stood there, an equal change had taken place in mr tippet. by no means. he was a little stouter, perhaps, but in all other respects he was the same man. not a hair greyer, nor a wrinkle more. the workshop, too, was in exactly the same state, only a little more crowded in consequence of numerous models having been completed and shelved during the last seven years. there was, however something new in the shape of a desk with some half-finished plans upon it; for willie had gradually introduced a little genuine engineering into the business. at first, naturally enough, the boy had followed his employer's lead, and, as we have said before, being very ingenious, as well as enthusiastic, had entered with all his heart and head into the absurd schemes of his patron; but as he became older he grew wiser. he applied himself to reading and study at home in the evenings with indomitable perseverance. the result of his application was twofold. in the first place he discovered that he was very ignorant and that there existed a huge illimitable field of knowledge worth entering on seriously. his early training having been conducted (thanks to his mother) "in the fear of the lord," he regarded things that are spiritual, and have god and man's duty to him for their object, as part--the chief part--of that great field of knowledge; not as a separate field which may or may not be entered on according to taste. in the second place, he began to discover that his kind-hearted employer was a monomaniac. in other words, that, although sane enough in all other matters, he was absolutely mad in regard to mechanical discoveries and inventions, and that most of the latter were absolutely nonsensical. this second discovery induced him to prosecute his studies with all the more energy, in order that he might be prepared for the battle of life, in case his existing connection with mr tippet should be dissolved. his studies naturally took an engineering turn, and, being what is termed a thorough-going fellow, he did not rest until he had dived into mathematics so deep that we do not pretend to follow him, even in the way of description. architecture, surveying, shipbuilding, and cognate subjects, claimed and obtained his earnest attention; and year after year, on winter nights, did he sit at the side of the fire in the little house at notting hill, adding to his stores of knowledge on these subjects; while his meek old mother sat darning socks or patching male attire on the other side of the fire with full as much perseverance and assiduity. one consequence of this was that willie willders, having begun as a jack-of-all trades, pushed on until he became a philosopher-of-all-trades, and of many sciences too, so that it would have been difficult to find his match between charing cross and primrose hill. and willie was not changeable. true to his first love, he clung with all the ardour of youth to fire, fire-engines, and the fire-brigade. he would have become a member of the latter if he could, but that was in the circumstances impossible. he studied the subject, however, and knew its history and its working details from first to last. he did his best to invent new engines and improve on old ones; but in such matters he usually found that his inventions had been invented, and his improvements made and improved upon, long before. such checks, however, did not abate his ardour one jot. he persevered in his varied courses until he worked himself into a species of business which could exist only in london, which it would be difficult to describe, and which its practitioner styled "poly-artism" with as much boldness as if the word were in johnson's dictionary! standing on the hearth, as we have said, willie related to his friend all he knew in regard to the cattley family, and wound up with an anxious demand what was to be done for them. mr tippet, leaning on his bench and looking into willie's face with a benignant smile, said-- "done, my boy? why, help 'em of course." "ay, but how?" asked willie. "how?" cried mr tippet; "why, by giving 'em money. you are aware that i stopped their allowance because cattley senior went and drank it as soon as he got it, and cattley junior is able to support himself, and i was not until now aware that the poor daughter was killing herself to support her father; but as i do know it now i'll continue the allowance and increase it, and we shall give it into the daughter's hands, so that the father won't be able to mis-spend it." mr tippet's visage glowed with ardour as he stated this arrangement, but the glow was displaced by a look of anxiety as he observed that willie shook his head and looked as perplexed as ever. "if that plan would have availed i would have tried it long ago," said he, with a sad smile, "for my income is a pretty good one, thanks to you, sir--" "thanks to your own genius, willie, for the remarkable and prolific offshoots which you have caused to sprout from this dry old root," said mr tippet, interrupting, as he glanced round the room with an air of affection, which showed that he loved the root dearly, despite its age and dryness. "not the less thanks to you, sir," said willie, in the deferential tone which he had assumed involuntarily towards his patron almost from the commencement of their intercourse; "but z---a--miss cattley positively refuses to accept of money from anyone in charity, as long as she can work." "ah!" exclaimed mr tippet, shaking his head slowly, "pride, simple pride. not laudable pride, observe. she deceives herself, no doubt, into the belief that it is laudable, but it is not; for, when a girl cannot work without working herself into her grave, it is her duty _not_ to work, and it is the duty as well as the privilege of her friends to support her. truth is truth, willie, and we must not shrink from stating it because a few illogical thinkers are apt to misunderstand it, or because there are a number of mean-spirited wretches who would be too glad to say that they could not work without injuring their health if they could, by so doing, persuade their friends to support them. what! are those whom god has visited with weakness of body to be made to toil and moil far beyond their strength in order to prove that they do not belong to the class of deceivers and sycophants? yet public opinion in regard to this matter of what is called self-respect and proper pride compels many hundreds who urgently require assistance to refuse it, and dooms many of them to a premature grave, while it does not shut the maw of a single one of the other class. why, sir, miss cattley is committing suicide; and, in regard to her father, who is dependent on her, she is committing murder--murder, sir!" mr tippet's eyes flashed with indignation, and he drove the chisel deep down into the bench, as if to give point and force to his sentiment, as well as an illustration of the dreadful idea with which he concluded. willie admitted that there was much truth in mr tippet's observations, but did not quite agree with him in his sweeping condemnation of ziza. "however," continued mr tippet, resuming his quiet tone and benignant aspect, "i'll consider the matter. yes, i'll consider the matter and see what's to be done for 'em." he leaped from the bench with a quiet chuckle as he said this and began to saw vigorously, while willie went to his desk in the corner and applied himself to an abstruse calculation, considerably relieved in mind, for he had unbounded belief in the fertility of mr tippet's imagination, and he knew well that whatever that old gentleman promised he would certainly fulfil. chapter thirty. the best-laid plans. there were other men besides mr tippet who could be true to their promises when it suited them. d. gorman was true to his, in so far as they concerned david boone. he visited that unfortunate invalid so frequently, and brought him so many little "nice things" for the alleviation of his sufferings, and exhibited altogether such nervous anxiety about his recovery, that worthy mrs craw was quite overwhelmed, and said, in the fulness of her heart, that she never did see a kinder friend, or one who more flatly gave the lie-direct to his looks, which, she was bound to admit, were not prepossessing. but, despite his friend's solicitude, and his doctor's prescriptions, and his nurse's kindness, david boone continued steadily to sink, until at last the doctor gave it as his opinion that he would not recover. one afternoon, soon after the expression of this opinion, gorman called on his friend, and was shown as usual into his chamber. it was a wet, cold, stormy afternoon, and the window rattled violently in its frame. boone was much better that afternoon. it seemed as if he had just waited for the doctor to pronounce his unfavourable opinion in order to have the satisfaction of contradicting it. "he's better to-day, sir," said mrs craw, in a whisper. "better!" exclaimed gorman with a look of surprise, "i'm glad to hear that--very glad." he looked as if he were very sorry, but then, as mrs craw said, his looks belied him. "he's asleep now, sir; the doctor said if he slept he was on no account to be waked up, so i'll leave you to sit by him, sir, till he wakes, and, please, be as quiet as you can." mrs craw left the room on tip-toe, and gorman went to the bedside and looked on the sick man's wasted features with a frown. "ha! you're asleep, are you, and not to be waked up--eh? come, i'll rouse you." he shook him violently by the shoulder, and boone awoke with a start and a groan. "hope i didn't disturb you, boone," said his friend in a quiet voice. "i came to inquire for you." boone started up in his bed and stared wildly at some object which appeared to be at the foot of the bed. gorman started too, and turned pale as his eyes followed those of the invalid. "what is it you see, boone?" "there, there!" he whispered hoarsely, clutching gorman's arm as if for protection, "look, i heard his voice just now; oh! save me from that man; he--he--wants to kill me!" "come, david," said gorman soothingly, "it's only a fancy--there's nobody there--nobody in the room but me." "and who are you?" inquired the sick man, falling back exhausted, while he gazed vacantly at his friend. "don't you know me, david?" "never mind, shut your eyes now and try to sleep. it'll be time to take your physic soon." "physic!" cried boone, starting up in alarm, and again clutching gorman's arm. "you won't let _him_ give it me, will you? oh! say you won't--promise to give it me yourself!" gorman promised, and a very slight but peculiar smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he did so. boone again sank back on his pillow, and gorman sat down on a chair beside him. his villainous features worked convulsively, for in his heart he was meditating a terrible deed. that morning he had been visited by ned hooper, who in the most drunken of voices told him, "that it wash 'mposh'ble to git a body f'r love or munny, so if 'e wanted one he'd better cut's own throat." his plans having miscarried in this matter, gorman now meditated taking another and more decided step. he looked at the sick man, and, seeing how feeble he was, his fingers twitched as if with a desire to strangle him. so strong was the feeling upon him that he passed his fingers nervously about his own throat, as if to ascertain the formation of it and the precise locality of the windpipe. then his hand dropped to his side, and he sat still again, while boone rolled his poor head from side to side and moaned softly. evening drew on apace, and the shadows in the sick-room gradually became deeper and deeper until nothing could be seen distinctly. still gorman sat there, with his features pale as death, and his fingers moving nervously; and still the sick man lay and rolled his head from side to side on the pillow. once or twice gorman rose abruptly, but he as often sat down again without doing anything. suddenly a ray of bright light shot through the window. gorman started and drew back in alarm. it was only a lamp-lighter who had lighted one of the street-lamps, and the ray which he had thus sent into the sick-chamber passed over the bed. it did not disturb boone, for the curtains were between him and it, but it disturbed gorman, for it fell on the chimney-piece and illuminated a group of phials, one of which, half full of a black liquid, was labelled "_poison_!" gorman started up, and this time did not sit down, but with a trembling step moved to the fireplace. he stretched out his hand to grasp the bottle, and almost overturned it, for just at the moment his own figure intercepted the ray of light, and threw the spot where it stood into deep shadow. "what's that?" asked boone. "it's only me," said gorman, "getting you your physic. i almost upset it in the dark. here now, drink it off. i can't find the cup, but you can take it out of the bottle." "you won't let _him_ come near when you give it, will you?" asked boone anxiously. "no, no; come, open your mouth." boone hesitated to do so, but gorman used a little force. his hands were steady now! his heart was steeled to the deed, and the cry which boone was about to utter was choked by the liquid flowing down his throat. gorman had flung him back with such violence that he lay stunned, while the murderer replaced the bottle on the chimney-piece and hurried to the door. a gentle knock at it arrested him, but his indecision was momentary. he opened the door softly, and going out, said to mrs craw in a whisper-- "he's sleeping now. i found it hard to get him to give up talking, for he waked up soon after i went in; but he's all right now. i suppose the medicine is beginning to operate; he told me he took it himself just before i came in." "took it himself!" exclaimed mrs craw. "impossible." "well, i don't know, but he's better now. i would let him rest a while if i were you." "stay, sir! i'll go fetch a light," said mrs craw. "never mind; i know the stair well," said gorman hurriedly; "don't mind a light; i shan't want it." he was right. if any man ever wanted darkness rather than light--thick, heavy, impenetrable darkness--it was d. gorman at that time. "took it himself!" repeated mrs craw in unabated surprise as she closed the street door. "it's impossible. he's got no more strength than an unborn hinfant. i must go an' see to this." lighting a candle, she went softly into the sick chamber and looked at the invalid, who was apparently asleep, but breathing heavily. she then went to the chimney-piece and began to examine the phials there. "my!" she exclaimed suddenly, with a look of alarm, "if he han't bin an' drunk up all the tinctur' o' rhubarb! an' the laudanum-bottle standin' close beside it too! _what_ a mercy he didn't drink that! well, lucky for him there wasn't much in it, for an overdose of anything in his state would be serious." full of her discovery, mrs craw set the candle on the table, and sat down on the chair by the bedside to think about it; but the more she thought about it the more puzzled she was. "took it himself," she said, reverting to gorman's words. "impossible!" she continued to shake her head and mutter "impossible" for some time, while she stared at the candle as if she expected that _it_ would solve the mystery. then she got up and examined the bedclothes, and found that a good deal of the rhubarb had been spilt on the sheets, and that a good deal more of it had been spilt on boone's chin and chest; after which her aspect changed considerably, as, setting down the candle, she resumed her seat and said-- "took it himself! impossible!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ darkness! if ever a man sought darkness in vain, and found light, bright blazing light, everywhere, it was gorman. at first, in a burst of frenzy, he rushed away at full speed. it was well for him that the wind had increased to a hurricane and the rain was blinding, else had he been stopped on suspicion, so fierce was his mien, so haggard his look, so wild his race. gradually his pace slackened, and gradually as well as naturally he gravitated to his old familiar haunts; but go where he would, there was light everywhere except within his own breast. it was all darkness there. it is true the sky was dark enough, for the war of elements was so great that it seemed to have been blotted out with ink, but the shops appeared to have been lit up more brilliantly than usual. every lamp poured a flood of light around it. the lanterns of the cabs and omnibuses sent rich beams of light through the air, and the air itself, laden as it was with moisture, absorbed a portion of light, and invested everything with a halo. light, light! all round, and the light of conscience within rendering the darkness there visible, and shining on the letters of a word written in dark red--"murderer!" gorman tried to extinguish the light, but it was a fire that would not be put out. he cursed the shop-windows and the lamps for shining so brightly on him; he cursed the few people whose curiosity induced them to pause and look back at him, and he cursed himself for being such a fool. on reaching cheapside he began to recover his self-possession, and to walk in the storm as other men did. but in proportion as his composure returned the enormity of his crime became more apparent to him, and the word written in red letters became so bright that he felt as if every passer-by must read it, unless he dropt his eyes to prevent their seeing through them into his soul. at london bridge he became nervously apprehensive. each unusually quick footstep startled him. every policeman was carefully avoided, and anything approaching to a shout behind caused him to start into an involuntary run. despite his utmost efforts to control himself, the strong man was unmanned; a child could have made him fly. he was about to cross london bridge, when he observed a policeman taking shelter under the parapet, and apparently watching those who passed him. gorman could not make up his mind to go on, so he turned aside and descended the nearest stairs. the policeman had doubtless been watching for someone, or suspected gorman because of his undecided movements, for he followed him. the latter observed this and quickened his pace. the instant he was hidden from his pursuer, he darted away at full speed, and did not halt until he stood at the foot of one of the stairs where wherries are usually to be found. the sight that met his gaze there might have overawed the most reckless of men. a hurricane was raging such as is not often experienced in our favoured island. the wind blew, not in gusts and squalls, but in one continuous roar, lashing the thames into crested waves, tearing ships from their moorings, and dashing them against other ships, which were likewise carried away, and swept downward with the tide. dozens of barges were sunk, and the shrieks of their crews were heard sometimes rising above the storm. the gale was at its height when gorman came into full view of the thames. a waterman, who was crouching for shelter in the angle of a warehouse, observed him, and came forward. "an awful night, sir," he said. "yes," answered gorman curtly. he started as he spoke, for he heard, or he fancied he heard, a shout behind him. "is that your boat?" said he. "it is," replied the waterman in surprise, "you don't want to go on the water on such a night, do you?" "yes, i do," said gorman, trembling in every limb; "come, jump in, and shove off." at that moment a policeman came running down towards them. "are you mad?" exclaimed the man, grasping gorman by the arm as he sprang toward the boat. in a moment, gorman struck him to the ground, and leaping into the boat pushed off, just as the policeman came up. he was whirled away instantly. grasping one of the oars, he was just in time to prevent the boat being dashed against one of the wooden piers of a wharf. he was desperate now. shipping both oars he pulled madly out into the stream, but in a few moments he was swept against the port-bow of a large vessel, against the stem of which the water was curling as if the ship had been breasting the atlantic waves before a stiff breeze. one effort gorman made to avoid the collision, then he leaped up, and just as the boat struck, sprang at the fore-chains. he caught them and held on, but his hold was not firm; the next moment he was rolling along the vessel's side, tearing it with his nails in the vain attempt to grasp the smooth hull. he struck against the bow of the vessel immediately behind and was swept under it. rising to the surface, he uttered a wild shriek, and attempted to stem the current. he was a powerful swimmer, and despair lent him energy to buffet the waves for a short time; but he was again swept away by the irresistible tide, and had almost given up hope of being saved, when his forehead was grazed by a rope which hung from a vessel's side. seizing this, he held on, and with much difficulty succeeded in gaining the vessel's deck. with his safety gorman's fear of being captured returned. he hid himself behind some lumber, and while in this position wrung some of the water out of his clothes. in a few minutes he summoned courage to look about him, and discovered that the vessel was connected with the one that lay next to it by a plank. no one appeared to be moving, and it was so dark that he could not see more than four or five yards before him. to pass from one vessel to the other was the work of a few seconds. finding that the second vessel lay moored to the quay, he sprang from it with all his might and alighted safely on the shore. from the position of the shipping he knew that he stood on the south bank of the river, having been swept right across the thames, so he had now no further difficulty in hiding his guilty head in his own home. chapter thirty one. new lights of various kinds. time sped on apace, and in its train came many changes. to the confusion of the doctor and despite the would-be murderer, david boone recovered. but that brought no relief to gorman, whose remorse increased daily, insomuch that he became, if not quite, very nearly, insane, and his fear of being caught was so great that he never ventured near the quarter of london in which boone dwelt. he therefore remained in ignorance of the failure of his murderous attempt. what would he not have given to have known the truth! to have had the dreadful _word_ removed from the light which shone upon it brighter and brighter every day until it was made red-hot, as it were, and became within him as a consuming fire! preferring darkness to light more than ever, gorman kept in secret places during the day, and only ventured out, with other human vultures, at night. the wretched man feared the darkness, too, although he sought it, and what between the darkness that he feared yet courted, and the light that he feared and fled from, and the light within that he feared but could not fly from, he became one of the most miserable of all the outcasts in london. as for his deep-laid plans they were all scattered to the winds. in the presumption of ignorance he had fancied that he knew his own power, and so in one sense he did, but he was not aware of his own want of power. he knew, indeed, that he had the brute courage to dare and do anything desperate or dastardly, but he did not know that he lacked the moral courage to bear the consequences of his deeds. the insurance policies, therefore, lay unclaimed--even uncared for! another change for the worse effected by time was the death of loo auberly. gradually and gently her end approached. death was so slow in coming that it was long expected, yet it was so _very_ slow that when it came at last it took her friends by surprise. james auberly continued stiff and stately to the last. he refused to believe that his child was dying, and spared no expense to provide everything that money could procure to restore her health. he also refused to be reconciled to his son fred, who had succeeded in his loved profession beyond his expectations, and who had sought, again and again, to propitiate his father. at last fred resolved to go abroad and study the works of the ancient masters. he corresponded regularly with loo for some time, but his letters suddenly ceased to make their appearance, and nothing was heard of him for many months. during the long and weary illness loo had three friends whose visits were to her soul like gleams of sunshine on a cloudy day--miss tippet, emma ward, and a poor artificial-flower maker named ziza cattley. those three, so different yet so like, were almost equally agreeable to the poor invalid. miss tippet was "_so_ funny but so good," and emma's sprightly nature seemed to charm away her pain for a time; while grave, gentle, earnest ziza made her happy during her visits, and left a sensation of happiness after she went away. all three were equally untiring in talking with her about the "old, old story"--the love of jesus christ. yes, it comes to this at last, if not at first, with all of us. even the professed infidel, laugh as he may in the spring-tide of life, usually listens to that "old, old story" when life's tide is very low, if not with faith at least with seriousness, and with a hope that it may be true. _may_ be true! why, if the infidel would only give one tithe of the time and trouble and serious inquiry to the investigation of that same old story and its credentials that he gives so freely to the study of the subtleties of his art or profession, he would find that there is no historical fact whatever within his ken which can boast of anything like the amount or strength of evidence in favour of its truth, that exists in favour of the truth of the story of the life, death, and resurrection of jesus christ our lord. when loo died the stateliness and stiffness of james auberly gave way, and the stern man, leaning his head upon the coffin, as he sat alone in the darkened room, wept as if he had been a little child. there was yet another change brought about by that great overturner time. but as the change to which we refer affects those who have yet to take a prominent part in our tale, we will suffer them to speak for themselves. one afternoon, long after the occurrence of those changes to which reference has just been made, mrs willders, while seated quietly at her own fireside (although there was no fire there, the month being june), was interrupted in her not unusual, though innocent, occupation of darning socks by the abrupt entrance of her son frank, who flung his cap on the table, kissed his mother on the forehead, and then flung himself on the sofa, which piece of furniture, being old and decrepit, groaned under his weight. "mother," he exclaimed with animation, "i've got strange news to tell you. is willie at home?" "no, but i expect him every minute. he promised to come home earlier to-day, and won't be long, for he is a boy of his word." mrs willders persisted in calling her strapping sons "boys," despite the evidence to the contrary on their cheeks and chins. "here he comes!" cried frank, as a rapid step was heard. next moment the door burst open and willie, performing much the same ceremony that frank had done, and in a wonderfully similar way, said he had come home with something strange to tell, though not altogether strange either, as his mother, he said, knew something about it already. mrs willders smiled and glanced at frank. "which is to begin first?" she asked. "what! do you know about it, too?" cried willie, turning to his brother. "_know_ about what?" said frank. "you have not told me what it is; how can i answer you?" "about mr auberly," said willie. frank said that he knew nothing new or peculiar about _him_, except that he was--no, he wouldn't say anything bad of him, for he must be a miserable man at that time. "but out with your news, willie," he added, "mine will keep; and as yours is, according to yourself, partly known already to my mother, it's as well to finish off one subject before we begin to another." "oh, then, you have news, too, have you?" said willie. frank nodded. "strange coincidence!" exclaimed willie. "did you ever hear of a coincidence that was not strange, lad? go on with your news, else i'll begin before you." thus admonished, willie began. "oh, mother, you're a nice deceiver; you're a sly old lady, ain't you? and you sit there with a face as meek and sweet and smiling as if you had never deceived anybody in all your life, not to speak of your two sons. o, fy!" as mrs willders still smiled and went on with her knitting serenely, without vouchsafing a reply, willie continued with an off-hand air--"well, then, i may as well tell you that i have just had an interview with _uncle_ auberly--hallo! you seem surprised." mrs willders was indeed surprised. her serenity of aspect fled in an instant. "oh, willie, how comes it that you know? i'm sure i did not mean to tell you. i promised i never would. i must have let it out inadvertently, or when i was asleep." "make yourself quite easy, mother," said willie; "i'll explain it all presently. just go on with your knitting, and don't put yourself into a state." the widow, recovering herself a little, resumed her work, and frank, who had listened with an amused smile up to this point--supposing that his brother was jesting--elongated his face and opened his eyes wider and wider as he listened. "you must know," resumed willie, "that i received a note from mr auberly last night, asking me to call on him some time this afternoon. so i went, and found him seated in his library. poor man, he has a different look now from what he had when i went last to see him. you know i have hardly ever seen him since that day when i bamboozled him so about `another boy' that he expected to call. but his spirit is not much improved, i fear. `sit down, mr willders,' he said. `i asked you to call in reference to a matter which i think it well that the parties concerned should understand thoroughly. your brother frank, i am told, has had the presumption to pay his addresses to miss ward, the young lady who lives with my relative, miss tippet.' `yes, mr auberly,' i replied, `and miss ward has had the presumption to accept him--'" "it was wrong of you to answer so," interrupted mrs willders, shaking her head. "wrong, mother! how could i help it? was i going to sit there and hear him talk of frank's presumption as if he were a chimney-sweep?" "mr auberly thinks miss ward above him in station, and so deems his aspiring to her hand presumption," replied the widow gently. "besides, you should have remembered the respect due to age." "well, but, mother," said willie, defending himself, "it was very impudent of him, and i did speak very respectfully to him in tone if not in words. the fact is i felt nettled, for, after all, what is miss ward? the society she mingles in is miss tippet's society, and that's not much to boast of; and her father, i believe, was a confectioner--no doubt a rich one, that kept his carriage before he failed, and left his daughter almost a beggar. but riches don't make a gentleman or a lady either, mother; i'm sure you've often told me that, and explained that education, and good training, and good feelings, and polite manners, and consideration for others, were the true foundations of gentility. if that be so, mother, there are many gentlemen born who are not gentlemen bred, and many lowly born who--" "come, lad, don't bamboozle your mother with sophistries," interrupted frank, "but go on to the point, and don't be so long about it." "well, mother," resumed willie, "mr auberly gave me a harder rebuke than you have done, for he made no reply to my speech at all, but went on as quietly and coolly as if i had not opened my lips. `now,' said he, `i happen to have a particular regard for miss ward. i intend to make her my heir, and i cannot consent to her union with a man who has _nothing_.' `mr auberly,' said i (and i assure you, mother, i said this quite respectfully), `my brother is a man who has little _money_, no doubt, but he has a good heart and a good head and a strong arm; an arm, too, which has saved life before now.' i stopped at that, for i saw it went home. `quite true,' he replied; `i do not forget that he saved my lost child's life; but--but--the thing is outrageous--that a penniless man should wed the lady who is to be my heir! no, sir, i sent for you to ask you to say to your brother from me, that however much i may respect him i will not consent to this union, and if it goes on despite my wishes i shall not leave miss ward a shilling.' he had worked himself up into a rage by this time, and as i felt i would only make matters worse if i spoke, i held my tongue; except that i said i would deliver his message at once, as i expected to meet my brother at home. he seemed sorry for having been so sharp, however, and when i was about to leave him he tried to smile, and said, `i regret to have to speak thus to you, sir, but i felt it to be my duty. you talk of meeting your brother to-night at home; do you not live together?' `no, sir,' i replied; `my brother lodges close to his station, and i live with my mother in notting hill.' "`notting hill!' he cried, falling back in his chair as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt. `your mother,' he gasped, `mrs willders--my sister-in-law--the waterman's widow?' `a _sailor's_ widow, sir,' said i, `who is proud of the husband, who rose to the top of his profession.' "`why did you deceive me, sir?' cried mr auberly, with a sudden frown. `i would have undeceived you,' said i, `when we first met, but you dismissed me abruptly at that time, and would not hear me out. since then, i have not thought it worth while to intrude on you in reference to so small a matter--for i did not know till this day that we are related.' he frowned harder than ever at this, and bit his lip, and then said, `well, young man, _this_ will make no difference, i assure you. i desire you to convey my message to your brother. leave me now.' i was just on the point of saying `good-bye, uncle,' but he covered his face with his hands, and looked so miserable, that i went out without a word more. there, you've got the whole of _my_ story. what think you of it?" "it's a curious one, and very unexpected, at least by me," said frank, "though, as you said, part of it must have been known to mother, who, no doubt, had good reasons for concealing it from us; but i rather think that my story will surprise you more, and it's a better one than yours, willie, in this respect, that it is shorter." "come, then, out with it," said willie, with a laugh; "why, this is something like one of the arabian nights' entertainments." "well, mother," said frank, laying his hand gently on the widow's shoulder, "you shan't darn any more socks if i can help it, for i'm a man of fortune now!" "how, frank?" said mrs willders, with a puzzled look. "the fact is, mother, that mrs denman, the poor old lady whom i carried down the escape, i forget how many years ago, is dead, and has left me her fortune, which, i believe, amounts to something like twenty thousand pounds!" "you _don't_ mean that!" cried willie, starting up. "indeed, i do," said frank earnestly. "then long life to ye, my boy!" cried willie, wringing his brother's hand, "and success to the old--well, no, i don't exactly mean that, but if she were alive i would say my blessing on the old lady. i wish you joy, old fellow! i say, surely the stately man won't object to the penniless fireman now--ha! ha! well, it's like a dream; but tell us all about it, frank." "there is very little to tell, lad. i got a very urgent message the day before yesterday to go to see an old lady who was very ill. i obtained leave for an hour, and went at once, not knowing who it was till i got there, when i found that it was mrs denman. she looked very ill, and i do assure you i felt quite unmanned when i looked into her little old face. `young man,' she said in a low voice, `you saved my life; i am dying, and have sent for you to thank you. god bless you.' she put out her thin hand and tried to shake mine, but it was too feeble; she could only press her fingers on it. that was all that passed, and i returned to the station feeling quite in low spirits, i do assure you. well, next day a little man in black called, and said he wished to have a few words with me. so i went out, and he introduced himself as the old lady's lawyer, told me that she was gone, and that she had, almost with her last breath, made him promise to go, the moment she was dead, and see the fireman who had saved her life, and tell him that she had left her fortune to him. he congratulated me; said that there were no near relations to feel aggrieved or to dispute my rights, and that, as soon as the proper legal steps had been taken--the debts and legacies paid, etcetera,--he would have the pleasure of handing over the balance, which would probably amount to twenty thousand pounds." "it's like a dream," said willie. "so it is," replied frank, "but it's well that it is not a dream, for if i had been the penniless man that mr auberly thinks me, i would have been obliged in honour to give up emma ward." "give her up!" exclaimed willie in amazement. "why?" "why! because i could not think of standing in the way of her good fortune." "oh, frank! oh, blazes," said willie sadly, "has money told on you so fearfully already? do you think that _she_ would give _you_ up for the sake of auberly's dross?" "i believe not, lad; but--but--well--never mind, we won't be troubled with the question now. but, mother, you don't seem to think much of my good fortune." "i do think much of it, frank; it has been sent to you by the lord, and therefore is to be received with thanksgiving. but sudden good fortune of this kind is very dangerous. it makes me anxious as well as glad." at that moment there came a loud knocking at the door, which startled mrs willders, and caused willie to leap up and rush to open it. frank rose and put on his cap with the quiet promptitude of a man accustomed to alarms. "that's a fire, mother; the kind of knock is quite familiar to me now. don't be alarmed; we hear that kind of thing about two or three times a day at the station; they knew i was here, and have sent a messenger." "a fire!" cried willie, running into the room in great excitement. "tut, lad," said frank, with a smile, as he nodded to his mother and left the room, "you'd never do for a fireman, you're too excitable. where's the messenger?--ah, here you are. well, where is it?" "tooley street," exclaimed a man, whose condition showed that he had run all the way. frank started, and looked very grave as he said hurriedly to his brother-- "good-night, lad. i won't likely be able to get out to-morrow to talk over this matter of the fortune. fires are usually bad in that neighbourhood. look well after mother. good-night." in another moment he was gone. and well might frank look grave, for when a fireman is called to a fire in tooley street, or any part of the docks, he knows that he is about to enter into the thickest of the great fight. to ordinary fires he goes light-heartedly--as a bold trooper gallops to a skirmish, but to a fire in the neighbourhood of the docks he goes with something of the feeling which must fill the breast of every brave soldier on the eve of a great battle. chapter thirty two. the fire in tooley street. one of those great calamities which visit us once or twice, it may be, in a century, descended upon london on saturday, the nd of june, . it was the sudden, and for the time, overwhelming, attack of an old and unconquerable enemy, who found us, as usual, inadequately prepared to meet him. fire has fought with us and fed upon us since we became a nation, and yet, despite all our efforts, its flames are at this day more furious than ever. there are more fires daily in london now than there ever were before. has this foe been properly met? is a question which naturally arises out of this fact. referring to the beautiful organisation of the present fire brigade, the ability of its chiefs and the courage of its men, the answer is, yes, decidedly. but referring to the strength of the brigade; to the munitions of war in the form of water; to the means of conveyance in the form of mains; to the system of check in the shape of an _effective_ act in reference to partition-walls and moderately-sized warehouses; to the means of prevention in the shape of prohibitions and regulations in regard to inflammable substances-- referring to all these things, the answer to the question, "has the foe been properly met?" is emphatically, _no_. it is not sufficient to reply that a special inquiry has been made into this subject; that steps are being actually taken to remedy the evils of our system (or rather of our want of system) of fire prevention. good may or may not result from this inquiry: that is yet to be seen. meanwhile, the public ought to be awakened more thoroughly to the fact that an enemy is and always has been abroad in our land, who might be, _if we chose_, more effectively checked; who, if he has not yet attacked our own particular dwelling, may take us by surprise any day when we least expect him, and who does at all times very materially diminish our national wealth and increase our public burdens. perhaps we should not style _fire_ an enemy, but a mutinous servant, who does his work faithfully and well, except when neglected or abused! about five o'clock on saturday afternoon intelligence of the outbreak of fire in tooley street reached the headquarters of the brigade in watling street. fire in tooley street! the mere summons lent energy to the nerves and spring to the muscles of the firemen. not that tooley street in itself is more peculiarly dangerous in regard to fire than are the other streets of shops in the city. but tooley street lies in dangerous neighbourhood. the streets between it and the thames, and those lying immediately to the west of it, contain huge warehouses and bonded stores, which are filled to suffocation with the "wealth of nations." dirty streets and narrow lanes here lead to the fountain-head of wealth untold--almost inconceivable. the elegant filigree-work of west end luxury may here be seen unsmelted, as it were, and in the ore. at the same time the rich substances on which fire feeds and fattens are stored here in warehouses which (as they are) should never have been built, and in proximities which should never have been permitted. examine the wharves--brooks' wharf, beal's wharf, cotton's wharf, chamberlain's wharf, freeman's wharf, griffin's wharf, stanton's wharf, and others. investigate the lanes--hay's lane, mill lane, morgan's lane; and the streets--bermondsey, dockhead, pickle herring street, horsleydown, and others--and there, besides the great deposit and commission warehouses which cover acres of ground, and are filled from basement to ridge-pole with the commodities and combustibles of every clime, you will find huge granaries and stores of lead, alum, drugs, tallow, chicory, flour, rice, biscuit, sulphur, and saltpetre, mingled with the warehouses of cheese-agents, ham-factors, provision merchants, tarpaulin-dealers, oil and colour merchants, etcetera. in fact, the entire region seems laid out with a view to the raising of a bonfire or a pyrotechnic display on the grandest conceivable scale. little wonder, then, that the firemen of watling street turned out all their engines, including two of shand and mason's new land-steam fire-engines, which had at that time just been brought into action. little wonder that the usual request for a man from each station was changed into an urgent demand for every man that could possibly be spared. the fire began in the extensive wharves and warehouses known as cotton's wharf, near london bridge, and was first observed in a warehouse over a counting-room by some workmen, who at once gave the alarm, and attempted to extinguish it with some buckets of water. they were quickly driven back, however, by the suffocating smoke, which soon filled the various floors so densely that no one could approach the seat of the fire. mr braidwood, who was early on the spot, saw at a glance that a pitched battle was about to be fought, and, like a wise general, concentrated all the force at his command. expresses were sent for the more distant brigade engines, and these came dashing up, one after another, at full speed. the two powerful steam floating-engines which guard the thames from fire were moored off the wharf, two lengths of hose attached to them, and led on shore and brought to bear on the fire. a number of land-engines took up a position in tooley street, ready for action, but these were compelled to remain idle for nearly an hour _before water was obtainable from the fire-plugs_. o london! with all your wealth and wisdom, how strange that such words can be truly written of you! the vessels which were lying at the wharf discharging and loading were hauled out of danger into the stream. in course of time the engines were in full play, but the warehouse burst into flames from basement to roof in spite of them, and ere long eight of the great storehouses were burning furiously. the flames made rapid work of it, progressing towards the line of warehouses facing the river, and to the lofty building which adjoined on the tooley street side. dale and his men were quickly on the scene of action, and had their engine soon at work. before long, frank willders joined them. they were playing in at the windows of a large store, which was burning so furiously that the interior appeared to be red-hot. "relieve corney, lad," said dale, as frank came forward. "och, it's time!" cried corney, delivering up the branch to frank and moxey; "sure baxmore and me are melted intirely." frank made no reply. he and moxey directed the branch which the others resigned, turning their backs as much as possible on the glowing fire, and glancing at it over their shoulders; for it was too hot to be faced. just then the chief of the brigade came up. "it's of no use, sir," said dale; "we can't save these." "true, dale, true," said mr braidwood, in a quick, but quiet tone; "this block is doomed. take your lads round to the nor'-east corner; we must try to prevent it spreading." as he surveyed the progress of the fire, with a cool, practical eye, and hurried off to another part of the battle-field to post his men to best advantage, little did the leader of the forces think that he was to be the first to fall that day! engines were now playing on the buildings in all directions; but the flames were so fierce that they made no visible impression on them, and even in the efforts made to check their spreading, little success appeared to attend them at first. warehouse after warehouse ignited. to make matters worse, a fresh breeze sprang up, and fanned the flames into redoubled fury; so that they quickly caught hold of vast portions of the premises occupied by the firm of scovell and company. "there's not a chance," said frank to dale, while he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and sat down for a few seconds to recover breath; for he had just issued from a burning building, driven back by heat and smoke-- "there's not a chance of saving that block; all the iron doors that were meant to keep the fire from spreading have been left open by the workmen!" "chance or no chance, we must do our best," said dale. "come, lad, with me; i think we may get at a door inside the next warehouse, through which we might bring the branch to bear. are you able?" "all right," exclaimed frank, leaping up, and following his leader through the smoke. "have a care!" cried frank, pausing as a tremendous explosion caused the ground to tremble under their feet. "it's sulphur or saltpetre," said dale, pushing on; "there are tons upon tons of that stuff in the cellars all round." this was indeed the case. it was said that upwards of , tons of saltpetre were in the vaults at the time; and several explosions had already taken place, though fortunately, without doing injury to any one. dale had already partially examined the warehouse, into which he now led frank; and, therefore, although it was full of smoke, he moved rapidly along the narrow and intricate passages between the bales of goods, until he reached an iron door. "here it is; we'll open this and have a look," he said, grasping the handle and swinging the heavy door open. instantly, a volume of black smoke drove both the men back, almost suffocating them. they could not speak; but each knew that the re-closing of that iron door was all-important, for the fire had got nearer to it than dale had imagined. they both darted forward; but were again driven back, and had to rush to the open air for breath. frank recovered before his comrade, in consequence of the latter having made a more strenuous and prolonged effort to close the door which he had so unfortunately opened. without a moment's hesitation, he sprang into the warehouse again; regained and partially closed the door, when the stifling smoke choked him, and he fell to the ground. a few seconds later, dale followed him, and found him there. applying his great strength with almost superhuman energy to the door, it shut with a crash, and the communication between the buildings was cut off! dale then seized frank by the collar, and dragged him into the open air, when he himself almost sank to the ground. fresh air, however, soon restored them both, and in a few minutes they were actively engaged at another part of the building. bravely and perseveringly though this was done, it availed not, for nothing could withstand the fury of the fire. the warehouse caught, and was soon a glowing mass like the others, while the flames raged with such violence that their roaring drowned the shouting of men, and the more distant roar of the innumerable multitude that densely covered london bridge, and clustered on every eminence from which a safe view of the great fire could be obtained. the floating fire-engines had now been at work for some time, and the men in charge of their branches were suffering greatly from the intense heat. about this time, nearly seven o'clock in the evening, mr braidwood went to these men to give them a word of encouragement. he proceeded down one of the approaches to the river from tooley street, and stopped when nearly half way to give some directions, when a sudden and tremendous explosion, took place, shaking the already tottering walls, which at this place were of great height. a cry was raised, "run! the wall is falling!" every one sprang away at the word. the wall bulged out at the same time; and one of the firemen, seeing that mr braidwood was in imminent danger, made a grasp at him as he was springing from the spot; but the heavy masses of brick-work dashed him away, and, in another moment, the gallant chief of the fire brigade lay buried under at least fifteen feet of burning ruin. any attempt at rescue would have been impossible as well as unavailing, for death must have been instantaneous. the hero's warfare with the flames, which had lasted for upwards of thirty-eight years, was ended; and his brave spirit returned to god who gave it. that a man of no ordinary note had fallen was proved, before many hours had passed, by the deep and earnest feeling of sorrow and sympathy which was manifested by all classes in london, from queen victoria downwards, as well as by the public funeral which took place a few days afterwards, at which were present the duke of sutherland, the earl of caithness, the reverend doctor cumming, and many gentlemen connected with the insurance offices; the committee and men of the london fire brigade; also those of various private and local brigades; the secretary and conductors of the royal society for the protection of life from fire; the mounted metropolitan and city police; the london rifle brigade (of which mr braidwood's three sons were members); the superintendents and men of the various water companies; and a long string of private and mourning carriages: to witness the progress of which hundreds of thousands of people densely crowded the streets and clustered in the windows and on every available eminence along the route; while in cheapside almost all the shops were shut and business was suspended; and in the neighbourhood of shoreditch toiling thousands of artisans came forth from factory and workshop to "see the last of braidwood," whose name had been so long familiar to them as a "household word." the whole heart of london seemed to have been moved by one feeling, and the thousands who thronged the streets "had" (in the language of one of the papers of the day) "gathered together to witness the funeral, not of a dead monarch, not of a great warrior, not of a distinguished statesman, not even of a man famous in art, in literature, or in science, but simply of james braidwood, late superintendent of the london fire-engine establishment"--a true hero, and one who was said, by those who knew him best, to be an earnest christian man. but at the moment of his fall his men were engaged in the thick of battle. crushing though the news of his death was, there was no breathing time to realise it. the fierce heat had not only driven back the firemen on shore, but had compelled the floating fire-engines to haul off, in consequence of the flaming matter which poured over the wharf wall and covered the surface of the river the entire length of the burning warehouses; while the whole of the carriageway of tooley street was ankle deep in hot oil and tallow. after the fall of their chief, messrs. henderson and fogo, two of the principal officers of the brigade, did their utmost to direct the energies of the men. night closed in, and the flames continued to rage in all their fury and magnificence. news of this great fire spread with the utmost rapidity over the metropolis. indeed, it was visible at hampstead while it was yet daylight. when darkness set in, one of the most extraordinary scenes that london ever produced was witnessed. from all quarters the people came pouring in, on foot, in omnibus, cab, pleasure-van, cart, and waggon--all converging to london bridge. at nine o'clock the bridge and its approaches presented all the appearance of the epsom road on the derby day. cabs and 'buses plied backwards and forwards on the bridge all night, carrying an unlimited number of passengers at pence and pence each, and thousands of persons spent the night in thus passing to and fro. the railway terminus, billingsgate market, the roof of the coal exchange, the monument, the quays, the windows, the house-tops, the steeples, and the chimney-stalks--all were crowded with human beings, whose eager upturned faces were rendered intensely bright against the surrounding darkness by the fierce glare of the fire. but the thames presented the most singular appearance of all--now reflecting on its bosom the inky black clouds of smoke; anon the red flames, as fresh fuel was licked up by the devouring element, and, occasionally, sheets of silver light that flashed through the chaos when sulphur and saltpetre explosions occurred. mountains of flame frequently burst away from the mass of burning buildings and floated upward for a few moments, and the tallow and tar which flowed out of the warehouses floated away blazing with the tide and set the shipping on fire, so that land and water alike seemed to be involved in one huge terrific conflagration. the utmost consternation prevailed on board the numerous craft on the river in the vicinity of the fire, for thick showers of sparks and burning materials fell incessantly. gusts of wind acted on the ruins now and then, and at such moments the gaunt walls, cracked and riven out of shape, stood up, glowing with intense white heat in the midst of a sea of fire from which red flames and dark clouds of smoke were vomited, as from the crater of some mighty volcano, with a roar that mingled with the shouts of excited thousands, and drowned even the dull incessant thumpings of the engines that worked in all directions. moored alongside of chamberlain's wharf was a small sloop. little blue blisters of light broke out on her rigging; soon these increased in size, and in a few minutes she was on fire from stem to stern. immediately after, there came a barge with flowing sails, borne on the rising tide. she passed too near to the conflagration. her crew of three men became panic-stricken and lost control of her. at sight of this a great shout was raised, and a boat put off and rescued the crew; but almost before they were landed their barge was alight from stem to stern. the tremendous cheer that burst from the excited multitude at sight of this rescue rose for a moment above the roaring of the conflagration. then another barge was set on fire by the blazing tallow which floated out to her, but she was saved by being scuttled. in the midst of such a scene it was to be expected that there would be damage to life and limb. the firemen, besides being exposed to intense heat for hours, were almost blinded and choked by the smoke emitted from the burning pepper--more especially the cayenne--of which there was a large quantity in the warehouses. some of the men who were working the engines fell into the river and were drowned. a gentleman who was assisting the firemen had his hand impaled on an iron spike. a poor irishman had his neck broken by the chain of the floating-engine, and several of the police force and others were carried to hospital badly burned and otherwise injured. some of the casualties occurred in places where only a few persons were there to witness them, but others were enacted on the river, and on spots which were in full view of the vast multitudes on london bridge. a boat containing five men put off to collect the tallow which floated on the water, but it got surrounded by tallow which had caught fire, and the whole of its occupants were either burned to death or drowned. later in the night a small skiff rowed by a single man was drawn by the tide into the vortex of the fire. another boat ran out and saved the man, but a second boat which was pulled off by a single rower for the same purpose was drawn too near the fire, and its brave occupant perished. so eager were the multitude on the bridge to witness these scenes that some of themselves were forced over the parapet into the river and drowned. comical incidents were strangely mingled with these awful scenes, although it is but justice to say the prevailing tone of the crowd was one of solemnity. itinerant vendors of ginger-beer, fruit, cakes, and coffee ranged themselves along the pavements and carried on a brisk trade--especially after the public-houses were closed, many of which, however, taking advantage of the occasion, kept open door all night. among these last was the "angel," belonging to gorman. that worthy was peculiarly active on this occasion. he never neglected an opportunity of turning an honest penny, and, accordingly, had been engaged from an early hour in his boat collecting tallow; of which plunder a considerable amount had been already conveyed to his abode. besides gorman, several of the other personages of our tale found their way to the great centre of attraction, london bridge, on that night. among them was john barret, who, on hearing of the fire, had left his snug little villa and pretty little wife to witness it. he had already made one or two cheap trips on one of the omnibuses, and, about midnight, got down and forced his way to a position near the south side of the bridge. here he was attracted to a ginger-beer barrow which an unusually adventurous man had pushed through the crowd into a sheltered corner. he forced his way to it, and, to his amazement, found the owner to be his former friend ned hooper. "hallo! barret." "why, ned!" were the exclamations that burst simultaneously from their lips. "this is a strange occupation," said barret with a smile. "ah, it may seem strange to you, no doubt, but it's familiar enough to me," replied ned, with a grin. the demand for beer was so great at this time that ned could not continue the conversation. "here, boy," he said to an urchin who stood near, "you draw corks as fast as you can and pour out the beer, and i'll give you a copper or two and a swig into the bargain." the boy accepted the post of salesman with alacrity, and ned turned to his friend and seized his hand. "barret," said he, in a low, earnest voice, "if i succeed in holding out, i own my salvation, under god, to you. i've tasted nothing but ginger-beer for many a long day, and i really believe that i have got my enemy down at last. it's not a lucrative business, as you may see," he added with a sad smile, glancing at his threadbare garments, "nor a very aristocratic one." "my dear ned," cried barret, interrupting, and suddenly thrusting his hand into his pocket. "no, barret, no," said ned firmly, as he laid his hand on the other's, arm; "i don't want money; i've given up begging. you gave me your advice once, and i have taken that--it has been of more value to me than all the wealth that is being melted into thin air, john, by yonder fire--" ned was interrupted at this point by a burst of laughter from the crowd. the cause of their mirth was the appearance of a tall, thin, and very lugubrious-looking man who had come on the bridge to see the fire. he had got so excited that he had almost fallen over the parapet, and a policeman had kindly offered to escort him to a place of safety. "why, what d'ye mean?--what d'ye take me for?" cried the tall man angrily; "i'm an honest man; my name is david boone; i've only come to see the fire; you've no occasion to lay hold o' _me_!" "i know that," said the policeman; "i only want to get you out of danger. come along now." just then a thickset man with a red handkerchief tied round his head came forward to the stall and demanded a glass of beer. the moment his eyes encountered those of boone he became pale as death and staggered back as if he had received a deadly blow. "is that you, gorman?" cried david, in a voice and with an expression of amazement. gorman did not reply, but gazed at his former friend with a look of intense horror, while his chest heaved and he breathed laboriously. suddenly he uttered a loud cry and rushed towards the river. part of the crowd sprang after him, as if with a view to arrest him, or to see what he meant to do. in the rush barret and boone were carried away. a few moments later a deep murmur of surprise rose from the thousands of spectators on the bridge, for a boat was seen to dash suddenly from the shore and sweep out on the river. it was propelled by a single rower--a man with a red kerchief tied round his head. the murmur of the crowd suddenly increased to a shout of alarm, for the man was rowing, his boat straight towards a mass of tallow which floated and burned on the water. "hold on!" "lookout ahead!" shouted several voices, while others screamed "too late!" "he's gone!" and then there arose a wild cry, for the man rowed straight into the centre of the burning mass and was enveloped in the flames. for one moment he was seen to rise and swing his arms in the air--then he fell backwards over the gunwale of his boat and disappeared in the blazing flood. fiercer and fiercer raged the fire. the night passed--the day came and went, and night again set in--yet still the flames leaped and roared in resistless fury, and still the firemen fought them valiantly. and thus they fought, day and night, hand to hand, for more than a fortnight, before the battle was thoroughly ended and the victory gained. how the firemen continued to do their desperate work, day and night, almost without rest, it is impossible to tell. frank willders said that, after the first night, he went about his work like a man in a dream. he scarcely knew when, or how, or where he rested or ate. he had an indistinct remembrance of one or two brief intervals of oblivion when he supposed he must have been asleep, but the only memory that remained strong and clear within him was that of constant, determined fighting with the flames. and willie willders followed him like his shadow! clad in a coat and helmet borrowed from a friend in the salvage corps. willie fought in that great fight as if he had been a trained fireman. on the fourth day, towards evening, frank was ordered down into a cellar where some tar-barrels were burning. he seized the branch, and was about to leap down the stair when dale stopped him. "fasten the rope to your belt," he said. frank obeyed without speaking and then sprang forward, while dale himself followed, ordering corney, baxmore, and one or two others, to hold on to the ropes. willie willders also ran in, but was met by such a dense cloud of smoke that he was almost choked. rushing back, he shouted, "haul on the ropes!" the men were already hauling them in, and in a few seconds dale and frank were dragged by their waist-belts into the open air, the former nearly, and the latter quite, insensible. in a few minutes they both recovered, and another attempt was made to reach the fire in the cellar, but without success. the public did not witness this incident. the firemen were almost surrounded by burning ruins, and none but comrades were there. indeed, the public seldom see the greatest dangers to which the fireman is exposed. it is not when he makes his appearance on some giddy height on a burning and tottering house, and is cheered enthusiastically by the crowd, that his courage is most severely tried. it is when he has to creep on hands and knees through dense smoke, and hold the branch in the face of withering heat, while beams are cracking over his head, and burning rubbish is dropping around, and threatening to overwhelm him--it is in such circumstances, when the public know nothing of what is going on, and when no eye sees him save that of the solitary comrade who shares his toil and danger, that the fireman's nerve and endurance are tested to the uttermost. after leaving the cellar, dale and his men went to attempt to check the fire in a quarter where it threatened to spread, and render this--the greatest of modern conflagrations--equal to the great one of . "we might reach it from that window," said dale to frank, pointing to a house, the sides of which were already blistering, and the glass cracking with heat. frank seized the branch and gained the window in question, but could not do anything very effective from that point. he thought, however, that from a window in an adjoining store he might play directly on a house which was in imminent danger. but the only means of reaching it was by passing over a charred beam, thirty feet beneath which lay a mass of smouldering ruins. for one moment he hesitated, uncertain whether or not the beam would sustain his weight. but the point to be gained was one of great importance, so he stepped boldly forward, carrying the branch with him. as he advanced, the light of the fire fell brightly upon him, revealing his tall figure clearly to the crowd, which cheered him heartily. at that moment the beam gave way. willie, who was about to follow, had barely time to spring back and gain a firm footing, when he beheld his brother fall headlong into the smoking ruins below. in another moment he had leaped down the staircase, and was at frank's side. baxmore, dale, corney, and others, followed, and, in the midst of fire and smoke, they raised their comrade in their arms and bore him to a place of safety. no one spoke, but a stretcher was quickly brought, and frank was conveyed in a state of insensibility to the nearest hospital, where his manly form--shattered, burned, and lacerated--was laid on a bed. he breathed, although he was unconscious and evinced no sign of feeling when the surgeons examined his wounds. a messenger was despatched for mrs willders, and willie remained to watch beside him while his comrades went out to continue the fight. chapter thirty three. the last. for many months frank willders lay upon his bed unable to move, and scarcely able to speak. his left leg and arm had been broken, his face and hands were burned and cut, and his once stalwart form was reduced to a mere wreck. during that long and weary time of suffering he had two nurses who never left him--who relieved each other day and night; smoothed his pillow and read to him words of comfort from god's blessed book. these were, his own mother and emma ward. for many weeks his life seemed to waver in the balance, but at last he began to mend. his frame, however, had been so shattered that the doctors held out little hope of his ever being anything better than a helpless cripple, so, one day, he said to emma: "i have been thinking, emma, of our engagement." he paused and spoke sadly--as if with great difficulty. "and i have made up my mind," he continued, "to release you." "frank!" exclaimed emma. "yes, dear. no one can possibly understand what it costs me to say this, but it would be the worst kind of selfishness were i to ask you to marry a poor wretched cripple like me." "but what if i refuse to be released, frank?" said emma, with a smile; "you may, indeed, be a cripple, but you shall not be a wretched one if it is in my power to make you happy; and as to your being poor--what of that? i knew you were not rich when i accepted you, and you know i have a very, very small fortune of my own which will at least enable us to exist until you are able to work again." frank looked at her in surprise, for he had not used the word _poor_ with reference to money. "has mother, then, not told you anything about my circumstances of late?" he asked. "no, nothing; what could she tell me that i do not already know?" said emma. frank made no reply for a few moments, then he said with a sad yet gratified smile-- "so you refuse to be released?" "yes, frank, unless you _insist_ on it," replied emma. again the invalid relapsed into silence and shut his eyes. gradually he fell into a quiet slumber, from which, about two hours later, he awoke with a start under the impression that he had omitted to say something. looking up he found that his mother had taken emma's place. he at once asked why she had not told emma about the change in his fortunes. "because i thought it best," said mrs willders, "to leave you to tell her yourself, frank." "well, mother, i depute you to tell her now, and pray do it without delay. i offered to give her up a short time ago, but she refused to listen to me." "i'm glad to hear it," replied the widow with a smile. "i always thought her a good, sensible girl." "hm! so did i," said frank, "and something more." once again he became silent, and, as an inevitable consequence, fell fast asleep. in which satisfactory state we will leave him while we run briefly over the events of his subsequent history. in direct opposition to the opinion of all his doctors, frank not only recovered the use of all his limbs, but became as well and strong as ever--and the great fire in tooley street left no worse marks upon him than a few honourable scars. his recovery, however, was tedious. the state of his health, coupled with the state of his fortune, rendered it advisable that he should seek the benefit of country air, so he resigned his situation in the london fire brigade--resigned it, we may add, with deep regret, for some of his happiest days had been spent in connection with that gallant corps. rambling and fishing among the glorious mountains of wales with his brother willie, he speedily regained health and strength. while wandering with delight through one of the most picturesque scenes of that wild and beautiful region, he came suddenly one day on a large white umbrella, under which sat a romantic-looking man, something between an italian bandit and an english sportsman, who was deeply engrossed with a sheet of paper on which he was depicting one of the grandest views in the splendid pass of llanberis. at this man willie rushed with a shout of surprise, and found that he answered at once to the name of fred auberly! fred was thrown into such a state of delight at the sight of his old friends that he capsized the white umbrella, packed up his paints, and accompanied them to their inn. here, on being questioned, he related how that, while in rome he had been seized with a fever which laid him prostrate for many weeks; that, on his recovery, he wrote to loo and his father, but received no reply from either of them; that he afterwards spent some months in switzerland, making more than enough of money with his brush to "keep the pot boiling," and that, finally, he returned home to find that dear loo was dead, and that the great tooley street fire had swept away his father's premises and ruined him. as this blow had, however, been the means of softening his father, and effecting a reconciliation between them, he was rather glad than otherwise, he said, that the fire had taken place. fred did not say-- although he might have said it with truth--that stiff and stately mr auberly had been reduced almost to beggary, and that he was now dependent for a livelihood on the very palette and brushes which once he had so ruthlessly condemned to the flames! after this trip to wales, frank returned home and told his mother abruptly that he meant to marry emma ward without delay, to which mrs willders replied that she thought he was quite right. as emma appeared to be of the same mind the marriage took place in due course. that is to say, miss tippet and emma managed to put it off as long as possible and to create as much delay as they could. when they had not the shadow of an excuse for further delay--not so much as a forgotten band or an omitted hook of the voluminous trousseau--the great event was allowed to go on--or, "to come off." many and varied were the faces that appeared at the church on that auspicious occasion. mr auberly was there to give away the bride, and wonderfully cheerful he looked, too, considering that he gave her to the man whom he once thought so very unworthy of her. willie was groomsman, of course, and among the bridesmaids there was a little graceful, dark-eyed and dark-haired creature, whom he regarded as an angel or a fairy, or something of that sort, and whom everybody else, except frank and mrs willders, thought the most beautiful girl in the church. in the front gallery, just above this dark-eyed girl, sat an elderly man who gazed at her with an expression of intense affection. his countenance was careworn and, had a somewhat dissipated look upon it. yet there was a healthy glow on it, too, as if the dissipation were a thing of the distant past. the dark-eyed girl once or twice stole a glance at the elderly man and smiled on him with a look of affection quite as fervent as his own. there was a rather stylish youth at this man's elbow whose muscles were so highly developed that they appeared about to burst his superfine black coat. he was observed to nod familiarly to the dark-eyed girl more than once, and appeared to be in a state of considerable excitement--ready, as it were, to throw a somersault over the gallery on the slightest provocation. of course, miss tippet was there in "_such_ a love of a bonnet," looking the picture of happiness. so was mr tippet, beaming all over with joy. so was miss deemas, scowling hatred and defiance at the men. so was david boone, whose circumstances had evidently improved, if one might judge from the self-satisfied expression of his face and the splendour of his attire. john barret was also there, and, close beside him stood ned hooper, who appeared to shrink modestly from observation, owing, perhaps, to his coat being a little threadbare. but ned had no occasion to be ashamed of himself, for his face and appearance showed clearly that he had indeed been enabled to resist temptation, and that he had risen to a higher position in the social scale than a vendor of ginger-beer. in the background might have been seen hopkins--tall and dignified as ever, with matty merryon at his side. it was rumoured "below-stairs" that these two were engaged, but as the engagement has not yet advanced to anything more satisfactory, _we_ hold that to be a private matter with which we have no right to meddle. close to these stood a group of stalwart men in blue coats and leathern belts, and with sailor-like caps in their hands. these men appeared to take a lively interest in what was going forward, and evidently found it difficult to restrain a cheer when frank took emma's hand. once or twice during the service one or two other men of similar appearance looked into the church as if in haste, nodded to their comrades, and went out again, while one of them appeared in the organ loft with a helmet hanging on his arm and his visage begrimed with charcoal, as if he were returning from a recent fire. this man, feeling, no doubt, that he was not very presentable, evidently wished to see without being seen. he was very tall and stout, and was overheard to observe, in very irish tones, that "it was a purty sight intirely." when the carriage afterwards started from the door, this man--who bore a strong resemblance to joe corney--sprang forward and called for three cheers, which call was responded to heartily by all, but especially by the blue-coated and belted fellows with sailor-like caps, who cheered their old comrade and his blooming bride with those deep and thrilling tones which can be produced in perfection only by the lungs and throats of true-blue british tars! now, it must not be supposed that this was the end of frank's career. in truth, it was only the beginning of it, for frank willders was one of those men who know how to make a good use of money. his first proceeding after the honeymoon was to take a small farm in the suburbs of london. he had a tendency for farming, and he resolved at least to play at it if he could make nothing by it. there was a small cottage on the farm, not far from the dwelling-house. this was rented by willie, and into it he afterwards introduced ziza cattley as mrs william willders. the widow inhabited another small cottage not a hundred yards distant from it, but she saw little of her own home except at night, being constrained to spend most of her days with one or other of her "boys." as the farm was near a railway station, willie went to town every morning to business--saturdays and sundays excepted--and returned every evening. his business prospered and so did mr tippet's. that eccentric old gentleman had, like mr auberly, been ruined by the great fire, but he did not care--so he said--because the _other_ business kept him going! he was not aware that willie's engineering powers turned in all the money of that other business, and willie took care never to enlighten him, but helped him as of old in planning, inventing, and discovering, to the end of his days. there was one grand feature which frank introduced into his suburban establishment which we must not omit to mention. this was a new patent steam fire-engine. he got it not only for the protection of his own farm, but, being a philanthropic man, for the benefit of the surrounding district, and he trained the men of his farm and made them expert firemen. willie was placed in command of this engine, so that the great wish of his early years was realised! there was not a fire within ten miles round them at which willie's engine was not present; and the brothers continued for many years to fight the flames together in that neighbourhood. as for stout george dale, and sturdy baxmore, and facetious joe corney, with his comrades moxey, williams, and mason, and sam forest, those heroes continued to go on the even tenor of their way, fighting more battles with the flames in six months than were fought with our human enemies by all our redcoats and blue-jackets in as many years, and without making any fuss about it, too, although danger was the element in which they lived, and wounds or death might have met them any day of the year. for all we know to the contrary, they may be carrying on the war while we pen this chronicle, and, unless more vigorous measures are adopted for _preventing_ fire than have been taken in time past, there can be no question that these stout-hearted men will in time to come have more occasion than ever for--fighting the flames. the end. the boy scout fire fighters irving crump copyright barse and company contents chapters i. the motorcycle fire brigade ii. the firemen's tournament iii. boy scouts to the rescue iv. when the circus came to town v. a scout is resourceful vi. helping to make the movies vii. ethan allen comes to life again viii. the prize contest ix. working to win x. the boy from arizona xi. the courage of a coward xii. the scout life guards' beach patrol xiii. the day of the big race xiv. when the unexpected happened xv. a narrow escape xvi. quarry troop's christmas chapter i the motorcycle fire brigade "by jiminy, that was some fire for an old hay barn, wasn't it, fellows?" exclaimed jiminy gordon, as he entered the meeting room at headquarters. his eyes were flashing excitement and he was thoroughly out of breath from running up the long otter creek hill. "i stayed until the last spark was out," he said, as he dropped into a chair beside bruce clifford, leader of the owl patrol of quarry troop no. . "some fire, is perfectly correct," said bruce bitterly, "though it needn't have been anything more than an ordinary blaze. i tell you the woodbridge fire department needs a little pep, fellows." this last was addressed to the four other occupants of the room, bud weir, romper ryan, babe wilson and nipper knapp. "right," said romper. "the way they went about it was a farce," said bud. "yes, they all had to have their red flannel shirts on," remarked babe, the fat boy, sarcastically. "say, did you see 'em scrapping over who should carry the fire trumpet?" laughed romper. "sure, and about six men were giving orders," put in jiminy, who had caught the spirit of the remarks. "and no one obeyed any of 'em," supplemented babe, sarcastic as usual. "but the finest exhibition of firemanship was when one of the nozzlemen let go of the only hose they got on the fire while he hunted through his pockets for a paper of tobacco or something else just as important," said bruce. "of course the other nozzleman couldn't hold onto the hose alone and it twisted out of his hands. the thing acted like a big black snake, fellows, and hit chief blaney a whack in the chest that knocked him sprawling. then it proceeded to wet down the whole fire department before some one captured it. it was a scream. didn't any of you see it?" "i reached there in time to see tom hogan try to stop it and get a ducking for his trouble," laughed nipper knapp. "oh, it is a shame," continued bruce; "i know it isn't exactly proper to criticise, but then if they'd had a little system about it old eli osborne's barn would still be standing. now it's a heap of cinders. i tell you any ordinary troop of boy scouts has more snap than the woodbridge fire department. i believe-- by jove, fellows. i've an idea! let's organize a fire department of our own. a motorcycle fire department. i was reading in a magazine only the other day how they started one over in england somewhere. how about it?" "bully--how's it done?" demanded bud weir, leader of the blue heron patrol. "corking idea; let's get busy," exclaimed jiminy gordon. "great! give us the details," shouted romper. bruce wrinkled his brow in deep thought for several moments, then his face lighted up with a smile. "look here, fellows," he said enthusiastically, "three of us have motorcycles we got for christmas, and romper here and ray martin of the flying eagles have the machines they built themselves. then there's 'old nanc,' the automobile we built last winter. she's good enough to carry hose and hatchets and a couple of fellows besides. we've the equipment. what do you say? i'm dead sure my dad will let us borrow some fire extinguishers from the mill, and he has any amount of hose and other things to fit up a first-class brigade. we'll get our equipment together and then drill like the dickens. how about it?" "and we'll keep it a secret. won't tell a soul until we get a chance to spring a surprise on the whole town, eh, fellows?" suggested bud. "let's spring it at the tournament and convention next month. the champlain valley firemen's association meets here this year, you know. perhaps we can get first prize in the tournament, added romper ryan. "whoo-o-o-pe! great! let's get busy," shouted nipper knapp. "right-o," said bruce. "but first of all let's tell our plan to assistant scoutmaster ford." to be thoroughly familiar with quarry troop no. you must know that it was composed of three patrols in woodbridge, vt., and that its members had created a reputation for themselves through their ability as mechanics and electricians. woodbridge has long been noted for its electrically operated marble quarries and its many machine shops and textile mills, and the boys of the town, as a result of their surroundings, were by nature of a mechanical turn. added to this, the woodbridge academy was one of the first institutions of the country to adopt a manual training course as part of its curriculum, and all the lads received an early drilling at the lathes and forges. bruce clifford, always the most self-reliant lad in town, first suggested that he and his fellows establish "a troop of engineers," and of course his proposal was received with enthusiasm by the academy boys. bruce took the plan to his father, samuel clifford, and to his father's friend, hamilton townsend, a well-known consulting engineer in woodbridge. mr. townsend was delighted with the idea, and quickly consented to become the scoutmaster, while mr. clifford, to foster the interest of the lads along mechanical lines, offered them the abandoned machine shop on the top of otter creek hill for their headquarters. this was a real find for bruce and his friends, for the old place had never been dismantled. mr. clifford was a builder of electrical stone cutting and polishing machines and for a long time he had maintained his business in the little two-story structure. but four years previous he had erected a fine new concrete building just across the way, and abandoned the machine shop, intending to tear down the building and sell the old equipment for junk. this made ideal headquarters for a troop that desired to specialize in engineering. on the first floor were the old hand-forges, bellows, lathes, work benches, planing machines, and various other appliances. they were all out of date, to be sure, and some slightly rusty, but still quite usable after they had been cleaned up. on the second floor of the building were two rooms, one of which was used for meetings, while the other was converted into a wire room for the loop telegraph line that the lads had built through the town. this loop was connected with an instrument in the bedrooms of every member of the troop and the boys could be routed out of bed at midnight, if need be, by some one calling on any of the keys. a wireless system had also been erected on the roof of the building by the wireless enthusiasts of the troop and the helix, spark-gap and various coils and keys were also set up in the wire room. headquarters immediately became popular with every member of the troop and always some one was to be found pottering about in the machine shop, building something that he was particularly interested in. two of the boys, during the long winter evenings, had made more or less serviceable motorcycles for themselves, and a half dozen of the young engineers had even essayed the construction of an automobile from old parts they were able to get for "a song" at various junk shops; indeed, some serviceable material was found in scrap heaps about town. how well they succeeded, a wheezing two-cylinder motor car attested. this turn-out was dubbed "old nanc" by the troop, and though it went far better down grade than it did on the level, the boys managed to get a great deal of fun out of it. and it was not a bad looking machine either when it finally received several generous coats of red paint and enamel. luckily, austin ford, the engineer in charge of the hydro-electric plant of the woodbridge quarry company, became interested in the "scout engineers," and through him the officials of the quarry company were persuaded to allow the lads to use as much electric current as they required without cost. the youngsters quickly built a transmission line to the electric station, which was located a few miles north of the town on a branch of otter creek. mr. ford's interest in the lads increased to admiration when he saw the business-like way in which they went about building the line, and he even offered them some practical engineering advice when they found themselves up against knotty problems. this led to a more intimate relation with the young cornell graduate, and in the end the boys suggested that he become the assistant scoutmaster. this office rather pleased him, for in reality austin ford was little more than a big boy in the matter of pleasure. he quickly became a master of scout lore and at every opportunity he was afield with the lads or else in the shop at headquarters working out new engineering "stunts" (as he characterized them) for the scouts to undertake. the boys never failed to talk over each new undertaking with him, as, for instance, the troop's latest scheme, the organization of a motorcycle fire department. indeed, on the very evening of the day eli osborn's barn was reduced to ashes, bruce, bud, romper and several others visited mr. ford and outlined their plans. of course the assistant scoutmaster approved of such a very laudable idea, but he did admonish the boys against criticising the present fire fighting force of wood bridge, stating that though the men had their peculiarities the lads should remember that they were volunteers, doing their work without receiving a cent of pay because they recognized their duty to others. as to the equipment of the brigade, he left that all up to the boys, telling them, however, that whenever they had any difficulty they would find him ready to help them. he also suggested that they visit the hydro-electric plant and take a few tools and some old sand buckets which they could paint over and use as bucket brigade equipment. chapter ii the firemen's tournament the two weeks following were mighty busy ones for quarry troop no. . first of all it was necessary for bruce and his companions to find out exactly what in the matter of equipment they had at their disposal. this could only be determined by a visit to mr. clifford's mill and several other places where they could borrow fire fighting apparatus and still not let the news of their secret organization leak out. mr. clifford, when he heard of the plan, was particularly delighted and he personally conducted the boys through the machine shop and mill, making numerous suggestions meanwhile. first of all he found that he could spare eleven small, two-and-one-half gallon chemical extinguishers and still leave enough equipment to comply with the fire underwriters' laws, which call for a certain number of extinguishers for each floor. these eleven were enough to provide two for each motorcycle in the brigade and one for the automobile. it seemed rather unfortunate to bruce that they could only get one for "old nanc," for he had had a mental picture of the red automobile with a shining extinguisher on either side of the driver's seat. indeed, he was so keen on this artistic arrangement that he pleaded with his father to spare an additional tank. "why, i'll tell you what you can have to balance up 'old nanc,'" said his father laughingly, when he heard bruce's reason for wanting another extinguisher, "here's a light oxygen-acetylene tank equipment with a blow torch i've been using around the mill. i'm going to get a new one of larger capacity, and if you polish this up it will look mighty business-like, i tell you. "these torches are being adopted by the city fire departments too. you see they are composed of two tanks, one filled with oxygen and the other with acetylene gas. these gases both flow through the same opening in the torch and unite before they strike the air. if you touch a match to the end of the torch, _presto_, you have a thin blue flame, so hot that it will cut through the hardest steel. the flame gives off a heat as high as , degrees fahrenheit; think of that! it literally burns its way through the toughest metal and does the job before you can say 'scat.' the city fire departments use them to burn the hinges off iron doors and window shutters in big warehouse fires. do you boys want it? it may come in handy, you know." "want it! you bet we do," shouted jiminy gordon eagerly. "just the stuff," recommended romper ryan, who had been inspecting the apparatus, "handy and compact. doesn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. two of us could handle it in fine shape. we certainly _would_ like to have it." "all right," acquiesced mr. clifford, "it's yours." the good-natured manufacturer also gave the boys a set of old fire pails that needed fresh coats of paint, and several lengths of old but serviceable fire hose, not to mention a number of rusty fire hatchets, crowbars and pike poles. "how about ladders?" said mr. clifford as the boys were about to depart. "gee, we never thought of 'em," said bruce, surprised at such an omission. then as he considered the capacity of "old nanc," he continued: "but if we had them we wouldn't know how to carry them; we--you see, we can't afford to overload the auto or she will never be able to get started for a fire." "ho, ho, that's right. she'd be a regular tortoise," said mr. clifford. "but why don't you make a couple of scaling ladders? i'll have the top hooks forged for you if you'll build the ladders. they'll be light and serviceable and you can work up a mighty spectacular drill with them." "great, we'll do it," said bruce. then he added, "perhaps we _will_ have a real fire department after all." "old nanc" spent the busiest day of her career gathering up the loads of extinguishers, hose and other equipment before she was laid up for alteration, and the scouts for many days thereafter found that their spare time was well taken up with their work at headquarters. from the hour that the woodbridge academy closed until ten o'clock in the evening they toiled like beavers. bruce, always a capable manager, divided the patrols into working squads and assigned them to the various tasks to be accomplished. those who were handy with carpentering tools he set to work making a new fire patrol body for the automobile. those who excelled at the forges he assigned to the task of making brackets and metal clamps with which to fasten the extinguishers onto the motorcycles. some were appointed ladder makers, others were painters, and still others were buffers and polishers, who shined up the tarnished sides of the tanks and took the rust off the axes and pike heads. and when they all became active the interior of headquarters was a veritable beehive for busyness. the boys did not devote all their time to building work, however, for they realized that to win honors at the firemen's tournament, in which they meant to compete, they would have to be well drilled in every branch of fire fighting. consequently every evening, just before dusk, the entire troop assembled in the field back of headquarters. scaling ladder drills, first aid work, rescue work, bucket brigade drills, and hose coupling contests were indulged in until the lads worked with the precision and accuracy of trained fire fighters. for the sake of unity bruce had been appointed fire chief, having charge of all three patrols. the entire squad was under his command and in a very few days he had systematized their work to the point where there was scarcely a lost motion or a false move. indeed, the scouts drilled with such vigor and enthusiasm that inside of an hour they would be completely tired out. then, while they were resting, bruce would put them through a sharp oral drill on the rudiments of firemanship as set forth in the september number of _boy's life_ until, to quote jiminy gordon, "they could say it backwards, or upside down, and do it blindfolded." gradually after weeks of toil the fleet of fire fighting motorcycles assumed a business-like appearance. and as for "old nanc" she, redolent with the odors of fresh red paint, loomed above them all exactly like a mother hen keeping a watchful eye on her brood of chicks. each motorcycle was equipped with a fire extinguisher clamped on either side, just back of the seat. directly in the rear of the seat was a small red tool box in which hose-coupling wrenches and two sets of harness were kept. this harness, devised by mr. ford, was made of canvas in the form of a sling to hold the extinguishers in position on a scout's back. in that way a boy could enter a burning building and carry an extinguisher with him, still having both hands free to operate the extinguisher hose. on top of the tool box was strapped a short coil of hose with a small nozzle ready to be brought into action when coupled to the nearest street hydrant. "old nanc," besides carrying an extinguisher and the oxygen-acetylene blow torch tank, also contained the remaining hose, an equipment of axes, pike poles and scaling ladders, and provided accommodations for three scouts and the driver besides. until a few days before the tournament the scouts were working on their equipment. indeed, the very last coat of varnish was put onto "old nanc" the saturday afternoon preceding the tournament day, which fell on wednesday. all that remained to be done was to deck the machine with flags and bunting and she would be ready for the parade. in truth, that very morning bruce had gone on a motorcycle trip to st. cloud city, twelve miles south of woodbridge, to buy the necessary decorations. "by jove, she looks like a real fire fighter, doesn't she?" said romper ryan, backing off, paint brush still in hand, to survey his own handiwork on the sides of "old nanc." "for downright good looks i think our equipment has it on anything woodbridge ever experienced," said jiminy gordon enthusiastically. "well, we'll sure create some sensation," said bud. "this is going to be a complete surprise to everybody. has bruce heard from chief blaney yet? he sent him our entry for the tournament events last week, you know. i wonder--here he comes now! i heard his siren. that was a mighty quick trip to st. cloud." bud and several others rushed to the door. coming up the hill at top speed was bruce, his motorcycle fairly flying. when he caught sight of the group in front of the machine shop he began to wave a blue paper above his head. "hi, fellows, here's our reply from chief blaney," he shouted as he jumped from his machine. "i just got it at the house. haven't opened it yet. come on, gather 'round and hear what he has to say." with eager fingers he tore off the corner of the big envelope and ripped open the top. and as he unfolded the letter every scout pressed closer to get a glimpse of its contents. bruce began to read aloud: mr. bruce clifford, chief of the scout engineers' fire department. dear sir: your entry blank and fee for the tournament events reached me. i am returning your fee herewith for, unfortunately, your company cannot take part in the tournament. in the first place your organization is only a juvenile company, and in the second place it is not an accredited member of the woodbridge fire department. the fact that you have not a charter from the town authorities will also prevent your little department from taking an active part in fighting fires in this village, for the champlain valley volunteer firemen's association has passed a ruling preventing any individual not wearing a badge of a recognized fire department from entering fire lines or participating in fire fighting work. these rules are rigidly enforced by my department. very truly yours, (signed) w.t. blaney, chief woodbridge f.d. "well, what do you think of that!" exclaimed romper disgustedly. "and after all our working and planning," said jiminy bitterly. "oh, we're only juveniles," said bud sarcastically, turning away to hide his feelings. and as for bruce, he could hardly believe his eyes. he re-read the letter and when he finished he slowly tore it into little scraps and tossed them to the ground. "well, fellows," he said with a grim smile, "i fancy 'old nanc' won't need the flags and bunting i ordered to-day. and i guess our little fire department sort of busts up before it gets started. if old blaney is such a stickler for regulations they'll never let us fight any fires in this town. tough luck, isn't it?" tournament day had been declared a holiday in woodbridge. stores and factories were closed and the village decorated from stable to town hall with colored streamers, flags and bunting. since early morning fire companies had been arriving in town headed by bands and drum corps until the place was crowded with uniformed figures from every section of vermont. but in spite of all this gaiety bruce clifford and the boy scout engineers were dispirited. indeed, for the past week they had been very unhappy over the turn of affairs. they tried their hardest to brace up and be good sports, but their disappointment was greater than they had expected. on tournament day they wandered about with a cheerless air, watching the various companies file into the side streets to await the formation of the parade that would be conducted up webster avenue to the tournament grounds. they were not so downcast, however, as to ignore the fact that here was an excellent opportunity to view a number of fire fighting machines of all varieties. indeed, they inspected the equipment of every out-of-town company they ran across, and in the course of the morning had become partly familiar with everything, from an oldfashioned gooseneck hand engine to the latest type of hand-drawn chemical engine, the pride of the company from middlebury. this last appliance was an excellent piece of work and bruce and his friends realized that even, with her new paint and shining brass, "old nanc" could not compare in general appearance with this costly equipment. promptly at half-past ten the automobile in which was seated the mayor, fire chief blaney and several other dignitaries, swung into webster avenue. this was followed by the woodbridge band and the parade to the tournament grounds was under way. the boy scout engineers reviewed the procession from the curb, and when it had passed they hurried by way of a short cut across the fields to the tournament grounds, reaching there just as the mayor's car turned in at the big gate. a makeshift two-story frame building had been constructed in the very center of the enclosure, and the village authorities had erected a dozen temporary hydrants in a half circle about the front of the building. the plan was to conduct the contests on the level stretch of turf before the grandstand, and as a finale set fire to the wooden structure and have a real demonstration of fire fighting. the procession of visiting companies made a circle of the grounds after entering the gate while the mayor reviewed them from his automobile. then after the various engines and hose carts had been parked at the far end of the field the mayor prepared formally to open the ceremonies with a speech of welcome. but he had hardly uttered two sentences when bruce, for some unknown reason turned and looked down webster avenue towards the town. in the distance he saw a great cloud of black smoke mounting skyward above the roofs. he grasped bud weir's arm and shouted: "look! quick! afire!" and as if to verify his words the far-off clang of the village fire bell sounded. instantly the tournament grounds were in a turmoil. every one raised a cry of fire! in a twinkle the grandstand was empty, but before the crowd could reach webster avenue the companies had begun to leave the enclosure. with a rattle and a clang one engine after another swung into the broad avenue. then with the old hand equipment of the woodbridge vamps in the van the whole aggregation hurled itself down the street toward the village. chapter iii boy scouts to the rescue bruce clifford and the other members of quarry troop no. , waited only to determine the location of the column of smoke that now extended clear across the sky, then, selecting the short cut across the field by which they had come, they hurried pellmell toward the scene of trouble. "it's down in the factories!" panted romper as he ran. "yes, i think it's mayor worthington's woolen mills," shouted bud. "by jove, i guess you're right," yelled bruce as they turned into willow street and saw smoke pouring from the windows of the big brick building at the far end of the street. it was the worst fire that woodbridge had experienced in years. by the time the firemen reached the scene the whole west end of the building was enveloped in flames and a section of the slate roof had already caved in. from every window long tongues of red flames darted out like hideous serpents' tongues. great sparks shot skyward as sections of the west wall crumbled and fell into the red hot caldron that had once been the building's interior, and the heat was so intense that windows in the factory building across the street cracked and crumbled. it was a fortunate thing for woodbridge that there was a score of visiting fire companies in town, or else the whole south section of the village would have been wiped out. chief blaney, almost beside himself with anxiety, implored the visiting chiefs for their assistance. and assist him they did. every company got its equipment into action and lines of hose were strung in some cases nearly half a mile. there were at least a dozen hand engines and two steamers on the banks of otter creek supplying lines to the fire, not to mention the hundreds of feet of hose that were coupled to the village hydrant system in every direction. but all that the willing vamps could do seemed to no avail. the fire demon was rampant. he roared full cry through the long brick building, consuming everything in his path. section after section of roof sagged, then fell with a crash and a roar into the flames, sending aloft a shower of crackling sparks. "thank heavens, this was a holiday. there's no one in the building," bruce heard chief blaney cry as he hurried past in company with the foreman of a visiting company. but the rubber-coated fire fighter had hardly uttered the words when a shout went up from the crowd at the east end of the building, where the firm's office was located. men with blanched faces and trembling hands were pointing towards the big iron barred window that marked the counting room. "o-o-h! it's old uriah watkins!" shrieked blaney. bruce looked and turned sick at the sight. there, his wrinkled old face pressing against the bars, was the aged bookkeeper of the woolen mills. one hand was extended between the iron grating in frantic appeal. the other clutched the precious ledgers that the old man had rashly rushed into the building to rescue. his ashen face was set with a horrible expression, and his eyes stood out with terror. bruce saw his lips move, but could not hear his feeble voice above the roar of the flames. for a moment the scout stood panic stricken. then suddenly his lips pressed together and his face took on a determined look. in a flash he turned to bud and gave a few brief orders. then, elbowing their way through the jam and press about them, the youngsters disappeared and left bruce there alone. in the meantime a score of vamps had been summoned by chief blaney to rescue the aged bookkeeper. they attacked the heavy bars on the window with sledges and axes, but with no success. they tried to pry away the bricks with crowbars, but this, too, failed, and it was quite apparent to all that if uriah watkins was to be saved it could be accomplished only by the slow and laborious task of sawing through the bars. could this be done? had they the time to accomplish the task? already a nearby section of the roof had caved in! how long would it be before the flames reached the office and burned the old man alive? at this point the figure of a boy in scout uniform broke through the fire lines and rushed up to the side of chief blaney. standing at attention, bruce saluted in regulation boy scout fashion and asked briefly: "chief, can the boy scout engineers take a hand in this? i'll have the bars cut in two minutes." "you will what--! why--!" "yes, yes, we can do it; i've sent for our fire department--here come the scouts now!" the shriek of sirens was heard above the din about the factory building and the great crowd beheld seven motorcycles tearing down the hill at top speed. and just behind them bowled "old nanc" at her best. "have i your permission to take a hand?" demanded bruce. "yes! yes! for goodness' sake do anything you can to free him!" cried the chief. the line of motorcycles stopped and hose lines were quickly strung. but the red automobile rumbled on, to come to a halt within ten yards of the building. already two scouts were unlimbering the oxyhydrogen tanks and blow pipe equipment. bruce rushed forward to aid them, while chief blaney looked on quite puzzled for the moment. working fast, but with the utmost coolness, bruce donned a pair of asbestos gloves that came with the equipment and attached the blow pipe. romper turned on the gases, while the young leader produced a match and ignited the torch. instantly a tiny blue flame shot out that hissed and sputtered in a threatening manner. as he advanced toward the window bruce saw that the old bookkeeper had disappeared. he knew from this that there was no time to be lost, for the man had probably fainted and would soon be overcome with smoke. hastily he shot the blue flame at the base of the first bar. there was a hiss and a shower of sparks as the flame met the cold metal. bruce pressed the blow pipe closer, while he watched with anxious eye the progress of the flame. the bar grew red, then gold, then white. the heat was terrific. the bar began to melt, slowly first, then faster, until the blue flame ate completely through. another was attacked, and still another, until the scout had cut a hole in the iron grating large enough for a man to pass through. shouting to romper to turn off the gas, he dropped the blow pipe, and plunging a handkerchief in a fire pail that stood near by, he tied the cloth over his nose and mouth. then he hoisted himself through the window and disappeared. inside the smoke was thick and black, but bruce could see flames dart through at the far end of the room, and he knew that in a few moments more the place would be seething. he groped vainly about for the old bookkeeper. where was he? he had dropped under the window a moment ago. had he tried to crawl to the door? what had happened? the smoke was so thick that even the moist handkerchief was of no avail. bruce began to strangle. then suddenly he remembered the instructions in his handbook. the air was purest near the floor! he dropped to his hands and knees, and with his face to the boards he began to crawl about, blindly groping for the body of the old bookkeeper. his fingers clutched something. he drew the object toward him and peered at it through the smoke. it was uriah watkins doubled in a ball, though unconscious and almost suffocated, the faithful old man still clasped his precious ledgers. bruce knew that unless the man reached the open air immediately he would perish. also he knew that if they were not both clear of the building in a few minutes they would be food for the flames which were even then thrusting spiteful tongues under the door at the other end of the room. here again the instructions of the handbook stood the scout in good stead. he knew that it would be next to suicide to stand up and try to carry the prostrated form to the window. the smoke was so thick even down there near the floor that he was gasping and choking. he twisted his hand into the old man's collar and began to crawl, face to the floor, back toward the gray space that marked the window through the smoke, hauling uriah after him. foot by foot he dragged his burden. in spite of the handkerchief the smoke was getting into his lungs. his chest pained him dreadfully. oh, what wouldn't he give for a single breath of pure, fresh air! the eight or ten feet to the side wall seemed like eight or ten miles. would he never reach there! finally his hand struck the wall and he stood erect. the draught caused by the open window was drawing thick smoke out of the building into the air. bruce knew he could not stand in that current of gases long. pulling uriah watkins forward, he raised the limp form and forced it through the window ahead of him. willing hands seized the old bookkeeper and lifted him to safety. then, dizzy and sick, bruce clutched at the ledge and scrambled up. but a dreadful nausea seized him as he knelt on the window sill. his head whirled. he lost his balance. he knew he was falling backward into the burning building, but he was powerless to save himself. he gave a stifled cry of terror, and in answer the loud voice of chief blaney boomed in his ear and strong arms encircled his waist. then everything grew black. the boy scout engineers never forgot the shout that went up when chief blaney carried the unconscious form of bruce to safety. they were mighty proud of their leader. but they were prouder still when, a week later, bruce was summoned into the presence of mayor worthington and chief blaney and presented with a parchment charter which officially informed him that the fire company of quarry troop had been officially made a member of the woodbridge fire department, to be known thereafter as chemical company no. , with brewster w. clifford as the chief. chapter iv when the circus came to town twelve scouts, nearly half of quarry troop no. , now popularly known as the boy scout engineers, were gathered in the meeting room at headquarters. in fact, they had been literally driven there when the woodbridge academy let out at halt past two on friday afternoon. you see, it was raining so hard that there was no other place to go. but, then, the old machine shop was the best place in the world for the boys, rain or shine, so _that_ didn't make much difference. what really did matter was the monotony of it all. for five days now the region round about woodbridge had been literally deluged with a spring downpour. otter creek had swollen to twice its normal size, springs were gushing from most unheard-of places and rivulets were racing down hillsides that usually were, to quote nipper knapp, "dry as a smoked herring." "by george, i do wish this rain would let up. what we want is a chance to get out of doors a bit. i haven't stretched my legs in a week," said romper ryan glumly, as he gazed out of the big front window. "well," said fat babe wilson with his usual sarcasm, "if it don't dry up soon the whole blamed world is liable to shrink." then, as an after thought, he added, "that might bring st. cloud city so near woodbridge that we could at least see the circus parade." "aw-w, what'er you bringing up that circus subject for again," said jiminy gordon, who didn't like to be reminded of the pleasure he had decided to forego. "yes," chorused two others who were equally reluctant about facing the sacrifice they had voted themselves; "forget about that blooming circus." "say, you fellows needn't hop on me just because i want to have a little fun with you," protested babe. "i'm as good a sport as any of you. don't you suppose i agreed when you voted not to go to the circus. i know it would be foolish to spend most of the thirty dollars in the troop's treasury for a day's outing. you needn't talk, jiminy gordon; you were the first one to suggest the idea last week when you saw the man posting the bills." "yes, i know i was," said jiminy, somewhat embarrassed, "but i said it without thinking. when we got to discussing it last night i saw how ridiculous it was. by jiminy, i'd rather see the money go toward a new camping outfit, or the lumber for the troop's power boat. i wouldn't spend that thirty dollars to see three circuses, i wouldn't." judging from the conversation, the circus question referred to had died a hard death. to tell the truth, its demise had really been quite painful so far as most of the boys were concerned, for all of them had rather liked the idea of being able to enjoy "the world's mightiest, most magnificent combination of clever animals and human skill and daring," etc., which was booked to show in st. cloud city a few days hence. for a week the temptation to spend the troop's thirty dollars had haunted the lads day and night, until finally with a great effort they had laid the ghost by a unanimous vote that the money must not be spent on the profitless amusement. it really was a sacrifice, for every scout had set his heart on a hike to st. cloud and a day crowded full of gaiety and glitter, not to mention a stomach crowded fuller with peanuts, popcorn and lemonade. "fellows, i am just as much disappointed as the rest," said bruce clifford, leader of the owl patrol, "but i think we decided wisely last night. we can all do without going to the circus, even if it is the biggest one that has visited this neck of the woods in years. the possibility of a new set of tents or the lumber for a motorboat appeals to me more than blowing the money in on a show; that is, it does when i stop and think soberly about it." "right-o!" said romper. "that's what i call common sense," asserted nipper knapp. "just the way we all should look at it," insisted bud weir, leader of the blue heron patrol. "and if we were to--sh! listen, fellows! some one's calling!" in an instant everybody was silent. bruce inclined his head toward the wire room at the other end of the building where the headquarters' telegraph key and the instruments connected with the wireless aerials on the roof were located. out of the doorway seemed to tumble a confusion of dots and dashes quite unintelligible to any one not familiar with the morse international code. ....-.-,....-.-,..-.-..-.-..-..--. "headquarters, ford calling," read bruce. "fellows, mr. ford is trying to raise us. wonder what he wants!" he hurried into the wire room with the rest at his heels, and taking the low operator's chair opened the key and answered the call. then he closed it again and waited. the boys were all attention, for most of them were second-class scouts and could "read" morse well. "mayor--worthington--just--'phoned--me," clicked the instrument. "wants--to--see--scouts--at--town--hall--at--four--i--would--like--to-- have--you--go. -- ford--asst--s'ct--m's't'r-- : --p--m." "all--right--shall--we--wear--uniforms--bruce--l'd'r--owl--p't'r'l-- : --p--m," bruce flashed back over the wire. "yes--careful--don't--get--too--wet--g'd--by--ford-- : --p--m," came the answer. "cracky! something interesting! wonder what's up!" said bruce excitedly, as he began calling on the loop telegraph wire that was connected to an instrument in every scout's home. the three patrols of quarry troop stood at attention in the broad corridor of the woodbridge town hall, awaiting the coming of mayor worthington. their campaign hats were water-soaked, and rain dripped from the edge of their slickers and gathered in little pools about their feet. they must have been uncomfortable. but if they were, they gave no signs of it. all their attention was riveted on the doors that led the way into the mayor's private office. presently these doors swung open, and the tall, broad-shouldered figure of the town's chief executive strode forth, followed by his secretary and timothy cockran, the commissioner of streets and highways. every back stiffened and every hand went up in salute as these men advanced and took their position in front of bruce, the recognized spokesman of the troop. the mayor acknowledged the salute in quite the proper manner, as did the others; then, clearing his throat, he spoke. "scouts, i have asked you here because you can be of service to woodbridge. the town needs you. are you willing to do a good turn for the welfare of us all?" "we're ready for anything, sir. we try to do a good turn daily, rain or shine," said bruce, once more saluting. and his answer was echoed by the score or more of brown-clad youths ranged in line beside him. "thank you, scouts," said mr. worthington, crisply. "now to business. the rains of the last few days have raised havoc in this end of champlain valley. so much water has fallen that the high roads leading north and south on either side of the valley have been made dangerous by wash outs and landslides. in several places the banks have slipped down from above, but the most dangerous sections are those where the roads have been washed away almost entirely. vehicles traveling at night are very apt to have serious upsets and the life and limb of the occupants are endangered, in spite of the fact that we have marked the washouts with red lanterns hung on short posts. "what i would like to have you boys do is to organize a road patrol to keep a careful watch over these red lamps and see that they are all lighted between the hours of nightfall and midnight at least. after twelve o'clock there is hardly enough traffic to make the patrolling worth while. the first patrol can light the lamps at a given hour and thereafter at certain intervals scout patrols can visit each lamp and see that it is in good working order. how would you like the job, boys?" "fine!" shouted some. "just the kind of work we like," cried others. "all right," said the mayor, shortly. "scouts, you are hereby appointed guardians of the high ways by order of the mayor and the commissioner of streets and highways. each morning at half past eight one of your number will be expected to make a report at the town hall of the night's work." "the commissioner here has a map of these thoroughfares showing each washout and just where each lamp is located. you can organize your patrols this afternoon and start to-night. i think the storm will be somewhat abated by that time. it is letting up a little now. good-day and good luck." though the rain had decreased considerably the scouts lost little time in getting from the town hall to scout headquarters, where the details of organizing the road patrols were worked out. it required the rest of the afternoon to do this, and the dinner hour arrived almost before the boys were aware of the time. "say, fellows, this is going to be fine," said bud weir. then, glancing out of the window, he exclaimed: "by jove, the storm's nearly over; the clouds are breaking out there beyond the mountains. this will be a fine night for--cracky, fellows, i almost forgot; the circus comes through town to-night. it will come down the valley from collinsville and take the north road to st. cloud." "by george, you're right," exclaimed bruce. "say, fellows, that makes our work doubly important. these heavy circus vans may get into trouble if all the lamps aren't in good order. you fellows be sure and report for duty, will you?" "don't worry; there'll be enough of us to patrol to-night. i guess we're all going to stay up and see the circus go through town, if it isn't raining, aren't we, fellows?" asked bud. and from the chorus of affirmatives it was evident that few of the troop would be abed when the "world's mightiest, most magnificent combination of clever animals and human skill and daring" rumbled through town. by seven o'clock the rain had stopped entirely and, when the lamp-lighting patrols started out in the gloaming, the storm clouds were fast disappearing in the southwest, their edges splashed with the gold and vermilion fire of the setting sun. indeed, by the time the second patrol had reported back at headquarters and the third group of night watchers had started out, a big yellow moon had appeared and the stars were twinkling merrily up above. after the last patrol had been gone an hour the scouts who, when their duties were finished, had gathered in headquarters, moved on to the top of otter creek hill. they had decided that this would be the best place to watch the coming of the circus cavalcade. the valley presented a queer appearance at that hour. here and there were red lights standing out against the darkness, while from various points along the highway came the glow of tiny battery lamps as the scouts signaled to each other. "they look like a lot of fireflies," said bruce, after he had watched the series of dots and dashes that the boys were flashing back and forth. "yes," said bud, "just like mighty big fli--. hi, fellows, here comes the circus! see 'em--that string of lights coming down willow street--hear that rumble of the wagons?" "sure enough!" exclaimed bruce, who was as enthusiastic as the rest. up the long hill, in view of the group of wide-eyed and thoroughly interested boys, came the phantom-like caravan. a string of swinging lanterns fastened to the center pole of each wagon marked its course. first in line were the grumbling and rumbling red and blue animal vans, followed by two rattling canvas wagons. then a troop of little black and white ponies appeared hitched in fours to light gilt and red vehicles that held all sorts of odds and ends. in the rear of the ponies followed the camels; great, long-legged creatures that grunted at every stride as if they were indignant at being kept up so late. gaudy band wagons, the cook's outfit and a heterogeneous assortment of vehicles came next, all of them moving slowly up the hill while the drivers dozed in their seats. "say, isn't it great?" cried romper ryan as he took in every little detail. "you bet it is!" returned babe wilson, breathlessly. "i wonder where the elephants are. oh, here they come!" the clank of chains could be heard above the grumble of the wagons, and a moment later five huge elephants appeared out of the darkness. they lumbered along sleepily, their massive heads and long trunks swaying from side to side at every stride. the forelegs of each beast were chained together with stout links of iron, but there was little need of fetters, for the animals were apparently so docile that the idea of running away seemed farthest from their minds. the leader of the drove was, of course, the largest and apparently the meekest, for as he scuffled by the scouts the boys saw that he walked with his tiny eyes closed exactly as if he were asleep. a string of a dozen red vans followed the elephants, and at the very rear of the line was the big steam calliope. it was muffled and silent now, out its driver was snoring lustily as if to keep its reputation. "gee, but that was worth staying up to see," said ray martin, the first to find his tongue, after the cavalcade had passed on down the valley. "you bet it was," said bruce. "jove, i'm almost sorry we decided--say! look! something has happened! see the lights down there by the old quarry hole? the circus has stopped! look, there are some signals! it's the patrol! can you read them?" "'we--need--help. elephant--in--in--' what the dickens is he talking about? i couldn't get that last, could you, bruce?" asked bud weir. "yes; he said that an elephant is in the quarry hole. by george, one of those big beasts has fallen down into tollen's old quarry. there was a washout down there. come on, fellows!" and the scouts started at top speed down the north valley road toward the scene of trouble. chapter v a scout is resourceful bedlam reigned at the quarry hole. a score of frantic circus men were shouting orders at each other, lanterns were bobbing about among the wagons, and every one was beside himself with excitement. one little gray-haired man seemed almost distraught over the situation. he was storming up and down the road, alternately roaring commands and delivering tirades against everything in general. it was quite evident that he was the manager of the outfit. "now we're in a fine mess," he thundered as he strode to the edge of the quarry and peered down into the darkness. "it's so dogon dark down there we can't even see th' brute. how'll we ever get him out? that's what i want to know. hang the man who's responsible for this mess! gol-ding t'--_wush_--_phew_." his soliloquy on the brink of the quarry hole ended abruptly when with a snort the elephant shot a trunk full of water out of the darkness, bowling the little man over and drenching every thing and everybody. "kill t' beast! kill him, gol--ding his hide!" screamed the dripping manager as he picked himself up out of the mud. but he was such a comical figure that every one shouted with laughter. to bruce and the scouts the whole situation was extremely humorous. evidently the lead elephant had wandered into the washout and lost his footing. the next thing he knew he had slid with a big splash into the quarry hole. and then, having a fondness for water and seeing no way to climb up the twenty-foot wall of rocks, he had decided to stay there and have a thoroughly good time. but bruce realized that they could not indulge their humor long, for as guardians of the road it was their duty to give all the assistance they could. hastily the patrol leader made an inspection of the pit by the light of his pocket flash. he remembered a derrick on one side of the cut. and he hastened to look that over, for already he was beginning to form plans for getting the beast out of trouble. he noted with satisfaction that the derrick had been only partly dismantled and that the rusty steel cable was coiled up in a pile beside the heavy upright. then he returned to the roadside and approached the agitated little manager. "we are the guardians of the highways for woodbridge, sir," he said, "and we would--" "you are the what!" roared the manager. "the guardians of the highways and--" "well, why in tarnation didn't yuh guard 'em then? i--i--i--" bruce interrupted the sputtering manager by pointing to the red light. "there's our light. we did our part. it must have been your fault. but no matter; we'll help you get the animal out of the quarry if you'll let us. "how'll yuh do it? haven't got a thing in my outfit t' pull him out with." "oh, we'll do it all right," said bruce. then briefly he outlined his plan to the skeptical circus manager. and when he had finished talking the old man looked at him in amazement. "can you do all that?" he demanded. "sure we can," said bruce. "we're the boy scout engineers. just loan me some of your canvas men who know how to rig a block and tackle and we'll have the elephant on his way to st. cloud by daylight at the latest." "all right, i'll go you," said the manager. bruce gathered about him all the scouts not doing patrol duty. "fellows," he said, "we can get the elephant out of the hole all right, but it will mean some hard work. i want you, romper, to go back to woodbridge and tell the parents of every fellow here that we have serious work to do. tell them not to worry if we don't get back until late. then i want the owl patrol to go to headquarters and get all the no. wire we have on hand, load it on a couple of wheelbarrows and start stringing a line from our switchboard in the machine shop down to the quarry hole here. "string it along the fences and where you have to cross druery road put it overhead from tree to tree. remember, no monkeying with the telegraph or telephone poles! we can be arrested for anything like that. romper, you can stop in and ask mr. ford if he won't go up to headquarters and connect up the new line. i don't think we should fuss with the switchboard at night. "now, i want the blue herons to go to headquarters and disconnect the big five-horsepower motor on the lathe. load it aboard 'old nanc' and bring it down here as fast as you can. on your way turn in at druery road and run up to the baldwin quarries. ask dave porter, the night foreman there, if you can borrow the largest and heaviest blasting mat he has. we'll need that. now hurry, fellows." the scouts started off immediately, and bruce turned to the circus manager. "now, if you'll bring your canvas men along, i'll give them a good, hard job. it's one we boys couldn't handle. are you ready?" "sure!" said the manager. then to his men, "come on, boys!" bruce led the group around the quarry hole to the north side and pointed out the derrick and the coil of rusted steel cable. "here's what we'll lift the elephant out with, providing the boom will hold and your men can string the heavy cable through the pulleys at night." "huh! our end of it is no trick for a bunch of canvasbacks," said the foreman of the gang. "get busy, boys, quick now! some of you bring some gasoline torches so's we kin see! move now, you fellers!" in five minutes the circus men were working like beavers, weaving the cable through the pulleys, placing the heavy boom and getting the derrick fitted up for service. the system and speed with which the trained tent riggers went about their task was nothing short of marvelous to bruce. he watched them almost fascinated until the little manager came up and claimed his attention. "look here you feller, i ain't sure your scheme is goin' t' work out," said he, skeptically. "how'er we goin' t' get some light into t' hole t' see the brute? these gasoline torches can't be lowered down there. the elephant would go wild and probably drowned hisself, an' if--" "i'm figuring on using the headlights of old nanc (that's the troop's automobile we built last winter) for searchlights. they are powerful enough and can be turned anywhere we need 'em. there, you can get a look at them now. that's old nanc on her way here." up the road sounded a siren, and the little manager turned to see two headlights bowling toward him. it was old nanc loaded down with the heavy motor, blasting mat and tools. "fine, bud; you made a fast trip. how are the wire stringers getting along?" shouted bruce to the scout who was driving the machine. "we passed them about a hundred and fifty yards from here. they are coming along in fine shape." "good," said bruce. "now bring old nanc right up to the edge of the quarry hole. we want to shine her headlights down into there and see what it looks like below. some of the circus men can unload the motor, and nipper, you can show them how to set it up on the derrick platform. and while all this is going on, babe, you take charge of making a sling. take this blasting mat and get a couple of circus men to help you head a section of cable to each of the four corners. fasten the ends together around that rusty derrick hook attached to the end of the cable. hurry it, will you, fellows?" with the help of some of the "canvas-backs," the automobile was worked off of the road and into the field on the north side of the quarry hole near the derrick. then it was pushed cautiously toward the edge of the pit and its wheels blocked by some big pieces of marble so that it would not roll into the hole. the rays of the headlights dispelled the darkness below immediately and there was his highness the elephant, almost submerged, looking up at them with his ridiculously small eyes. "huh! consarn it! i _knew_ you kids was playin' me fer a fool," roared the circus manager when he looked into the cut. "how'er you're goin' to hitch anything around _that_ animal, i'd like to know?" "we don't intend to hitch anything around him. we're going to make a sling of that big blasting mat and raise him out that way." "yes!" roared the furious manager, "but how in tarnation are you going to get it _under_ his belly? think some one is going down there and dive between his legs with your blooming old sling, do yuh? that animal is nearly all under water, remember." to tell the truth, that question _had_ been bothering bruce from the first. he had hoped that the water was only two or three feet deep. but there was at least ten feet of drainage in the quarry hole! he stood beside old nanc and bit his lips in his embarrassment. luck seemed against him. was everything going to fall through at the last moment? he did not answer the irate manager, but began to turn one of the headlights slowly so its rays illuminated the west wall of the hole. then suddenly the light paused, and a smile crept over the boy's face. the white beams had revealed to him a shelf of marble two feet above the water-line and at least ten feet across, skirting the lower edge of the west wall. he saw defeat turned into victory! "will that elephant mind his trainer?" bruce demanded of the manager. "huh! will he? well, you'd better guess he will!" stormed the man. "then everything is simple. you lower the trainer in a bo'son's chair over the west wall there and down to that ledge of marble. he can coax the animal out of the water and up on the rocks, and after that we can send a couple more men down with the sling and they can do the rest. see the plan?" "well, i'll be hanged! you win, young feller," said the manager, smiling for the first time since the accident. at this point the lads of the owl patrol reached the quarry hole trundling several empty wheelbarrows. jiminy gordon was carrying the remains of the last roll of wire. "here we are, bruce, ready to connect up, but you'd better believe building a line at night is no easy job, by jiminy." "guess it isn't," said bruce in a businesslike tone. "is mr. ford at headquarters?" "yes, he's waiting to turn on the current whenever he gets your signal." "great!" said bruce. "i was a little worried about that. there isn't any real danger, but you might have made a ground or a short circuit and upset everything." then turning to nipper knapp, he shouted, "how about the motor, nipper?" "set and ready for connections," shouted the scout. "right-o! then we'll have mr. elephant out of the hole in a jiffy," shouted bruce, as he seized the two ends of the wires and began to bend them about the terminals of the motor. he worked with speed and accuracy and the little circus manager could not help commenting on his skill as an electrician. "hum! i guess you lads know what you're doin', all right," he said. "well, we hope our efforts are successful," said bruce. then he added, "it's time you sent your trainer down there on the ledge to get the elephant out of the water." "don't worry, son; we ain't losin' no time on our end of this game. he's down there now an'--." shouts of laughter from the crowd assembled around the edge of the hole interrupted the little manager. he and bruce both looked up involuntarily. then they, too, burst into uproarious laughter at the spectacle. the trainer had gone down onto the ledge with an armful of bread loaves to tempt the elephant out of the water. there he stood holding out a loaf invitingly while the elephant, still half submerged, held his great mouth open and his trunk aloft expecting the man to toss the bread toward him. but this was not the trainer's intention. "come on, toby; come on. yuh gotta come out t' git this meal," he called. the elephant moved a little closer and waved his trunk aloft impatiently as if beckoning the trainer to toss the loaf. "oh, no, yuh don't. come on out, toby; come on--hi! go! ding yuh, leggo!-- hi! _help!_ help!" toby had refused to be tempted any longer. the waving trunk descended and wrapped quickly about the trainer's leg. then slowly the animal began to pull the man toward the water. the trainer was startled half to death. he dropped the bread and began to struggle mightily, for the black water looked cold to him even though the elephant did seem to enjoy it. he clutched at the smooth marble floor and tried to brace himself with his unincumbered leg, shouting lustily all the time. "hi! help me! help! kill th' beast! i don' wanna git a duckin'! i--i--got a cold in--my--" _splash--blub--blub--blub--_ toby's black little eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief as he gave a final tug and plunged the trainer into the water. then while the man floundered about, the animal deliberately put his two front feet onto the edge of the shelf and reached out toward the pile of loaves. one by one he picked them up and deftly slipped them into his mouth, disregarding the shouts of the trainer. but once in the water the man decided that he would stay in and drive the elephant out. "hi, jerry," he shouted. "throw me down the pike. i'll git the blasted critter out o' here if it takes me all night!" jerry tossed the short pike pole down onto the shelf and the trainer climbed out to get it. when the elephant saw the pole he immediately began to wade across the quarry hole. "oh, no, yuh don't, toby. i'll git yuh, now," shouted the man, as he plunged back into the water and began to swim toward the beast. "git outa here, yuh brute," he thundered, when he came alongside the huge bulk. and he accentuated his command by jabbing the pike deep into the beast's hide. as meekly as a lamb the elephant turned around, after allowing the trainer to climb onto the top of his head, he waded toward the shelf and climbed out of the water without the slightest sign of rebellion. "there, consarn his pesky hide, he's out now," said the little manager to bruce, who was still laughing over the comical antics of the big beast. "good," said the lad. then, turning, he called to babe, "hi! how about the blasting mat sling--is it finished?" "yes, it's ready," shouted the fat scout. "well, then, we're all in good shape," said the patrol leader, inspecting the outfit. "now for business. ho, jiminy, flash mr. ford the signal." instantly gordon bounded out of the circle of light and climbed the nearest stone pile. then with his battery he began to flash the morse code toward headquarters, where mr. ford was waiting. the circus manager took the whole performance in with wide eyes. "say, hang it all, you scouts know a thing or two, don't yuh?" "yes, we know enough to be fairly helpful," said bruce modestly. then, as he saw mr. ford flash back his o.k., he said, "now we'll let 'er go." he seized the reverse lever on the motor and threw it over. the derrick drums squeaked a moment before settling down to a business-like grumble. then the rusted steel cable, with the improvised blasting mat sling dangling at its end, was played out swiftly until the mass of woven rope settled down on the ledge beside the circus men, who were hard at work putting chains about the elephant's feet and trunk so that he could not squirm about in the sling. the adjusting of the heavy affair was no easy task, but the men worked with a will and a few moments later bruce caught their signal that all was ready. for a moment he paused with his hand on the starting switch. he was almost afraid to throw it into position. "oh, if the boom will only hold," he whispered to himself, for to have his plans fail now would have been more than he could endure. he moved the switch. there was a slight arc as contact was made. then slowly the motor began to turn. the boom stiffened and creaked ominously as the cable tightened. he pushed the switch over another notch. the big animal was lifted off its feet! would the boom hold? bruce and every member of the troop stood tense and silent, as they saw the big body of the elephant dangling over the pit. he was lifted a foot, two feet, _five_ feet! he was snorting and squirming in protest, and bruce's heart almost stopped when he saw the boom give under his weight. "oh, if he would only hold still!" muttered the boy. "he'll smash the timber, sure." the patrol leader pushed the switch over still another notch and the motor began to hum and sputter. the beast was raised ten feet, fifteen feet, eighteen, twenty. now he was on the level with the top of the quarry! slowly the boom began to work in, creaking and snapping under the strain. splinters were raising here and there on the timber. bruce knew it was only a matter of seconds now before the great stick would be shattered. the elephant was but a few feet from safety. canvas men were reaching out over the quarry's edge to seize the side of the sling. they gripped it! they pulled and tugged, and with a prodigious squeak the boom swung over. then with a crash it buckled, dropping the elephant on the very brink of the hole! fortunately, the timber did not part entirely or some one would have been killed. the lacing of steel derrick cable held it in place, and everything was safe. it took the scouts and the circus men a brief instant to realize this, and when they did a cheer went up that must have waked the villagers in woodbridge. the little circus manager was delighted. he rushed up and grasped bruce's hand. "fine work, young feller! fine work, i say! now you scouts all git home and tumble into bed. my men will clean things up here in fine shape. it's half-past three. sleep 'til ten o'clock and by that time a couple of my best vans will be at that buildin' yuh call headquarters waitin' t' take yuh t' st. cloud. yer goin' t' be my guests at t' circus er i'll know the reason why." "gee, that's mighty good," said bruce, excitedly. "how about it, fellows? we don't mind taking _that_ sort of pay for a good turn, do we?" "you bet we don't," shouted the scouts, enthusiastically. and a few moments later they fell in line and started off toward woodbridge. chapter vi helping to make the movies "whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o!" screamed the siren as bruce clifford's motorcycle came to a halt in front of the weir cottage on willow street. then: "hi, bud--bud-de-de! hello-o-o, bud! come on, wake up!" shouted the leader of the owl patrol, cupping his hands about his mouth and directing his voice toward an upstairs window. a moment later the window in question opened and bud in his undershirt, with a towel in one hand and a cake of soap in the other, appeared. "what're you making such a row for? i'm awake," he shouted rather irritably, for bud really never became thoroughly cheerful until after he had had his breakfast. "say, bud, the highway bridge over muddy brook--the one just below the railroad tracks on lake road; has gone down under a big motor truck full of scenery and things belonging to the historical motion picture company, the outfit that has been taking revolutionary war pictures over near ticonderoga. the machine's half under water and the men need help. there's a chance for the scouts to get busy. are you with us?" "you bet i am. i'll be to headquarters in three winks," said the leader of the blue heron patrol, considerably better natured. "fine! hurry now! i'm off to headquarters to call the rest of the fellows together," said bruce, as he started his motorcycle and shot up the long incline that led to the machine-shop headquarters of quarry troop no. , of woodbridge, popularly known as the boy scout engineers. the leader of the owls had left home a little after daylight that morning with fishing pole and creel strapped to his machine, for he intended trying the brown trout in concord valley. but when he reached the little highway bridge where the lake road crossed a shallow brook near the rutland railroad tracks, a situation presented itself that banished all thought of trout fishing. the ends of the bridge timbers had rotted away from dampness and under the weight of a big motor truck had parted from their stone pier. their collapse had projected the heavy vehicle front first into the stream, so that its hood was jammed against the abutment, while its hind wheels still remained on the sloping bridge floor. the chauffeur and his two assistants stood surveying the scene in a most dejected attitude. of course bruce stopped at the stream and looked over the situation, asking innumerable questions. but the men were not in a pleasant frame of mind and gave him only disagreeable answers, which nettled the scout to the point of exclaiming: "huh, if you weren't so grouchy about it, i'd like to try help you get out of the mess you are in. maybe we could help a great deal. i'm a member of the boy scout engineers, and it is just our fun to lend a hand in a fix like this." the chauffeur looked at the lad in amazement for a moment. then he spoke in milder tones. "excuse me, son. i didn't mean t' be so nasty. if you fellows will give us a hand, we'd be mighty much obliged. i know what the scouts are. i've met 'em before." "thank you for the compliment," said bruce. "we'll be here with block and tackle in less than an hour. in the meantime, get your truck unloaded," and, turning about, he raced back to town, stopping only to awaken bud weir before reaching headquarters. entering the home of the troop, he hurried to the wire-room on the second floor and began calling the scouts from breakfast. the telegraph line leading from headquarters was a big loop that extended through the town and connected with an instrument in the home of every second class scout, and all the boys could be called to headquarters in a jiffy. when his summons had been answered by most of the boys, bruce hurried downstairs and proceeded to get "old nanc," the troop's homemade automobile, ready for service. into it he loaded all the manila rope he could lay hands on, as well as blocks and pulleys, chains, crowbars, axes, sledges and everything else that might come in handy. by the time this work was well under way the scouts began to arrive and lend a hand. they came on motor cycle and on foot until there were twenty-odd gathered at headquarters. and when they were all assembled, bruce outlined briefly the situation at the lake road bridge and gave them his idea of how the task should be handled. of course, they were all eager to undertake the work, and in a few minutes they were on their way to the scene of trouble. the chauffeur and his men had done as bruce suggested, and when the lads arrived they found two great stacks of canvas scenery by the roadside. they gave this only a moment's inspection, however, for they had work before them. with as much system as a trained army corps they began to unload the coils of rope and the pulleys. then, under bruce's direction, several wove the cordage into a block and tackle arrangement. this done, a group headed by romper ryan removed shoes and stockings and began to ford the shallow stream, carrying the block and tackle with them. in no time they had one of the pulleys lashed to a substantial maple tree by the roadside. the other pulley was fastened to the back end of the automobile truck, which was still on the sloping floor of the bridge. when this was completed the single strand of rope on which they were to haul was passed back across the stream and attached to the rear axle of "old nanc." then came the test of the boys' engineering skill. at the request of bruce the scouts all seized the rope to assist "old nanc" in hauling the big machine backward up the grade. bud, the official driver of the troop's automobile, climbed to his place and everything was ready. "now, all together! pull!" shouted bruce, and at the command every scout arched his shoulders and hauled his hardest, while "old nanc's" engine began to cough and grumble furiously. the tackle grew taut. the pulleys squeaked and groaned and the bridge timbers protested in like manner as the big truck began to move. up it crawled, inch by inch. now the hood was out of water! a moment later the rear wheels were onto the road! slowly but surely it was lifted out of the brook until, finally, with a mighty tug, the lads backed it clear off the bridge and safely onto the highway. "fine!" shouted the chauffeur. "i knew you scouts were the bully boys. but, say, fellows, how's the machine going to get across the stream! we are bound for woodbridge, you know, and we're on the wrong side of the busted bridge now." "oh, maybe we can work that out some way," said bruce. "i guess we'll try to make a pair of shears out of a couple of fence rails, then hitch the block and tackle to the bridge floor and hoist it back to its proper level again. the rest of the fellows will get all of the discarded railroad ties they can find along the tracks over yonder and build a square crib under the bridge. they can lay the ties on top of each other in log cabin fashion and i guess that will hold up the bridge under your machine. it will make the crossing safe until the town authorities can put new bridge timber in place, too." "sounds mighty sensible," said the chauffeur. "will it take long?" "i don't think so. it's only half past ten now. here comes the ten thirty montreal special," said bruce, as the canadian flyer shot around a bend in the railroad tracks, her whistle screaming her approach to the woodbridge station. "come on, then, let's get busy right away. perhaps we can have the machine into woodbridge by noon," said the chauffeur. then, to his assistants, he called. "hi, you fellows, git over there to the railroad tracks and pick up some o' those old ties. go along with the scouts. they know old ones from new ones." all the lads, except two or three of the older boys, waded the brook and started out after crib building material. the others remained to help bruce rig up the shears and put the block and tackle into place. fortunately, section gangs had been working on the railroad recently, putting in new ties, and there were any number of discarded timbers along the embankment. these the lads appropriated, for they knew that the railroad men no longer wanted them and that sooner or later a bonfire would be made of them. the heavy timbers were piled up on the bank of the brook as fast as the scouts could find them, and by the time bruce and his helpers had hitched the block and tackle to the sagging bridge the crib builders were ready to begin work. raising the bridge floor was accomplished quickly, for the wooden structure was nowhere near as heavy as the auto truck. indeed, "old nanc" managed to haul it up all alone. this accomplished, the scouts waded into the water again, and, working in pairs, carried the railroad ties to a point just under the broken structure. the first two ties were put up and down stream and weighted with stones to keep them from floating away. two more were then placed across the stream on top of the first set, exactly like logs in a cabin. then, like bees, the boys traveled back and forth to the bank, carrying the heavy ties, until finally the crib was constructed snugly under the bridge flooring with two heavy cross timbers resting safely on top. when the tackle was finally removed and the bridge platform settled into place and gave every indication of being safely propped up by the crib, the scouts gave a ringing cheer, for their efforts had been successful. and, as if in answer to the cheer, the loud honking of a motor horn was heard and a big red motor car containing one man and the driver came tearing down the road. "here comes our manager, mr. dickle!" exclaimed the chauffeur when he saw the machine. mr. dickle proved to be a very businesslike and bustling individual. he bounded from the car before it stopped, demanding at the same time to know all the particulars of what had happened. it seems that he had seen the stalled motor truck from the window of the ten thirty train and had hired the first automobile he could find at the woodbridge station and rushed to the scene of trouble. briefly bruce and the chauffeur told him all that had happened and all that had been done. "rebuilt the bridge, eh? looks as if it would hold a steam engine now. that's bully," exclaimed mr. dickle. "now, if you fellows can tell me of a building equipped with electricity that i can rent for a studio for a couple of days, you will have done me another great favor. we are going to make some historical films of ethan allen and the green mountain boys. say, by the way, you fellows look intelligent. how would you like to be my supes? i'll pay you fifty cents a day. how about it?" "what's a supe?" asked bruce and bud together. "why, a supernumerary. i want a number of people to take part in the production, as green mountain boys or british soldiers or the mob, or roles like that, where good actors are not needed. i have a big battle scene as a climax. i'll need you in that surely." "in the movies, eh? whoope-e-e-e! fine!" exclaimed several, and the manager knew immediately that he would not have to look further for additional members for his cast. "and, say, about a studio; perhaps you could use the meeting room on the top floor of our headquarters building. we have all the electricity you want, only there isn't much daylight for taking pictures. there are only three windows, and--" "tut, tut, never mind the daylight. we don't need it in modern photography. we'll go up and look at the place," said the manager. then to the chauffeur he shouted: "here, jim, fasten a rope to the truck and i'll have this machine of mine tow you up to the scouts' headquarters." chapter vii ethan allen comes to life again for the next days the troop's headquarters on otter hill was the strangest place imaginable. passers by were surprised to find groups of real indians in war paint, colonial soldiers, british troopers and green mountain boys in buckskin garments walking up and down in front of the building or sitting in the sun waiting for their turn to "go on" in the studio room upstairs. these were the regular actors of the historical motion picture company, who had come to woodbridge by train to take part in the ethan allen film which mr. dickle was making. to be sure, all this fascinated the scouts. it was a decided pleasure to be allowed to circulate among such famous people. ethan allen was a big, broad-shouldered actor whose name was known from coast to coast. so was the individual who took the part of captain rember baker, captain warner and captain warrington. anne story was a girl whose face the boys had seen on a dozen different billboards, and there were any number of other well-known individuals in the troupe. and there were real live indians, too, who afforded the boys no end of interest. altogether, the advent of the motion picture company was a liberal education for the lads. but for knowledge of the technical nature, which the boys liked best, the interior of headquarters presented a world of opportunity. when the company's electricians and stage carpenters had finished with their work in the big meeting room bruce and his chums scarcely recognized it as the same place. two banks of a dozen electric lights as big as street arc lamps, and just as powerful, had been strung across the ceiling. these, by means of reflectors, were made to flood the far end of the room, "the stage," with a steady white light. behind the light was the camera man, grinding away steadily, taking sixteen pictures a second, while before the light were the actors playing their parts, now in a log cabin, now in a colonial mansion and again in a courtroom at albany, according to the way the scene shifters arranged the portable canvas scenery. between the camera man and the actors, to the left of the stage, sat mr. dickle in his shirt sleeves, clutching a bundle of manuscript in one hand and a megaphone in the other. through this effective mouthpiece he directed each of the actors. the members of the cast did their work entirely in pantomime, except when mr. dickle bawled a few lines at them, which they repeated so that the camera could register the action of their lips. it was all so perfectly wonderful to the scouts that they stood for hours watching the making of the film; that is, they stood still and watched while the actors and photographers were at work, but the moment business was suspended, while scenes were changed, they began to ask questions of every one in sight. they learned that the big lights were a new type of tungsten lamp filled with nitrogen gas which made them burn three times as bright as other lamps. they discovered that the original photographs were only three-quarters of an inch long and they were magnified from thirty to fifty thousand times when they were projected onto a movie screen by the machine in the theater. they found out also that raw film cost four cents a foot, that movie actors were paid as high as $ , a year, that there were nearly four hundred american firms making movies, that most of the films of the world were made in this country, that american "movies" were being shown in china, australia, india and all sorts of far-off corners of the world, and that in one american city alone the "movie" theaters took in more than $ , a day in admission fees. all this and a great deal more did the inquisitive youngsters gather, until they became veritable motion picture encyclopedias. of course, chief among the men whom they questioned was mr. dickle. in fact, every time the manager finished directing a scene, bruce and several other scouts pounced upon him and began plying him with questions concerning the film industry, all of which he answered in great detail, for he appreciated the fact that they were boys who wanted to learn and understand. it was during one of these periods of catechising that he finally explained the big film he was making at the time. "this photoplay," he said, "is to be a feature production; five reels of , feet each. i'm going to give all the details of the troubles ethan allen and the green mountain boys had with the authorities of new york state over the new hampshire grants. of course, you boys know the story. it's history." "you bet we do," said bruce; "find a vermont boy who hasn't read about the green mountain boys." "well, i'm glad you are so well informed. it will help a little when you take your parts tomorrow afternoon. i've finished the studio work on the film now, and all that remains are some exteriors in the vicinity of the lake. the film will wind up with a big battle between allen and his green mountain boys against the sheriff of albany, assisted by some indians and red coats." "i want you fellows to be the original green mountain scouts. your buckskins are all downstairs in the trunks. they came by express this morning. i'd expect you all to report here tomorrow at two thirty. get into the duds and come up to the lake. you'll find us all ready for you up there with an automobile full of flintlock rifles and things. the stage will all be set for the big battle around the mouth of the real ethan allen cave. how does that suit you?" it was a thrilling idea. "how does it suit? wow; were there ever fellows as lucky as we are? just think of being in a real movie film; i tell you--" "jiminy crickets, we'll have the time of our life, mr. dickle. why, we'll do it for nothing, just for the fun of the thing," exclaimed gordon generously. "oh, no, you won't; you'll get fifty cents each, and, besides, i'm paying you ten dollars a day for the use of this building. forty dollars is due you so far. that should help the troop's treasury a little, eh, boys?" "you bet it will," said bruce. "only we don't like--" "tut, tut; that'll do. i owe you money, and i'm going to pay it. if you don't take it i'll give it to your assistant scout master, mr. ford. i met him yesterday," said mr. dickle. then, to the actors, he called: "next scene, gentlemen! ring the bell, benny!" and bruce and the scouts realized that it was time for them to leave. the following day woodbridge witnessed the strangest scene in its history. it was that of a score of green mountain scouts, in buckskins and coon caps, traveling up the dusty road toward the lake. some were astride motor cycles, a half-dozen were crowded into "old nanc" and the rest were walking. an hour after leaving headquarters they reached the lake shore. ethan allen's cave was up a very steep grade from the water and the boys could see as they rounded the bend in the road dozens of red coats and indians waiting for them. bruce and the lads on the motorcycles put on high speed and took the grade in whirlwind fashion but "old nanc" was not equal to the hill, so she was parked in a lot by the lakeside and the rest of the troop went up to the cave on foot. immediately upon their arrival activities began. mr. dickle formed them in line and marched them up beside the big automobile truck that stood in the middle of the road. here each lad was given a flintlock rifle and sent over to the mouth of the cave, where ethan allen and a half-dozen green mountain boys were waiting, seated about a camp fire. "now, boys," said the manager, when all had been served with guns and had taken their places, "those weapons of yours are only dummies. i don't want you lads fooling with powder even in a sham battle. i won't be responsible for your eyes. my regular actors will do all the firing necessary, and they will make smoke enough to cover the film. all i want you fellows to do is aim and pull the trigger. are you ready now, gentlemen? camera!" mr. dickle stood with his feet apart, megaphone in hand, in the middle of the road. the camera man had set up his tripod on the rear end of the motor truck, which was held on the very brink of the grade by its brakes. at the word "camera" he began to turn the crank of his machine rapidly, and almost before they knew it the boy scout engineers were being photographed as part of a real feature film. action followed swiftly. while the lads were sitting about the fire an indian came out of the woods. it was neshobee, the friendly red man of judge thompson's story. he advanced to ethan allen, his hand extended aloft as a sign of friendship. then he began to talk, pointing into the bushes and up toward the leaves of the trees. instantly the green mountain boys were alert! "the red coats and the sheriff!" snapped allen, and every man was crouching, gun in hand, waiting for the attack. a red coat appeared in the bushes! up went a dozen muskets, and the next instant there was a thundering roar! the red coat disappeared! but others came! they bobbed up everywhere! behind bushes and trees! from rocks and logs they sprang, advancing and firing in apparently deadly earnestness! the roar of the musketry was deafening! bruce and his chums were thrilled with enthusiasm, and they snapped their guns at every enemy in sight! on came the red coats and the indians with the sheriff of new york leading them! they advanced into the open, firing deliberately at the little group of defenders about the cave! but their fire was answered with interest, and soldiers and indians were stumbling and falling in all directions! and above all the din could be heard the voice of mr. dickle, the stage manager, roaring directions through his megaphone. "great scene! fine! register excitement! fall down, murphy! tumble over, there, lisk; you're dead--tumble, i say. don't be afraid of your uniform. i'll pay for that. fall!--fall!--fall! now, green mountain boys, up and at 'em! charge! charge! beat it, you red coats--you're licked. run! git! beat it, i say! after 'em, scouts, after 'em! fine! great scene! all right; that'll do. quit firing." the roar of the flintlocks ceased and bruce and the rest of the scouts stopped, thoroughly out of breath with excitement. the red coats and indians stopped also, and, turning about, rejoined their erstwhile enemies. the "dead" and "wounded" stood up, too, and began to walk about and chat with the rest, all of which gave the scouts the impression that a "movie" battle was the only really pleasant kind of battle, after all. "well, you scouts certainly filled the bill as green mountain boys," said mr. dickle when the boys reached the road where he was standing. "that will make a great scene. now, just as soon as bob gets his stuff stowed away in the truck, we'll start for town." bruce noticed that the camera man was having difficulty in getting his outfit in the truck unassisted, so he ran on ahead of the others to help him. "here, bruce," said the movie operator, "you get up in the wagon and i will hand the things to you and you can stow them under the seat." the camera man handed up the box-like machine, which bruce started packing under the seat. just as the operator started back up the hill to get his tripod, in some unaccountable manner the brakes of the heavy truck loosened and the big vehicle started to roll slowly down the hill. so steep was the grade that the truck gained momentum at a terrific rate. bob, the camera man, noticing what had happened, turned and ran swiftly down the hill. but it had gained such headway that he couldn't overtake it. "hi, there!" shrieked mr. dickle. "stop that trunk! stopit! my film! it's all in the camera, and the truck's running away! stop it, some one! save the film!" bruce's first impulse was to jump from the truck and leave it to its fate, but when he heard the manager's frantic appeal to save the precious film he climbed quickly over the back of the high seat. in another instant he grasped the steering wheel and jammed his foot down upon the brake lever. then bang--! the brake band snapped and the truck lurched forward again! bruce had applied the brake too suddenly, and the next moment he found himself in a runaway motor truck that could not be stopped until it reached level ground. the patrol leader felt like he was turning cold. before him stretched a long grade, and at the end a sharp turn! if he did not make that turn the motor truck would crash against a rock or tree and kill him, or at best it would plunge into the lake and then the film would be lost! could he make the turn? on rushed the massive truck. it had developed express train speed now and it rocked from side to side like a ship in a gale as it tore down the rough country road! bruce clutched the big steering wheel with deathlike grip and tried his mightiest to keep the cumbersome vehicle straight! he realized that a loose stone or a deep rut meant death to him and destruction to the motor car! his teeth were clenched and his face was white! the wind had whisked away his coonskin cap. "oh, if i can only make that turn! i must! i've _got_ to!" he told himself, as he saw the distance to the foot of the hill being eaten up by the flying motor car. nearer and nearer came the turn. it was a hundred yards away. now seventy, fifty, forty! would the truck stay on all four wheels or would it go plunging on madly, end over end, into the lake? could he make it? the road bent slightly now. brace followed the curve. now came the turn. bruce tugged at the wheel. the big truck swerved. it was skidding! it was two wheels and ploughing up the dust in great clouds! it was almost around! it was around! the road ahead of him was straight and clear! bruce breathed a great sigh of relief. and so did fifty individuals who had been watching the terrible race from the top of the hill. they cheered loud and long when the big truck shot safely around the bend and headed up the level road toward woodbridge. then all of them started down the grade pell mell, nor did they stop until they reached the place where the truck had finally stalled. then every one tried to shake the boy's hand. "by jove, but for your nerve, bruce, my boy, we'd have been minus film and motor truck. for pure grit, i think you scouts take the prize. i wish i could think of some way to repay you," cried mr. dickle, pumping bruce around somewhat roughly. "why--er--you see--we don't want any pay for what we do, but if it can be arranged, i--i--well, we sure would like to see that 'movie.' can't you send one to the woodbridge theater?" said bruce. "huh, send one to the woodbridge theater! why, i'll bring the first release of it to woodbridge myself and show it in your headquarters. how'll that suit you fellows?" and the enthusiastic replies of the scouts convinced the "movie" manager that he had hit the right idea. chapter viii the prize contest "well, fellows, there's this much about it, if we are going to build a real sure enough motorboat this year we've got to get a hustle on us and earn some money. with the rent we received from the historical motion picture company and the money we secured from the circus ticket wagon we have just $ . . we need $ . to buy the motor alone, even with the reduction that mr. clifford can get for us. and added to that is the expense of extra lumber and fittings, which will be at least thirty dollars more. now where do we stand, i'd like to know?" thus did bud weir unburden his mind to the other boys of the quarry troop, sometimes called, because of their mechanical skill, the boy scout engineers. all spring the scouts had been planning to build a motorboat to be used on long lake. they had had their summer camp on the shores of this lake for the past two years, and they intended to have a camp there as usual this year, but they had decided to make it a construction camp and spend most of their time building a thirty-foot power boat, which would be the largest vessel on the lake. the idea was to increase the troop's fund in the treasury as much as possible during the winter and spring and use the money to purchase a three horsepower gasoline motor, which they calculated would be large enough to drive the boat faster than any craft thereabout. but somehow the months had hurried past and the fund had not increased at a proportionate pace. indeed if it had not been for a windfall of forty odd dollars from the historical motion picture company, the treasury would have been in a very bad way. the scouts really could not understand it at all. they had worked hard, or at least they thought they had, and they had contributed every cent they had made toward the engine fund, but somehow the balance in the woodbridge bank looked mighty small to the scouts. "what the dickens is the matter with us anyway, are we lazy?" queried nipper knapp, breaking the long silence that followed bud's remark. "by jiminy, it looks that way to me," said jiminy gordon emphatically. "it's procrastination that--" "whoops! hi! what was that word? ho, ho, say it again, bruce," shouted romper ryan hilariously. "he's worked for months on that _boys' life dictionary contest_," said ray martin, "that's what's the matter with bruce. what does it mean? maybe it's something to eat!" "aw, say, quit your joshin' me," said bruce, "that's a real word. it means--ah--er--well--" "sure it does, we knew it all the time, didn't we, romper?" said nipper knapp. "that's exactly what it means," said bud quite soberly. "well, it means that we've been putting off work. we haven't come down to brass tacks. and now we're up against it and our motorboat proposition falls through," snapped bruce. "well, if that's what it means then you told the truth," said bud, resuming his indignant attitude. "we fellows haven't been on the job. i haven't made a cent in three weeks and neither has any one of the rest of you. now be honest, have you?" "no, we haven't," said dug maston. "i guess we are actually growing lazy," said romper solemnly. then babe wilson, the sarcastic fat scout, added: "no, we haven't been lazy, we've just been waiting for opportunity to knock at our door--" (_rap--rap--rap, rap--rap--rap--rap._) babe looked startled and swallowed hard. then, his sense of humor bobbing to the surface again, he grinned. "that's mr. opportunity," he said. "no, it wasn't," said romper, rushing to the window, "it was a blasted old bill poster tacking a sign on headquarters-- hi! git out o' there! this isn't an old barn!" he shouted to the bill poster. but that individual never heard him and kept tacking away until the bill was up. then he went on down the road whistling merrily. "hang it, headquarters will look like a billboard soon. i'm going down to pull his blooming old sign off our wall," said romper, as he disappeared through the doorway and stamped down the stairs. but a few moments later he seemed to have changed his mind, for he was heard to shout: "hi, fellows, come on down. it's worth reading anyway." and what the scouts read when they crowded about him was: $ in prizes for brown tail moth exterminators. the town of woodbridge is offering $ in prizes to the individuals who can advance and demonstrate a practical method of exterminating the brown tail moths that are infesting the trees in the township. for particulars apply to mayor's office, town hall. three prizes offered: $ $ $ . "say, was that opportunity, after all?" asked babe in wide-eyed amazement when he read the poster. and every boy looked at every other boy and wondered. if there are any who do not believe that boys can become genuinely interested in study, they should have visited the quarry troop headquarters a few days after the discovery of the work of the bill poster. for at least three consecutive afternoons a dozen lads spent their time in the big meeting room on the second floor poring over dry looking pamphlets which bore the stamp of the bureau of entomology of the united states department of agriculture. they were all perusing this literature with the one purpose--to learn as much as they could about the habits of the brown tail moths, for they hoped in their study to discover some new and original way to exterminate the pest and thereby win one of the three generous prizes offered by the town authorities. but though they pursued the subject relentlessly none of them seemed able to generate an idea that smacked of originality. "aw, say, fellows, this will never do," said babe wilson. "we can't compete in this contest. we don't know anything about chemistry or things like that. why, we don't even know a brown tail moth when we see one." he disconsolately tossed away his pamphlet and shoved his hands into his pockets. "pshaw, don't give up so soon," said bud weir. "this reading isn't very gay but all the same we are learning some things we should know. and even if we are not familiar with chemistry, we may be able to figure out a way of getting rid of them by means of some mechanical appliance." "i think this is mighty interesting," said bruce, looking up from his leaflet. "i know now what's ailing those apple trees down back of our barn. the brown tail moths are in them. listen to this: 'the principal injury caused by these moths is due to the feeding habits of the larva. they attack apple, pear, plum, oak, elm and willow trees. if the infestation is bad the caterpillars are often numerous enough to devour the leaves as fast as the trees are able to develop them. as the webs are made on the terminals the growth of the tree is frequently checked.' "those apple trees of ours haven't had a full grown leaf on them this spring and there are webs in the tops of them, too. that's the work of brown tails all right." "the most interesting thing to me about these little codgers is the way they got here," said romper ryan. "they came from europe about , so this book says. came over on some young trees imported here. there couldn't have been more than a couple of cocoons, but look how they have spread since that time. they were first seen in somerville, massachusetts, but now they are all over the new england states. they are only just getting into vermont, though." "this pamphlet says that the female moth flies a great distance," said jiminy gordon, growing enthusiastic about the subject, "and that the female gipsy moth, which is another kind of pest, can't fly at all. by jiminy, i thought all moths could fly, didn't you? it also says that the female brown tail moth is attracted by strong lights and can be found fluttering around arc lamps almost any warm--" "does it? where? where does it say they like strong light?" exclaimed nipper knapp. "why, what the dickens struck you? it says so right here. just listen: 'these moths are attracted to strong light such as electric arc lights, as they fly at night it is often possible to secure many specimens around arc lamps in cities and towns during the latter part of june and the first half of july. the--'" "whoop! that solves it! i got it, fellows! it's as easy as rolling off a log. we win the $ prize sure!" exclaimed nipper knapp excitedly. then while the boys were looking at him in utter amazement he continued. "listen, fellows! i was running mother's electric vacuum cleaner this morning before i started to school. i saw how easily the motor-driven fan sucked in everything in sight. i held the nozzle near a fly on the window pane and _zipp--p-p_, in went mr. fly. i thought right away that a big vacuum cleaner would make a fine moth catcher if we could only get near enough to the moths. and i even figured out a plan for a large one which wouldn't cost very much and could be made mostly of wood. but i knew it was foolish 'cause we couldn't get near the moths. then--" "great! i see your plan. you are going to attract your moths by a light and then catch 'em with the suction cleaner," exclaimed bruce. "sure, and here's how i'm going to do it. i'm going to take one of the automobile's searchlights and shine it off on to some trees and then put the vacuum cleaner just under the light beams. then when mr. moth comes flying down the path of light and gets over the top of the sucker--_zing_, in he goes. get my idea? wait, i'll draw a plan of the thing for you," and, rushing over to the writing table in the corner, nipper began to draw hastily while the scouts all crowded around him and watched. "there you are. there's the whole plan of the thing. easy to make and easy to operate and i guess it's original all right." the drawings traveled from hand to hand, each lad scrutinizing them carefully for some fault in the mechanical detail. "jiminy, i think you've struck it," exclaimed gordon. "struck it? why, man, he's got the first prize in his pocket right now," insisted romper as he looked over the plans. "well, if it meets with your approval, fellows, let's get busy right now and build our moth trap." "right-o. no more procras--something-or-other, as bruce said the other day. we'll get busy immediately," said bud weir. "well, first of all i think we should talk it over with mr. ford. he will be able to see flaws in our plans where we can't, you know," said nipper. "that was exactly my idea. and, by the way, did you notice that the pamphlet from the mayor's office named mr. ford among the members of the judging committee in this contest?" said bruce. "yes, i did," said bud, "and for that reason i think he would like to see us boys try for the prize even though we don't win anything. come on, we'll go over and talk with him." bud was quite right. when mr. ford learned that the boys had become interested in the fight against the brown tail moth he was delighted. "that's the stuff, scouts. take an interest in everything in the nature of a public improvement. if you grow up with that idea in mind you will make useful citizens," he said, when the boys informed him that they had been studying the brown tail moth campaign and intended to try for one of the town's prizes. "well, i'm afraid that it was more of a selfish motive that led us to take an interest. the troop needs one of those prizes to swell its treasury," said bruce. "never mind, many of the noblest works in this world resulted from the selfish desire on the part of some one who wanted to win some kind of a prize. but i won't sermonize. let me see what you have in mind as a moth exterminator," said the assistant scoutmaster. the electrical engineer spent nearly half an hour in silent contemplation of nipper's drawings after the plan had been explained to him. finally, his eyes sparkling with amusement, he laid the drawings onto his desk and remarked: "by jove, you fellows are about the keenest observers i've met in some time. it all grew out of watching a vacuum cleaner, eh? well, well, well, i think that idea is remarkable. i'm certain it will work. you should have it patented immediately. make another set of drawings for me, nipper, and i'll send them down to my patent attorney in washington. perhaps you may have struck it richer than you expect. you may be able to put the device on the market. who knows? in the meantime get busy and build one and let me see how it works." "we are going down and buy the material right away," said bruce, enthusiastically, "and father says he will have the suction fan made over in his shop. it can be built of sheet iron and won't cost much, you know." "all right, go ahead. i'll come over to headquarters now and then and watch you work," said mr. ford. chapter ix working to win not since the days preceding the firemen's tournament when the motorcycle fire department was being outfitted had the scout engineers been busier than they were the following few weeks. every afternoon after the academy let out, and every evening they could spare from their studies was devoted to the construction of the moth trap. they worked with snap and vim, for upon the success of their product depended the possibility of a troop motorboat. and it was well that they had this enthusiasm, for a time limit had been set on the contest. according to the information received from the mayor's office the contest would close the last monday in june and the five days following would be devoted to testing the various methods and appliances entered. with the assistance of mr. ford the lads had already made their entry, sending drawings and details of their device to the committee of judges. but in spite of their fast work it was apparent that they would not complete their contrivance until the middle or latter part of the week set for the test. they were determined that $ of the $ offered by the town should be added to the troop's account in the woodbridge bank, however, and when scouts take that attitude in any matter one can rest assured of a period of industry. they worked like beavers and the _rap, rap, rap_ of hammers, the _buzz-z-z_ of band and jigsaws and the _hum-m_ of motors could be heard in their workshop on the first floor of the headquarters building at almost any hour. of course, the boys were not entirely sure that they would win first or even third prize, because there were any number of others competing for the same honors. indeed, farmers and even business men in and around woodbridge were experimenting with chemical exterminators and various other ingenious devices and all of these would have an equal chance with the appliance invented by the boys. but the lads were sportsmen enough to take their chances with the rest. indeed, they even went so far as to stake some of the precious motor money on the result, for they took fifteen dollars from the woodbridge bank to pay for the lumber and other material needed to build nipper's big vacuum pest catcher. "if we don't win that prize now all our chances for a motorboat are gone for sure," said babe wilson when bud weir announced the withdrawal of part of the fund. "well, that isn't the way to look at it. just say we are going to win the prize and then get busy and work for it," insisted bud, trying to instil confidence in the stout scout. day by day the neatly finished boards grew to represent nipper's idea of a moth exterminator. and finally, after what seemed to the boys an unusually long time, the suction fan arrived from bruce's father's mill. it was already attached to a one-quarter horsepower electric motor, for mr. clifford knew that none of the motors in the scouts' workshop were small enough to be used on a fan with six-inch blades. by this time the lads had all but finished the big wooden trumpet and it was only necessary to set the fan, bolt the motor into place and give the whole thing a coat of paint. but already the last monday of the month had passed and only a day or two remained in which the boys could test their machine before the judges. day and night since the beginning of the week contestants had been claiming the attention of the judges with their schemes for extermination. most of these had been tried out and many were said to be very successful. on one or two occasions the scouts had gone out to look over these tests, but to their mind none of them looked as effective as the moth trap they were building. on thursday night mr. ford visited headquarters looking rather anxious, for he had heard very little from the boys during the last few days and he was afraid they were not going to put their machine together in time to appear before the judging committee with it. he was greatly relieved to find that the lads were about to put the motor and fan in place and he realized that this marked almost the last stage of their work. "well, boys, it looks all right to me," he said. "when are you going to be ready for the official tryout?" "just as soon as we can put the automobile lamp into place. we are building some iron brackets for that now. we'll be all ready by tomorrow evening, i guess. that will give us one full day leeway. the tests can be conducted up to midnight saturday, can't they?" "sure, i'll see that the judges are ready for you. i have an engagement that may keep me a little bit late, but i'll get there. where are you going to test it?" "out on the back road here; down by the bend opposite chipman's hill," said nipper. "fine, i'll be there. say, by the way, i was talking about your idea down town this evening and a reporter from the _journal_ heard me. he seemed very much interested when i told him about your work and he wants to come up and see the machine. he'll probably be up some time to-morrow. perhaps i can get him up to see the test. if i can i--listen, is that some one coming? sure enough, perhaps it is he. open the door, bruce." bruce swung open the big double door and rogan, one of the reporters for the woodbridge _journal_ and the local correspondent for the st. cloud _call_, entered. "hello, boys," he shouted good naturedly. "heard you have a new wrinkle in moth catchers. is that the machine? looks mighty businesslike. is it ready to test? well, if there isn't mr. ford. how are you? what do you think of the scout's invention? how does it work? whose idea is it. where--?" "oh, goodness gracious, don't ask 'em so fast," said bruce. "we'll answer them one at a time and explain the machine to you if you'll give us a chance." "sure. excuse me. go right ahead," said hogan, his inquisitive blue eyes taking in everything in the room. nipper had the honor of describing his own invention, which he did with no little pride. and evidently rogan was impressed for, after cross examining mr. ford and going into the device from every angle, he wrote a two-column story which appeared on the first page of the journal the following morning. also he telephoned a story to the st. cloud paper which the boys read the following afternoon. as soon as the academy closed the next day the scouts hurried to headquarters, for they had a great deal to do before they could carry out the test that evening. two or three attended to the work of removing one of the searchlights from "old nanc" and putting it into place on top of the moth catcher, while the rest of the boys strung a temporary line of wire from the headquarters' switchboard to a point about two hundred yards up the road. they intended to conduct the test there and throw the searchlight into the trees on chipman hill across the valley. it was dinner time when the wires were in place and the scouts, after a last look about, all went home to get something to eat and to wait the coming of darkness. they began to return to headquarters about half past seven. bruce, nipper knapp, and ray martin were the first to arrive and, to their surprise, they found at least two dozen people waiting outside of headquarters. "well, what does this meant" inquired bruce of nipper. "well, i guess they read rogan's story in the journal. he said we were going to have a test to-night, you know." "then we're going to have a gallery of spectators! oh, well, we don't mind, do we, boys?" "you bet we don't--if the thing will only work," said nipper. soon, other scouts arrived and presently an automobile rolled up to the door and four of the town's councilmen climbed out. the party was composed of mr. bassett, mr. bates, mr. adams and mr. franklin, all members of the mayor's committee of judges. the lads were disappointed not to see mr. ford among them, but they felt confident that he would appear in time for the official test. the councilmen looked over the moth trap with critical eyes and asked innumerable questions. then finally mr. bassett, chairman of the committee, spoke. "well, scouts, it surely looks like a good plan, but will it catch 'em, that's what we want to know?" "we are not certain of that ourselves, sir, but we'll take it out and test it. then we'll surely know," said nipper. in a few moments the moth catcher had been loaded into "old nanc" and the scouts, judges and about one hundred townfolk who had gathered to see the demonstration, started up otter creek road. by the time the boys had loaded the moth catcher into "old nanc" the entire troop was there. twilight had gone and the stars were coming out when "old nanc" arrived at the appointed location. every one was extremely curious and the moment the moth catcher was put on the ground men and women alike began to inspect the contrivance closely. it was fully twenty minutes before the boys could connect the wires to the searchlight and the motor. then a scout was sent post haste back to headquarters to throw the switch and let the current into the new line. when this was done nipper, who was in charge on this occasion, took his place beside the contrivance. scouts with staffs were detailed to keep the small crowd back and away from the front of the machine. "are you all ready, nipper?" said bruce. "sure," said nipper. then, "say, is mr. ford here? i wish he was; i'd like to have him see this. oh, bruce, if it will only work! i'm getting as nervous as a cat." he glanced toward the automobile where the four judges sat waiting. "tut, tut, don't get fussed," said bruce, trying hard to conceal his own suppressed excitement. "all right, here goes," said nipper as he turned the lamp switch, and a moment later the motor switch. instantly a long arm of light reached out across the valley and focused on the heavy growth of elm trees on the opposite hill side. the motor began to hum and the fan to buzz loudly. every one was attention. every eye was riveted in the long shaft of light that stretched forth into the night. a minute they waited, two minutes, five minutes! nothing happened! "oh--this suspense is terrible," groaned nipper. "you're right, it is," whispered bruce. every scout felt the same way. was it a failure? was their idea only visionary, alter all? oh, why didn't something happen to relieve the tension. why didn't-- "look! there's a moth," said some one. "where?" asked half a dozen breathlessly. "out there! look! can't you see him?" said others. sure enough, coming down the long pathway of light was a solitary moth winging its fitful way toward the lamp. now it was in the light and now it dodged out into the darkness. but always it returned a few feet nearer to the waiting scouts. it seemed irresistibly drawn toward the auto lamp. "come on, come a little closer and we'll have you," whispered nipper excitedly. on it came toward the upturned mouth of the vacuum. it was ten feet away, then eight, seven, six. now it felt the air disturbance, for it began to flutter harder. then--_zipp_! it was caught in the air current and in a twinkle disappeared down the yawning month of the sucker. a mighty cheer went up. but they were silenced quickly when another moth appeared. but before this one had gone half way down the light shaft, two others came. then came two more, then three or four, until they were fluttering in the white light like so many scraps of paper. and always when they reached a point over the opening of the sucker they were whisked out of sight like a flash, to be carried into the big bag at the other end of the machine. the crowd began to press in closer. the men were talking loudly now and congratulating the young engineers, and as for nipper and his comrades, well, they were pleased, and showed it by the smiles they wore. but just at this moment the sound of an automobile coming from the direction of headquarters was heard and the next instant mr. ford's car dashed up. "hello, boys, how's she working?" he inquired and there was something in the tone of his voice that disturbed the scouts. "why, it's running in great shape. we have nearly half a bag full of moths now. what's the matter?" queried nipper. "well, i have some bad news for you. i'm sorry, fellows, but your little machine isn't as original as we thought it was. here's a telegram i received this evening from my attorneys in washington. they say that a machine like yours was invented in germany several years ago and patented in this country, too. they say several stories were printed about it in german and american magazines at the time. that means that we can't put it on the market as we had visions of doing and--!" "well, well, that's too bad," said deep-voiced mr. bassett, who had come out of the automobile with the other judges to hear what mr. ford had to say. "too bad they can't get a patent on it. i thought the lads had an a- business proposition here and i was about to make 'em a spot cash offer for an interest in it. why, it's the best thing we've seen in all the tests. no one has had anything anywhere near as good." "but--but--you don't mean we can't win the contest," stammered nipper nervously, looking at mr. bassett. "win! win! why, lads, you've won in a walk. hasn't he, gentlemen? we haven't seen anything as good as this, have we?" "we certainly have not," said mr. adams. "of course, the boys win. they get the $ prize, but that's a mighty small amount for such ingenuity. if it wasn't for that german inventor you could have made thousands of dollars out--" "pshaw, we only wanted first prize," exclaimed nipper knapp. then he shouted, "hi, fellows, we win, and we'll have our motorboat whoope-e-e-e! three cheers." and all, including the men, joined in: "hip--hip--hoo-ray!" the noise of which didn't bother the moths in the least as they kept on fluttering toward the light and disappearing into the trap. chapter x the boy from arizona "say, fellows, i have the idea we--" "jiminy!" interrupted jiminy gordon. "romper's got an idea--first he ever had in his life. come, spit it out, and if it isn't any better than the rest we've been listening to, we'll maul you--won't we, fellows?" "bet we will," said bud weir. "we'll duck him in the creek," threatened nipper knapp. "come on there, young man, let us know what's in your cranium. none of the rest of us has been able to get even the glimmer of an intelligent suggestion," said bruce clifford. "well, here it is," said romper, getting to his feet. "we'll furnish a climax to our part of the fourth of july celebration by presenting woodbridge with a city flag--we'll make the suggestion, get it approved by the village council, have old granny mastin make it and pres--" "hi, hi, not so fast--you're rushing along like a train of cars--trying to dodge that ducking, aren't you? now, slower--what's this idea? what do you mean by a city flag? never heard of such a thing before," said ray martin. "huh, you haven't? well, you're a fine scout. don't you ever read the papers?" said romper with disgust. "i've heard of it," interrupted bruce, "and it's a bully suggestion. a number of american cities have flags--a distinctive ensign, just like patrol flags that we scouts have. new york has just adopted one, and i can't see why woodbridge shouldn't have a flag of her own. romper's idea is a corker. we can suggest a flag and get the approval of the woodbridge council. then on the fourth we can present it to the city and have grand old celebration. romper deserves a vote of thanks instead of a ducking." in truth, romper had piloted quarry troop out of a most trying dilemma. here is how matters stood before he suddenly became inspired: woodbridge had been planning a safe and sane fourth of july celebration, with a pageant, municipal night fireworks and various other forms of a good time. all of which was to take place at the firemen's tournament field on the outskirts of the town. quarry troop had been invited to give an exhibition. so far as that was concerned, the boys were ready and willing to give exhibitions in almost any of the many branches of scouting at a moment's notice, for they were all well trained. but the fact that the occasion was independence day and that there would be hundreds of strangers watching them made the lads eager to give an extra good performance and end with a grand flourish--something spectacular. now, just what this climax was to be required deep thought, and half a dozen of the older scouts of the troop had gathered under the big maple in front of their machine-shop headquarters on otter creek hill to ponder the situation. they had been sprawled in various attitudes in the shade of the old tree for more than half an hour, each one doing his utmost to think of something original. all kinds of suggestions were advanced, but none was worth considering until romper finally stirred up his flag idea. it did not take the wide-awake youngsters long to comprehend the spectacular element in this proposition, however, and presently they were talking away at a furious rate, planning the details. "look here, why not make the order of events like this," said bruce. "first we'll pitch a real scout camp and then put up our wireless outfit, just as we had decided. beforehand we'll erect a big pole and a little pole to hold the aerial. 'old nanc' can carry the outfit we have on the headquarters roof to firemen's field and we can borrow one of the batteries from dad's electric truck and take that along to furnish our current. "then, after the wireless is up and working, we can wind up the performance by presenting the town with a flag. that should make a real hit, eh, fellows? we'll get mr. ford to make a speech from the reviewing stand and then, after the mayor has answered, we'll raise the flag on the big aerial pole and salute it. how do you like that for a programme?" "great," exclaimed several of the scouts. "bully," said bud. "best ever," asserted nipper knapp. "but say, here we've been talking about giving the town a flag, now what's it to look like?" "jove, that's right," said ray martin. "what sort of a flag is it to be? let's make it green and purple, green to signify--ah--" "yes, let's add pink, canary and sky blue," interrupted sarcastic babe wilson, "what do you think this is going to be, a rainbow?" "well, i think we should talk the plan over with mr. ford and let him give our suggestion to the city councilmen. they may have some ideas as to what the woodbridge flag should look like," said bruce. "sure," said ray. "all right, i'll--" "say, fellows," interrupted romper in a whisper, while he watched a solitary figure coming up the road, "here comes that chap we had at headquarters yesterday, dick what's-his-name?" "sure enough," said bud weir. "say, come on fellows, let's go inside; we don't want a 'fraid raid cat like him hanging around with us." "aw, say, that isn't right," replied bruce in an undertone. "don't snub a fellow like that. i think it was sort of childish for him to be afraid, but he looks like a pretty good chap, at that." but the lad in question evidently did not intend to "hang around." instead he made his way up otter creek hill, passed the group in front of headquarters with a nod and a cheerful "howdy" and continued on his way. he was a short, thickset youngster of about sixteen and he walked with a peculiar stride, for his legs were slightly bowed. dick austin was his name and he had come from his home in arizona to spend his summer vacation with an aunt in woodbridge. several of the scouts had met him at various places in the village since he had been in town, and had tried to make his acquaintance, but he seemed to keep to himself a great deal. the day before the fourth of july conference under the maple, however, two of the lads had encountered him on the street, and out of pure kindness of heart had invited him to accompany them to headquarters. but much to their surprise dick did not like the machine shop at all. he objected to the hum of motors and he jumped every time he saw the flashes from the wireless spark gap. he refused to try a ride on the tandem seat of one of the troop's motorcycles, and when he received a slight shock after several of the boys had persuaded him to take hold of the handles of a static electric machine, he became thoroughly frightened. "look year," he said with a decided southern accent, "i don't like this hear 'lectric business no how. hit's dangerous stuff an' i'm afeard o' hit. yo' see i ham 't been used t' hit down whar i lived an' i cain 't feel comfortable with a lot of machinery so close to me. no, sirree, i'd rather leg it out o' here and git into t' open." whereupon he left headquarters without waiting to listen to the scouts, who tried to explain that it was only high-tension electricity that was not at all dangerous and that there was no current of that nature at headquarters. dick's attitude had quite surprised the quarry scouts. how a normal boy could fail to be interested in machinery, know nothing about electricity, and actually refuse to ride on a motorcycle because the throbbing engine scared him, was more than they could understand. they quickly decided that he was a coward and had already lost respect for him, as was evident from the caustic comments made by the group under the maple after he had passed. "huh," said ray martin, "just imagine a fellow getting fidgety over a motor; regular girl." "it does seem queer," said bruce. then getting to his feet and brushing the dust from his trousers he continued: "say, fellows, if we are going to try this flag stunt i think it's up to us to get a wiggle on. we've only two weeks to do the work in, you know. i'm going to see mr. ford now and talk it over with him. who wants to go along?" "i'll go," said bud weir. "so'll i," added romper. "all right, come along," replied bruce. and five minutes later three motorcycles were scooting out toward the hydro-electric plant where mr. ford, the quarry troop's assistant scoutmaster, was superintendent. two days later three lads in scout uniforms were to be seen in the ante-room of the council chamber in the woodbridge town hall. they composed the flag committee of the quarry troop and as they sat there in the straight-backed chairs they looked to be the most uncomfortable trio in all the state of vermont. and they were uncomfortable. you see, bruce, bud and romper were waiting patiently the decision of the councilmen, who were convening behind the closed doors of the room to their left. it was the occasion of the regular weekly meeting of the body, but the fact that the town fathers were debating the adoption of a town flag made the session the most important in the history of woodbridge, so far as the three scouts were concerned. "huh, we've been sitting here just fifteen minutes; seems like fifteen hours," said bruce in a husky whisper. his eyes were on the big regulator clock that ticked away solemnly on the wall across the room. as for bud and romper, they remained silent, gazing nervously out the window. a little later romper said: "maybe they're going to turn us down and--" he was interrupted by the opening of the swinging doors that led to the council chamber. mr. bennet, mayor worthington's secretary, appeared. "scouts," he said, saluting, "the mayor would like the pleasure of your presence in the council room." it required every ounce of self-control the scouts could summon to walk into that sanctum. how they managed to travel the space from one room to the other without stumbling over rugs or doorsills will ever be a mystery to them. presently, however, they found themselves at the lower end of the long mahogany table at which the nine officials were seated. at the head was the dignified mayor, while to the right and left were ranged the councilmen, all of whom the boys recognized when finally they became more accustomed to the surroundings. "scouts," said the mayor, and at the sound of his voice each lad saluted, "we have considered your plan to present the town of woodbridge with a flag, and we have unanimously voted it an excellent idea. moreover, lads, we have adopted the design and colors of the proposed emblem." this good news helped to dispel the scouts' nervousness. they were too attentive now to think of being timid. "we have decided," continued mr. worthington, "that the design shall be a blood red flag with a city seal in the center of it. it shall be red because that is the color that signifies strength, fire, virility, and all that is healthy and normal. and we shall follow the lead of other cities and have an official seal of the community; for the seal, we have decided on the pine tree of vermont in the upper portion and a quarry derrick, signifying the marble industry of woodbridge, below. how do you like that, boys?" "wonderful," exclaimed the three lads in unison. "glad to hear it. now good luck to you and i hope our fourth of july celebration is a big success," said the town's chief, dismissing them with a bow. the scouts were all smiles as they descended the broad steps of the town hall and started down the gravel path to the street, where they had left their motorcycles. "jove, we'll have some celebration, eh, fellows?" said romper. "you bet we will," assured bud. "yes, but we have a lot of work to do yet before everything will be ready," stated bruce. "we'll go over to granny mastin's right away and find out if she'll make the flag for us. we'll get nipper to drawn a design for her. then we'll have to come back and get the silk and whatever else she wants to do the work with. and say, fellows, we'll have to erect our poles at firemen's field, do you realize that? we'll be mighty busy for a while--hello, look who's inspecting our motorcycles." bud and romper looked up in time to see dick austin, the boy from arizona, scrutinizing the three machines that were lined up at the curb. "howdy," he said as they came up. "i was just eyeing these here critters. look blamed ferocious, they do." "would you like to ride on the tandem behind me?" asked bruce. "who, me?" exclaimed dick. "no, sirree, yo' cain't git me to straddle that there animal. ef 'twas a hoss i'd be tickled to death, but you cain't git a snorting machine under me." "huh," said bud, contemptuously, when dick was out of earshot, "that sounds like a bluff to me. bet he's afraid of a horse, too." "oh, i don't know," said bruce, as he started his engine, "he has the legs of a horseman and he comes from arizona, you know." "yes, but he's a scared cat," asserted romper as the trip got under way. chapter xi the courage of a coward woodbridge was a profusion of bunting and streamers on independence day. almost every building, from the meanest little stores on stone street to the big business blocks on willow and state streets, was gay with flags and emblems. the thoroughfares were thronged with people, too. summer folk from the cities, mingled with the easily distinguished farmers who had come to town for the celebration, and these with the residents made the population of the town almost double its normal size. soon after the dinner hour the crowd all began to move in one direction, for everybody was headed for the exhibition grounds. firemen's field was an ideal place for the celebration. it was in a broad unfenced stretch of valley bottom on the outskirts of town and a grandstand had been erected there for the firemen's tournament in the spring, so well remembered by the "smoke-eaters" of quarry troop. a deep woods stretched along the west side of the field and otter creek formed the southern boundary, while the highway to st. cloud ran across its northern extreme. there were several acres of broad green lawn in front of the grandstand, and the only obstructions in the whole area were the tall and short poles the scouts had erected. these, however, had been placed so as not to interfere with the dancing and other events scheduled for the day. the grandstand was filled to capacity long before the hour set for the beginning of the ceremonies, and by the time the mayor and various other officials had entered their special reviewing stand hundreds of people were massed in a semicircle about the field. to one side of the entrance was a group of gay colored tents or marquees, about which were crowded hundreds of tiny tots, all arrayed in the gaudy carnival dress. some were ladies of the french courts, some were garbed in colonial costumes and some were masquerading as bears or as wolves. one group was wearing the wooden shoes and frocks of holland, another group was costumed as russian peasants and still others were dressed to represent german, swedish, danish and irish folk. the campfire girls were there, too, in a special little marquee by themselves, and to the right of their location was the quarry troop, every lad in full uniform, and looking very important. "corking crowd, eh, bruce?" said nipper knapp, who stood watching the bank of faces in the grandstand. "you bet it is. say, we'll have to do our finest. not a hitch to-day, fellows," said bruce. "right-o," asserted half a dozen members of the troop enthusiastically. then every one became silent, for the director of the carnival had taken the center of the field. a moment he stood there and surveyed his performers, then he gave the signal for the music, and presently the grand march was under way. hundreds of youngsters ranging from tiny tots who were to take part in a mother goose scene, to the stalwart scouts themselves, formed in line and paraded around the field, passing in front of the stands. a very impressive scene representing the signing of the declaration of independence was the first number on the program. in this, several academy boys took the parts of john hancock, john adams and john dickinson, and the members of the first congress. immediately following came the folk dances, in which scores of pretty girls in costumes executed the national dances of the various foreign countries. these little maids tripped lightly to the fantastic dance music of the people of the old world for fully twenty minutes and as the last group began the final steps of a pretty scotch fantasy bruce stood up and mustered the scouts in line. "we're next, fellows. now do your finest. are the tents ready and the rest of the equipment in order? how's 'old nanc'?" he called. but it was needless to ask the question, for the lads had been ready for fully fifteen minutes. "how about the flag?" asked bruce, as the little girls danced their way off the field and the band changed to a martial air. "all safe," said romper, who had been appointed custodian of the precious bunting. "fine!" said the leader of the owl patrol. bugler benson sounded the call, "forward, scouts," and the brown-clad column started toward the tall pole near the center of the field, where mr. ford, in scoutmaster's uniform, stood waiting. they marched in scout order with "old nanc," laden with the wireless equipment trundling slowly behind them. for a moment the lads stood in line in front of the grandstand and saluted, then at a word from mr. ford they broke ranks, and presently a scout camp was growing before the surprised spectators' eyes. tents were erected in a jiffy, scouts were scuttling here and there with camp equipment, cooking utensils and firewood. some were mixing dough, some frying bacon, some cutting wood and some carrying pails of water. within ten minutes a model scout camp had appeared in the center of firemen's field. but presently the spectators discovered that they were doing something even more interesting than building camp. a half dozen scouts under the direction of bruce were unloading queer looking sections of electrical apparatus from the troop's home-made automobile. while this was being done, bud weir strapped on his climbing spurs and began to climb the tall pole, carrying the end of a good strong manila halyard. this he wove through the pulley at the top and soon the scouts were hoisting one end of the wireless aerials up to him. this was quickly adjusted, as was the machinery on the ground, and in a few minutes the wireless station had been assembled and bruce was at the key, flashing crackling messages into the air. applause came from the grandstand, but before the clapping died away, the lads lined up in front of the taller of the two poles again and romper produced a roll of shining red silk from one of the tents. with this under his arm he took his place before the flagpole and waited, one hand upon the new halyard, which still remained in the pulley. at this sign mr. ford stood out and, removing his campaign hat, faced the spectators and the reviewing stand. "honored mayor, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the boys of quarry troop no. have been granted the privilege by the town council to present woodbridge with a city flag. it is our--" the assistant scoutmaster paused here. in the crowd before him he saw scores of frightened faces. he saw men pointing and heard women cry out in terror. he saw children cower and scamper for the protection of the grandstand. instantly all turned and looked across the field toward the strip of woods that bordered it, and what they saw paralyzed them with horror. there on the edge of the wood that bordered the west of the field, shaking his massive head menacingly and pawing the ground, stood ponto, the great black and white bull of the lyman stock farm. the most savage animal in woodbridge had broken through his barrier and, attracted by the applause of the people, had wandered through the woods to firemen's field. and the wrath that kindled in his wicked eyes as he stood and watched the assemblage made even the bravest scout shudder. for a moment the lads stood as if robbed of their presence of mind by the unfamiliar emergency. but the next instant they were stirred to action by the rush of some one running and a cry: "quick, scouts, take care of the children. get these year kiddies out o' danger. i'll 'tend to the bull." this was from a stocky lad with legs slightly bowed, who pushed through the group of boys and laid hold of the halyard of the flagpole. in an instant he had whipped out his jack-knife and severed the rope. then he began to haul it out of the pulley overhead, meanwhile shouting for the scouts to quiet the already panic-stricken crowd and hurry the children out of danger. bruce gave one look at the boy from arizona and in his eyes saw something that told him he was master of the situation. then he turned to the scouts. "he can handle the bull, boys," he cried; "come, work fast, get the children back." and the next instant the scouts, armed with their staffs, began to herd the tiny tots behind the grandstand, leaving dick austin alone in the center of the field. the lad from arizona was working frantically. with his knife he cut the flag from the rope and with the line thus freed began to weave a bowline knot into one end. this he made to serve as the ring for a lariat, and presently he had a fifteen-foot loop spread out before him on the ground. then with his eyes on the enraged bull he coiled the rest of the rope into his left hand. and all the time he worked his plucky face wore a grim smile. as for the bull, he stood there grunting and pawing the sod furiously, his fiery eyes fastened on the lone figure. but it was not in dick austin's make-up to flee from a bull. instead, he shouted: "come on, you old son-of-a-gun," and he actually kicked the red silk flag into the air to tantalize the animal. this was too much for the beast. when he saw the red flag flaunted at him by this puny human he let out a bellow and charged. dick was on his toes in an instant. with a twist of his hand he started the loop circling about his head, while his eyes were fastened on the enraged animal charging toward him with lowered head. nearer he came! dick could see the red in his distended nostrils; he could see the cords and arteries in his massive neck and shoulders standing out under his velvety skin. he could feel the ground tremble under the pounding of his heavy feet. the next instant those short, ugly, black tipped horns might be buried into his flesh and he would be tossed into the air. and if he dropped limp and helpless he would be stamped to death. the beast was twenty feet away now. his head dropped lower for the final plunge. he lunged his great body forward. but the boy was not there! like a panther, dick had leaped behind the flag-pole, but not until he had hurled the whistling loop straight at the charging animal's feet. then with a quick turn he snubbed the line about the pole. the next instant the great beast's legs were jerked out from under him and with a roar of rage he turned a complete somersault and crashed to the ground, every bit of his wrath jarred out of him by the stunning impact. in a twinkle dick came from behind the pole and with the lariat still in his hands rushed toward the prostrate animal. two dexterous twists were all he made and the hind legs of the bull were lashed as fast as the front ones and savage ponto was helpless. after the members of the quarry troop had viewed the municipal fireworks in front of town hall that night they gathered at headquarters to discuss the day's events before going home. but there was only one event to be discussed, and that was on the lips of every individual in town. "by jove, i called him a coward," said bud weir. "but if there's a fellow among us who has as much sand as he had--i--i---well, by cracky, there isn't any." "well," said bruce thoughtfully. "it's this way--ah--er--i mean-- aw, shucks, i can't express it the way i want to, but he surely didn't shirk the duty for which he was prepared. he told me this morning that lassoing cattle (roping he calls it) and riding horses is part of a day's work where he comes from." "i don't care if he is skittish about machinery," said romper ryan emphatically, "i'm going to see that dick austin becomes a scout before he leaves woodbridge; he's the kind of a chap we need." chapter xii the scout life guards' beach patrol bruce and two companions, romper ryan and jiminy gordon, were passing the post office just as morton mccabe, the little old man who delivered mail in the southern district of woodbridge, came down the broad stone steps. "how are you, mr. mccabe?" saluted bruce. "hello, boys; fine, fine, thanks. say, did you get your letter?" said the diminutive postman, who always talked very fast and tried to crowd as many sentences as he could into a single breath. "letter?" demanded bruce, "what letter?" "why, i left a letter up at headquarters for you this morning. it was addressed to you, care of quarry troop no. , of woodbridge. came from old harbor beach, maine. saw the postmark. big letter. looked important." "is that so? thank you, mr. mccabe," said brace. "who do you know at old harbor beach, bruce?" asked romper. "that's what i was wondering. i can't figure it out. the letter must be meant for all of us, or else it wouldn't have been mailed to headquarters. come on, fellows, we'll see what it is." ten minutes later the three lads arrived at headquarters. there was the big blue envelope sticking under the door. bruce picked it up and ripped it open, while his companions crowded around and looked over his shoulder. hastily the patrol leader's eyes ran through the first paragraph. then, as if he could not believe what he had read, he started to go over it again. "out loud, out loud. don't be so blamed stingy," said romper, who was eager to hear the news it contained. "i--er--aw, say, this must be a joke. gee, if it isn't, it's the biggest piece of luck the troop has had in some time. listen, fellows:" bruce clifford, chief of the motor cycle fire department, woodbridge, vt. my dear bruce: from what i have heard of your motor cycle fire department i have come to the conclusion that the members of your troop are exactly the boys i need to help me this summer. i would like to hire the services of ten scouts to take charge of a motorcycle life-saving corps i am organizing at old harbor beach. i own all the bathing concessions here and we have a strip of the finest beach along the atlantic coast. it is fifteen miles long, just as firm as concrete. the bathing here is treacherous at times, however, and there have been several lives lost far this summer. i do not care to have any more such accidents and i want a good crew of life savers to help me. this crew will cover the beach on especially designed motorcycles. i know you scouts are trained in first aid work and are well fitted for these duties, and that is why i am eager to have your services. of course i want only the ten best swimmers in the troop. it is necessary that you come to old harbor beach at once, as the international automobile races will be held here next week, and these with several large conventions will bring thousands of people to old harbor from now until the end of the summer. i will pay transportation for ten scouts and will board you and pay each of you $ . a week. if these terms are satisfactory, wire me at once and i will send a cheek to cover expenses. very truly yours, j. arthur herrick, president, old harbor improvement association. "by jiminy, what do you think of that?" exclaimed gordon in amazement. "jove, i can't believe it. seems like a--well, i think some one is making fun of us," said bruce. "wait, i'll read it over again and see if i can see a joker in it somewhere." once more he read it aloud, while romper and jiminy gordon listened. "sounds mighty good on second reading," asserted romper. "it sure does," exclaimed gordon enthusiastically, "and just think, fellows, if we go we can see the internationals. jove, i was looking over the entry list in the paper this morning. the best automobile drivers in the world will be there--st. clare, dublan, osterhout, and--and--best of all, dan dacy, the american, who has been smashing all of the old records. the papers say dacy is the favorite. he's going to make a new record in everything from five to fifteen miles and trim the frenchmen and the germans an--" "oh, say, quit! we're not there yet. gee, you almost make me believe i'm really going," said romper. "but what's to prevent?" demanded jiminy. "well--well--i don't know, unless this letter is a joke." "we'll find out if it is or not by sending a wire immediately," said bruce, who had been thinking the situation over. "yes, but first why not get the troop together and see if we can get ten good swimmers whose parents will let them go? we can call a meeting this afternoon and send our telegram to-night," said romper. "right-o; good suggestion," said jimmy. "and i really think we should submit the whole thing to mr. ford and get his opinion before we take definite action. if some one is joshing us, he'll be able to see through it all right." but subsequent events proved conclusively that the letter was not a joke. the scouts called their meeting immediately, and after a careful study of the troop's merit badge list, and a painful process of elimination, the ten oldest and best fitted scouts of the troop were selected to become members of the life-saving crew. then bruce, romper and jiminy took the letter to mr. ford and gave him the whole details of the case. mr. ford read the letter slowly, carefully considering every detail. then he laid it down and removed his glasses. "well, boys, if you want my opinion on the whole matter, i would say that you were quite the luckiest lot of chaps i've ever heard of. i spent a summer in old harbor beach three years ago, and, of course, i met mr. herrick. he is quite the finest man i ever hope to come in contact with; big, stout and jovial, and as good-hearted as can be. if your parents will let you, i would advise every one to accept the offer." "cracky, we are in luck, fellows. i move we telegraph our acceptance right away," said romper. "i move we turn the matter over to mr. ford and let him telegraph. he's our scoutmaster, and i'm sure mr. herrick would feel better about the whole thing if he found he was dealing with a grown-up person," said bruce. "right," said jiminy and romper. "well, if that's how the wind lies, i'll do it," said mr. ford; "only you boys consult your parents first and tell me what they have to say." "whoop-e-e, we will see the internationals!" exclaimed jiminy. "yes, and we get a month at the seashore. when'll we start?" demanded romper. "just as soon as the money arrives. about tuesday, i should guess," said bruce, as the lads left mr. ford's house. it is hardly natural for ten thoroughly healthy scouts to be confined to the restricted limits of a day coach for four solid hours without becoming extremely weary of the monotony of it all. bruce and the rest of the members of quarry troop no. became quite restive before the long journey to old harbor beach ended. indeed, the lads were thoroughly pleased when, after the engine whistle had emitted a prolonged shriek, the conductor poked his head in at the door and drawled--"'old har-b-o-r--, old harbor beach! next stop port junction." "thank goodness we're here at last," exclaimed nipper knapp, as he began to gather his luggage together. "that's the best news i've heard to-day," insisted bud weir, swinging his suitcase to his shoulder and crowding out into the aisle with the rest of the scouts. a stout good-natured looking man with a little five-year-old girl in a bathing suit perched on his shoulder and a big collie dog romping by his side, was easily the most conspicuous individual on the long station platform. bruce caught sight of him as he descended the steps of the coach. "that's mr. herrick, or i'm a duffer at guessing," he said to romper, who was just behind him. "you're not a duffer, for here he comes to welcome us," said ray martin, who had overheard the remark. indeed, as soon as the big man saw the group of uniformed scouts leaving the train he hurried toward them. "hello, there, boys. i'm the one you're looking for, i guess. my name's herrick." "my name is bruce clifford, mr. herrick," said the patrol leader, extending his hand, "and these are the life-savers you have been looking for." "good, i'll learn your names later, boys, and if i don't, i'll give you names that'll be just as good, won't i, may? boys, this is my daughter may. now come along with me to my office on the pier and i'll outline just what my plans are. i want you to go on guard as soon as you can, for the crowd at the beach is getting larger with every train that pulls in. the internationals start to-morrow, you know. the racing cars are all here. for a week past they have been tearing up and down the beach from sunrise until the bathers begin to turn out for their morning dip. sort of tuning up for the big events." "will we be able to see the races?" asked gordon eagerly. "i don't see why not. they start to-morrow and will last for three days," replied mr. herrick. "won't that be great," exclaimed several as they fell in line behind mr. herrick and accompanied him through the resort toward the pier. old harbor beach was like all other high-class watering places along the atlantic coast, only a great deal larger than the average. at least a dozen tremendous hotels were located on the heights back of the beach. there were the usual number of shore restaurants and candy stores, too, and a board walk that stretched along the entire waterfront. below this was a great wide beach of pure white sand as firm as a well-paved road, and fairly crowded with bathers. this beach was known throughout the world as an automobile race course, and many a speed record had been made on it. "so this is the famous old harbor beach race course?" said jiminy, as he eyed the straightaway. "that's what it is, son, and if you'll look away down there you'll see a number of low green sheds. those are the garages where the speed maniacs store their high-powered cars." "jiminy!" whispered gordon, thoroughly awed. mr. herrick's office was in the big white building at the shore end of the steel recreation pier. without any ceremony he ushered the lads into the room and had them make themselves at home. this invitation the scouts accepted by promptly taking a seat on whatever was handiest, including window sills, tables and even the floor; mr. herrick sat down at his desk, while the collie curled up at his feet and his daughter took her place on his knee. "scouts," he said, "there have been three very sad occurrences at the beach this summer, and while in each case the fault lay entirely with the bather, i feel very much disturbed by the accidents, and i don't want any more to take place this year. i have called upon you boys to help me prevent them. remember, from now on you lads are the guardians of the lives of bathers at old harbor beach." he spoke the last sentence very impressively. "here's my plan," he continued after a pause. "last winter i was out to california, and at one of the beaches i saw a motorcycle life-saving corps that had been organized by an old-time lifesaver. it pleased me so much that i decided to have the same sort of a patrol on my beach. i ordered two motorcycles built along the lines of the machines used there. they arrived here two days ago and are now in their garages waiting for you. these cars are equipped with all kinds of life-saving and first-aid devices, including a stretcher, a pulmotor, bandages and medicines of all kinds. there will be two men to a motorcycle; a driver and a man on the tandem seat, ready to spring from the wheel and plunge into the surf and make a rescue. he should be the best swimmer of the pair, of course. "all along the beach i have had signal towers built, each of which will be manned by a scout. he will keep constant vigil, and, at the first sign of trouble in his vicinity, he will flash a warning to the next tower. the scouts in that tower will flash the signal on until it reaches the lookout at the garage. then the motorcycle will be off to the scene of trouble, tearing down the beach at a mile-a-minute clip. how does that strike you?" "great," exclaimed several of the scouts in unison. "well, don't get the idea that it's all fun. indeed, it's mighty serious business, i'll have you know. on your quickness to respond to an alarm and upon your bravery and cool-headedness in a crisis will depend a human life, perhaps several of them," said mr. herrick. "we realize that," said bruce soberly. "i guess you'll do, all right. i've heard a great deal about you vermont scouts and i guess you'll be able to do what i ask of you and do it right. now, if you are ready, we'll go down to one of the garages; there are two of them. if you will look out of the window you will see one about a mile down the beach there. the other is a mile to the north of us. the distance between the two stations includes all of the beach reserved for bathers and it will give each machine about a mile to patrol. "the garages have just been completed. each will contain sleeping accommodations for five boys. you will divide your crew into two patrols, with a leader for each patrol. one patrol will occupy the north station and the other the south. there will be two life savers and three watchmen to each patrol. do you understand?" "indeed, we do," said bruce. "good," said mr. herrick. then, after sending his little daughter out on to the beach to romp with her collie companion, he continued: "come on and we'll inspect your new quarters." and, with mr. herrick in the lead the scouts filed out upon the pier and down a long iron stairway to the beach below. through crowds of bathers the lads made their way until they arrived at a long, low structure built near the board walk. this was the south station. carpenters and painters were putting the finishing touches on to the building, and it looked to the scouts as if they were going to have a capital home in which to spend the month of august. inside the big double doors were two rooms. the rear room was equipped with five white iron beds and several chiffoniers and wash stand, while the front apartment contained the life guard's motorcycle. "jimmy, look at that machine," exclaimed gordon, who was the first one to enter the building. "cracky, it's the best make on the market, too," said nipper knapp, examining the maker's name plate. "bet it will burn up the beach, eh, fellows?" said romper. "it sure will. it's a two-cylinder tandem. it'll make fifty miles an hour, or i'm no judge," said bruce enthusiastically. "like it, boys?" queried mr. herrick, who had been watching them as they inspected the apparatus. "like it! gee, we couldn't help but like it. it's a corker. but what's that side car paraphernalia, that long box and the cigar-shaped tin can and the reel with wire cable on it, and all that?" "i'll explain that to you right away," said mr. herrick. "that long, flat-topped box on the side car serves several purposes. when you want to take an unconscious person to the emergency hospital over on beach avenue you can use the box as a stretcher. just put your patient on to the top of it and while the man on the tandem seat holds him fast the driver can rush the machine off to its destination at top speed; regular mile-a-minute ambulance service, you see. "under that flat top are a lot of interesting things. the box contains several compartments in which are all sorts of first-aid preparations, including bandages, medicines, aromatic stimulants and the like. and, last of all, there is a pulmotor." "oh, i've heard of the pulmotor and always wanted to see one in use," said bud. "well, i'll tell you how they work," said mr. herrick. "it is the latest thing in the way of first-aid appliances. it pumps oxygen into the lungs of an unconscious person automatically. firemen and life savers all over the world are using them now. that blue tank there contained oxygen. this machinery under the glass covering is a pump that works by the pressure of the oxygen. a little of the oxygen escapes from the tank and moves the pump, which forces the life-giving gas into those long pipes. that muzzle at the end of the pipes is placed over the victim's mouth and nose, and in that way the oxygen enters the lungs. you boys can study the directions for its use on the cover of the box here. when you have a pulmotor around you won't have to resort to the artificial respiration drill described in your handbook. try it out on each other until you know exactly how to handle it." "you bet we will. we'll work out a regular rescue exercise, won't we, fellows?" said bruce. "right-o!" exclaimed half a dozen lads in unison. "fine. now, i'll explain the way a rescue is made by the california life savers. that reel of wire cable and the cigar-shaped float attached to the rear end of the side car is a very important factor in rescue work. the float has a life belt attached to it, as you can see. when a rescue is to be made the motorcycle comes to a stop at the water's edge and the man on the tandem seat leaps off and seizes the float. he buckles the life belt on to him as he plunges into the water and the man on shore reels out the cable as the rescuer swims to the person in trouble. when the life saver reaches the man or woman he is after he does not have to struggle to keep afloat, for the buoy holds him on top of the water. if he has to dive for the drowning one, he merely unbuckles the life belt and when he comes to the surface the buoy is right there for him to seize hold of, or, if he chose to, he could strap it fast to the one he is trying to save. the wire cable is very light, but very strong, and when the buoy is made fast to any one, the man on shore hauls away and drags the body out, just as he would haul out a big fish." "jove, but _that's_ an outfit for you," exclaimed romper. "well, i'm glad you like it, scouts. the outfit in the north station is identically the same. i didn't spare any money to have your equipment the finest." "that's mighty good of you," said bruce. "why, it's to my own interest, lads. a single life saved is worth more to me than all the money i've put into this scheme. now it's up to you boys to make good my investment." "we'll do it," shouted the scouts in unison. "alright, boys, that's all i ask. i'll leave you now. you can organize your own patrols and select your own leaders without my help. when you get hungry, go to the pine grove hotel i've arranged to have all your meals served to you there. "you can spend the rest of the afternoon becoming familiar with the apparatus, and i guess you'll have all the time you want to practice during the next two or three days, for while the races are on no bathers will be allowed on the beach. well, good-by and good luck to you." and the genial bath house proprietor left the scouts to their own devices. "jiminy, fellows, i can't believe it. some one pinch me, please. i want to see if i'm awake. just think of being in charge of such an outfit," said gordon after mr. herrick had left. "it does seem like a dream, doesn't it?" said bruce, examining the contents of the first-aid chest that formed the body of the side car. "come on, let's dig into this and see what we have to work with." that invitation was unnecessary, for several of the lads were rummaging through the chest while others were inspecting the machine and still others were wandering through the building looking their new quarters over. so occupied were they in this pleasant occupation that they completely forgot the time. indeed, it was after six o'clock before they realized it. and since six o'clock was the dinner hour at the hotel the lads hustled off up the beach to find their boarding place. for an hour after they left the hotel the scouts wandered through the resort acquainting themselves with the place. at eight they all returned to the south station, for they realized that they still had a great deal to do that evening. when the electric lights were lit and the scouts were comfortably situated in the bedroom of the station, bruce called a meeting. the four best swimmers were selected first. they were jiminy, romper, bud and bruce. after a vote jiminy and bruce were selected to man the motorcycle in the south station, while the two others were appointed operators of the apparatus in the north station. the six remaining lads were appointed lookouts to man the beach towers. three were attached to the north station crew, of which bud was made leader, and the other three were appointed members of bruce's south station crew. before the meeting adjourned it was decided that all ten scouts remain in the south station for the night, since there would be very little work for them to do next day. bruce also thought it wise to have all the lads together while they were learning to use the pulmotor and becoming familiar with their apparatus. then, too, the south station was better located to afford the lads a view of the automobile races next morning, which counted for a great deal. by sleeping two in a bed and disregarding any slight discomforts the ten lads found that they could occupy quarters meant to accommodate only five. and after a round of pillow fights and similar nocturnal diversions they were finally all tucked in and ready for sleep. "well, good-night, fellows. hope we all sleep comfortably," shouted romper after the lights had been turned out. "good-night yourself," shouted jiminy. then he added, "hi, fellows, the internationals to-morrow! whoop--e-e-e!" chapter xiii the day of the big race bang--bang-bankety-bang-bang-bang! the ten scouts bounded out of bed at once. all were wide eyed with excitement and wonder. "what the dickens! an earthquake!" demanded bud weir. jiminy gordon was the first one to the window. "gee whiz, look at him go!" "look at who--what?" "why that was one of the racing cars," said jiminy. "they are tuning up for the big races to-day. guess it was a foreign car from the racket it made. all the mufflers off. couldn't make out just which car it was though. going so fast it looked just like a gray streak. i--" "bnr-r-r-r-r bumpety-boom-boom-boom-b a n g bang-bang!" "whoopee-e-e, here's another one," screamed jiminy. the ten scouts rushed to the front door of the building, ignoring the fact that they were clad only in pajamas and night shirts, and waved to the passing racer. "cracky, look at him tear up the beach," exclaimed bruce. "rather early in the morning to risk one's neck, eh? it's only four o'clock. guess they are doing their last tuning up before the events start," said jiminy. "say, how do they race?" asked fat babe wilson. "do they line 'em up like a lot of sprinters and start 'em when a pistol is fired?" "well, they may do some match racing tomorrow, but to-day i think they will hold their time trials. they will race to see who can make the best time over the course," said jiminy. "how fast can they go?" asked ray martin. "oh, they can make a mile in half a minute. the world's record for a mile is twenty-five and one-half seconds," said gordon, who was more or less of an authority on automobiles among the members of the quarry troop. "gee whizz! say what can they make fifteen miles in? how long will it take 'em to go the full length of the beach?" asked bruce. "well, the world's record for fifteen miles is just ten minutes flat. that's an old record and dan dacy says he's going to smash it to smithereens to-day. hope he does. say, fellows, what do you say to going down and looking over the garages before breakfast?" "fine, let's get some clothes on and we'll start right away," said romper. dressing was only a matter of a few minutes and presently the troop was on its way down the boardwalk toward the point where the series of green-peaked roofs located the garages of the speed maniacs. although it was not yet five o'clock in the morning there were scores of people on the board walk all headed in the same direction. "say, this is going to be a big day all right," said ray martin, as he noted the enthusiasm that prevailed. "right-o, just look at the crowd down there at the garages already this morning," said bruce. about each of the low houses were grouped dozens of curiosity seekers. the scouts soon joined the throng and began to inspect the quarters of the races. each garage contained a big sullen looking car about which was grouped half a dozen mechanics. these men were tinkering here, tightening a bolt there, or wiping and polishing the great machines as if they were so many sacred elephants. mechanical parts, pumps, jacks, boxes of tools, cans of oil, extra tires and wheels, cushions and innumerable odds and ends were scattered about each building and everybody seemed to be keyed up to an extreme nervous pitch. on every side could be heard remarks about the cars and drivers, their records and their chances for winning the various events. the excitement was infectious and before they realized it the scouts were as thoroughly interested as every one else. they began to talk automobiles to all with whom they came in contact and soon picked up a great deal of information about the notables who were to take part in the races. "say, bruce," said jiminy gordon suddenly, "there's dan dacy. see him. that big, tall, light-haired fellow down there. i've seen his picture so many times that i almost feel as if know him. come on, we'll go down and see his machine. that must be his garage--yes, it is. see the sign over the door. vix-benson, it says. that's the car he's going to drive." the scouts followed jiminy and bruce and soon found themselves part of a very large crowd gathered about the famous driver's headquarters. dacy was the favorite american in the race and since he was to operate one of the best known american cars everybody was enthusiastic to see him carry off the honors of the event in which he was entered. he was standing by the door of his garage watching his attendants tinker with his machine, when the scouts came up. the lads pushed their way through the crowd to reach the rope railing about the entrance to the garage, and when the tall racer saw them, he smiled and waved his hand. "how are you, scouts?" he said good-naturedly. then without waiting for an answer he came over to the rope. "where are you fellows from?" he demanded. "woodbridge, vermont, sir," said bruce. "woodbridge, vermont? well, you came a long way to see the races, didn't you?" he said, a boyish smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "well, not exactly. you see we are here on business. that is, we've been hired as life guards at old harbor. we're going to patrol the beach for the rest of the summer. "oh-ho, so you are the chaps mr. herrick was telling me about--have motorcycles and all that sort of rigging, eh? say, boys, that's a great scheme. i saw the original motor cycle life guards work out in california last year, and they're great, too. hope you have luck." then after shaking hands with bruce and jiminy and two or three other scouts, he turned and entered the garage, for one of his mechanics had called him. and although dan dacy did not realize it, this spirit of democracy had won him ten thoroughly capable rooters, for the scouts were more than pleased with his friendship. "say isn't he a corking fine chap," exclaimed bruce. "i should say he was; a regular pippin' i'd call him," said jiminy stoutly. and he looked at his companions as if he dared any one of them to deny it. the crowd about the garage was growing to tremendous proportions, and it was all that the scouts could do to extricate themselves. when they finally reached the open beach again, bruce looked at his watch. "say, fellows, it's getting late," he exclaimed; "it's six o'clock and we haven't had any breakfast. i think we will have to hustle over to the hotel if we want to get back to quarters and have a drill before the races start." "right-o," exclaimed babe wilson, "i know it's getting late because my stomach feels all shriveled up for want of something to eat." "huh, that stomach of yours," said jiminy gordon in disgust, as he took a lingering look toward the garages. a moment later he fell in line with the rest of the lads, who started up the board walk toward the hotel. on their way back the scouts paid a brief visit to the north station, but they all returned to bruce's domain at half-past seven, for the north station crew was rather eager to stay in the vicinity of the lower station for a better view of the races. then, too, they had decided the night before that it would be well for all of them to practice their first aid work together. there was very little need for the lookouts to man their tower during this practice work, for they needed no drilling since all of their signaling would be done with signal flags and the semaphore signal code which is part of the examination for all second class scouts. that being the case, bruce decided that all of the lads would devote the morning to operating the pulmotor, while the four life savers made frequent plunges into the surf so as to become accustomed to swimming with the aid of the buoy. one after another the lads operated the pulmotor upon a supposed victim until each had learned the proper method of adjusting and strapping fast the mouthpiece, and which screws to turn to start and stop the oxygen pump. an hour of this practice work was quite sufficient, and when it was finished bruce and jiminy and bud and romper, turn about, took the motor cycle for short dashes up the beach and indulged in a mock rescue at ten o'clock the drilling was stopped, for the racing automobiles began to appear on the beach in final preparation for the races which were scheduled to start at eleven. "say, fellows, that rescue work is some fun," said jiminy gordon, as he emerged from the surf for the last time and came toward the station. "you bet it is," said bruce, as he shut off the power of the motorcycle and wheeled the machine into its quarters. "and the water is just snappy enough to feel good, too. you know, i think i'll stay in my bathing suit all day, even though there won't be any bathers to rescue. i want to get tanned up right away," added jiminy. "good idea," exclaimed several, with enthusiasm, and forthwith they all donned the special maroon bathing suits that mr. herrick had provided for his life guards. but it is hard to tell whether it was the desire to acquire a good coat of tan or the opportunity afforded them to display their rather pretentious bathing suits, that moved them to take this step. however, fifteen minutes later, a group of ten uniformed and more or less self-conscious beach guards were sunning themselves in front of the south station in full view of the thousands of people who were gathering on the board walk to view the races. by eleven o'clock the crowd had increased to a veritable horde. thousands lined the board walk from the garages to the finish line and hundreds of automobiles were parked in every roadway. special guards, composed of the local troop of boy scouts with their staffs and a troop of militia from portland had been detailed to keep the sightseers orderly and in position on the board walk. they were all having their hands full accomplishing the task, however, for the automobile enthusiasts began to get restless as the time for the start of the races drew near. at five minutes after eleven the band on the recreation pier, which had been blaring forth popular airs for an hour, ceased, and a moment later the judges made their appearance on the beach. this was a signal for prolonged cheering on the part of the crowd. but the noise stopped when a single individual carrying a black and white flag stepped out into the course and began wigwagging. he was signaling to another individual at the garages, who in turn transmitted his signal to the starting line in the dim distance down the beach. "that means everything is ready. the first car will start in a moment," said jiminy gordon nervously. every one was gazing down the beach, where a tiny black blotch on the sand marked the dozen or more racing cars held ready for the start. then when every one was waiting tense and silent--boom! came the muffled echo of the starting gun. --they're off! cried the crowd, and far, far down the beach the scouts could see the tiniest black speck coming toward them. soon they heard a curious far-off drone which developed quickly into a grumble, then into a fusillade of loud bangs as the racing car approached. the scouts were all on their feet now, nervous and expectant. "osterhout, the german," cried the spectators, as the long, low racer drew near. then almost before the scouts could wink, it had roared past, its hood enveloped in blue flames and its driver bending low over the steering gear. "gee whiz!" was all that the amazed scouts could say when the big car roared across the line. a brief but tense silence followed the finish of the run, for the crowd waited while the judges, by means of an elaborate system of telephone communicated with the starters, fixed the time. presently, however, the huge scoreboard on the recreation pier displayed: osterhout, two minutes seconds. this announcement was greeted by a roar, for the german had equaled the world record for five miles. "cracky," cried jimmy gordon, "dan dacy will have to go some to beat that. just think, if osterhout had been one-fifth of a second faster he'd have smashed the world's record. gosh, i wish--" boom! here comes another one! silence reigned in the vast crowd again and every eye followed the black speck. "du blon," guessed some; "st. clare," said others; "wolverton," asserted several enthusiasts. but before the big racer had traveled half of the course the hum of its engines ceased and the black speck gradually came to a halt. wolverton it proved to be and his car had developed engine trouble. the stafford car was out of the race. st. clare and du blon followed in quick cession, each of them driving their madly flying vehicles to the limit of endurance, but each fell behind osterhout's mark by several seconds. mccalkin, the ruddy-faced irish driver, was the next sensation. his was the smallest car of the race in point of length. indeed, it looked as if it had collided with a telegraph pole and lost most of its hood. but under that snub nose were concealed six perfectly good cylinders that spat fire all the way down the course and shot the car over the finish line two seconds better than the world's record. what a roar of applause greeted the boyish driver when the figures were displayed! even the scouts forgot for a moment that they were rooting exclusively for dan dacy and burst forth in a ringing cheer. but presently their attention was diverted from this achievement, for word was passed from the judges' stand that dan dacy with his vix-benson was the next contestant. "dan dacy next!" was the word that passed from mouth to mouth through the crowd. every one was a-tip-toe with excitement. all eyes were strained on the starting line. "gee, i hope he comes through with a new record," said bruce anxiously. "he will," asserted jiminy gordon positively. boom! five thousand pairs of eyes were fastened on the tiny black speck that detached itself from the black blot far down the beach, and sped northward. ten thousand ears were strained to catch the first far-off hum of the motor dacy was coming. his vix-benson was burning up the beach. now the scouts caught the buzz of the motor. it grew louder with the passing of every second. like a black projectile the car came on, flames from the throbbing cylinders licking about the hood. "dacy! dacy! danny dacy! make it a new record!" screamed the electrified crowd while he was yet two miles from the finish line. unquestionably he was the favorite. on came the roaring racer. the car was just a gray blur that hardly seemed to touch the beach, and begoggled dan dacy looked like the hooded messenger of death. then with an ear-splitting roar the great machine passed the scouts on the last mile of the course! "by jiminy, it's a new record or i'll-- oh mercy! look! look! she'll be killed!" the scouts stood transfixed with horror. up the beach in the very path of the flying motor stood little may herrick, clutching a red rubber ball in her hand and looking at the coming machine with horror written in every line of her childish face. the whole situation was clear. the tot had dropped her ball, which had rolled out onto the sloping beach. with her mind only on rescuing the plaything, she had pulled herself out of her nurse's grasp and run out onto the race course. and then when she found herself in the path of certain death she had become panic-stricken. dan dacy's heart must have leapt to his throat when he saw the little one in his way. but if it did it in no way affected his nerve. he knew that to turn the steering wheel but an inch meant certain destruction to the careening car and a broken neck for himself perhaps. yet he braved this hideous fate and wrenched at the steering gear. there was a terrific roar, a crash of shattered metal and in a cloud of sand the big gray racer turned abruptly and plunged end over end down the beach into the curling breakers. the crowd gave vent to a shriek of alarm when they saw dan dacy's limp form shoot clear of the wreck and go whirling, arms and legs flying out toward the point where the combers were breaking. like every one of the five thousand witnesses of the tragedy, the scouts stood paralyzed for a moment--but only for a moment--bruce was the first to gather his scattered wits. "quick, jiminy! we'll get him! come! he may still be alive! the rest of you fellows follow on foot!" while he was speaking, bruce rushed into the station and started the motor cycle. jiminy was right behind him and an instant later the powerful machine was making forty miles an hour over the sandy beach. bruce bent low over the handle bars while jiminy clung on and sought to buckle the life buoy belt about his waist. when the machine reached the wrecked motor car bruce brought it to an abrupt stop. but already jimmy had leaped from the machine and plunged into the water. with powerful overhand strokes he breasted the breakers. he seemed to shoot through the water, so mighty were his efforts. thirty feet out he saw something bobbing upon the surface of the water. it was dacy's leather helmet. toward this jiminy headed and the water fairly boiled with the struggle he was making to reach the spot. in a few seconds he was near enough to reach out and grasp the black object. but he let go of it immediately and the next moment he was seen to prepare for a dive under the surface. a few feet away he had seen some air bubbles coming to the top. in a jiffy he had unbuckled the life buoy. then like a seal the lithe youngster sought the dark green depths, following the line of bubbles. down he swam, deeper and deeper, for on the white, sandy bottom he could see a dark, shapeless mass turning round and round with the action of the water. he reached out to seize it and his lingers slipped from the driver's leather jacket. again he tried, and his hand closed about the cold wrist of the unconscious man. then he turned and started to struggle upward, dragging his heavy burden after him. it was hard work--terrible work, for he had dived deep and he was badly in need of air. his lungs felt as if they would burst. the blood pressure in his neck and head was almost unbearable. at first he could make no headway. the drowning man seemed to hold fast to the bottom. but he fought hard for he realized that if he let go of dacy he would have difficulty in finding him with a second dive. every moment was precious, too. there might still be a spark of life in the limp form he was trying to rescue. up, up, he struggled. above he could see the light of day. great green bubbles raced past him. only a few feet now. only a second or two longer. thus did he spur himself onward until suddenly his head shot clear of the waves, and, with a-gasp, he filled his tortured lungs with new air. ten feet away danced the cigar-shaped float with its life belt, and swimming toward him from the crowded beach were two other scouts ready to help. jimmy summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and held the head of the unconscious man above the water. and when the spectators saw that he had actually made the rescue a cheer louder and longer than any that had greeted the racers rent the air. it was hard work and jiminy was at the point of exhaustion, yet he tried his utmost to buckle the life belt about poor dacy. but while he fumbled with the straps the two other scouts arrived and relieved him of the task. quickly the belt was adjusted and the sign flashed to bruce, who seized the steel cable and hauled away. then the two lads turned their attention to jiminy and between them aided him into shallow water. by the time the three swimmers reached the beach the scouts had cleared dacy's lungs of water and had started the pulmotor. for twenty minutes the lads worked valiantly, doing everything that they could to bring back life in the unconscious man, while the anxious crowd looked on. finally their efforts were rewarded. dacy's eyelids quivered several times, then slowly opened, whereat the crowd gave a mad cry of joy and the scouts had all they could do to keep them from pressing closer. but one man did break through the circle of guards and the lads let him pass. he was mr. herrick. tears of joy coursed down his good natured face when he saw that dacy was still alive, and before the scouts could restrain him he seized the prostrate man's hand and squeezed it while he murmured: "dacy, dacy, thank goodness you are still alive. i was afraid you had sacrificed your life to save that little girl of mine." then turning toward bruce, he said, "scouts, i don't know how to thank you for this. i--" "don't try to thank us, mr. herrick," said bruce, "but you can help us put him onto the side car. i think we should get to a doctor's right away, for there may be some broken bones or internal injuries." and a few moments later the life guard's motorcycle was carrying its first patient to the emergency hospital. chapter xiv when the unexpected happened whack--"nine-hundred-en-ten;" whack--"nine-hundred-en-'leven," whack, "zare ees almoost une tousan trees what you boys mus' cut awraty. what you zink of zat?" said paul nez, the big french-canadian lumber cruiser, as he hacked a blaze into a six-inch poplar and left his short hatchet wedged fast while he felt through his pockets for a handkerchief. "et will take you all ze wintair for ze work mebbe, huh?" he continued, as he blew his nose with a loud blast. "george! i shouldn't wonder if it would take us a couple of months at least," said bruce clifford as he sat down upon a stump and pushed his hat back upon his head. "yes, snow will be thick through here when we finally finish, i guess," added jiminy gordon, surveying the forest. "well, the doctair lyman he say he not such great rush," smiled the canadian. then he paused and seemed to search into the very heart of the wood with his coal black eyes, and all this time he kept sniffing the air. "camp 'round here sure. one no good camp too, mebby," said he finally as he pointed toward the west. "i thought i smelled the smoke of a camp fire," said bruce. "so did i," added jiminy. "i smell heem smoke, i smell heem scraps, too. no good camp, no know woods. mebby heem get seek. come on. we all through now. we find 'em wood road now soon. doctair lyman heem line run cross by that blaze over tair; you see heem, huh? heem end of doctair lyman's wood." "so that's the line, eh? well, twenty-five acres of woods is a lot of territory, isn't it, bruce?" said jimmy, as he picked up his scout hatchet and slipped into his belt. the canadian wrenched his hatchet free from the poplar and started swinging westward between the trees and the two quarry troop scouts fell in behind him in single file. and as they walked on the smell of the camp lire, and the tainted odor that emanates from a camp's garbage dump grew stronger to their nostrils. then presently the camp itself loomed up at the very side of the wood road for which the canadian lumberman was headed. a single wall tent of large proportions was the most conspicuous thing about the place. this had its flaps pinned back and in the doorway, reclining on a collapsible canvas camp chair with a bandage-swathed foot propped up on a soap box sat one of the occupants. the woodsman and the two quarry scouts needed only a glance at the little clearing to know that those who had built it here knew nothing at all about the woods and were, moreover, very disorderly by nature. blankets lay in a confused heap among leaves and twigs instead of being hung up to dry; empty cans, paste board boxes and scraps of paper littered the place; fire burned entirely too near a dry brush pile and there was no stone fireplace to hold it in check; loose papers were scattered about and to make matters even worse, the pots and pans that had been used to cook the last meal lay on the ground unwashed. it was indeed a bungle of a camp but if the single occupant realized it he did not seem to care a whit for he sat serenely in the doorway of the tent so interested in a book that he did not hear paul nez and his young companions approaching. "'allo, you get heem broke foot, mebby?" said paul with a grin as he moved toward the tent. the camper looked up with a start, and then smiled. "yes, i twisted my right ankle yesterday by falling down a gully, and ouch--don't make me move 'cause it hurts like sin. glad it isn't sprained though. it ought to be well in four or five days. anything you want? anything we can do for you? if there is, go ahead and do it yourself. the rest of the fellows are off partridge hunting. what do you want, provisions, matches? i'll tell you where they are and you can help yourself. i can't move." "we don't want heem nothin'. we go out of woods now right off, down wood road. why you don't fix heem camp up good? look um fire--poor, bad, very worse. some day heem catch bush so, leaves mebby, and then heem timber fire. burn out heem woods. look um pans, pots, dirty dishes. not good for smell. not good for men in heem woods. blankets, look um all get lousy. not very good camp, heem," said the canadian, plainly showing his disgust at the general disorder about the place. "i know it, old chap. it looks like the sloppiest kind of a place to me, but then i'm not supposed to know anything about camps and woods. i come from boston, you see. the other fellows are the campers. they are vermonters, from st. cloud city," said the man in the doorway sarcastically. "huh, a deuced of a lot they know about the woods and camping," said bruce in disgust as he surveyed the scene. "they know more about keeping a pig sty," said jiminy gordon as he picked up the blankets and, shaking them free of the dust, hung them onto the branch of a nearby hemlock. "thanks, old chap, those blankets on the ground worried me a lot. and if you don't mind, will you scrape up a few of those papers? jack and bart (they are the fellows who are camping with me) run off every morning and leave a mess like that behind. they are off hunting most of the day and here i have to sit like a blooming invalid until they come back. but i don't mind so long as i have a good book. thanks, that looks much better, doesn't it? i'm much obliged to you fellows--ah--er, what're your names anyway--mine's dave--dave connors." the two scouts introduced themselves and then because paul nez had started down the wood road they waved farewell to the camper with the injured foot and hustled to catch up to the timber cruiser. "when you come into heem woods for cut um down?" asked the canadian when the scouts finally caught up with him. "why we are going to start cutting right away," said bruce. "you see we get a fall vacation and that will help a lot. school closes tomorrow and remains closed until next monday. the whole troop is coming up to long lake tomorrow afternoon after school closes, to start a camp and remain here the whole week. then after that we are going to come up every friday night and work all day saturday until our contract is completed and we have enough lumber to build our log camp." they swung along down the wood toward long lake where they met the main highway that led back toward woodbridge and scout headquarters. the members of the quarry troop of woodbridge had taken upon themselves a real contract. indeed they felt that they had suddenly all become genuine business men as a result of a bargain they had made with the leading physician of the village, for you see their little stroke of dickering had put them in the way of securing material for a real log cabin on the shores of long lake, a site for the cabin, and a chance to make a little money for the troop treasury besides. it had come about this way. mr. ford, the assistant scoutmaster of the quarry troop, had learned from dr. lyman that he intended to cut a great deal of the standing timber on his tract of twenty-five acres bordering the lake. this he intended to dispose of as pulp wood, the only purpose it was really good for. mr. ford had imparted this information to bruce clifford and jiminy gordon that same evening and it was not long before the leader of the owl patrol and his chum had discovered the possibilities of a business deal. accordingly after the next meeting the two lads visited dr. lyman and made him a proposition to the effect that the scouts would cut his pulp wood and take their pay in trees. these trees, the lads explained, were to be felled and used to construct a log cabin on the lake shore. as part of the bargain they asked for permission to use a section of dr. lyman's land that bordered the lake as a site for their camp. the plan struck the physician as being capital and he was particularly pleased to find that the boys were eager to earn their pleasure with good hard work. in fact he was so pleased that he made a bargain whereby the boys would get one cord of wood in every four cut and they could have their wood either in trees or in cord wood lengths, just as they desired. under this arrangement it was quite apparent that the boys would have more than enough lumber to build their log cabin and dr. lyman told them that he would buy whatever extra wood fell to their share and pay for it at the market price of pulp wood. moreover, to help the boys, the physician arranged to have paul nez, an experienced timber cruiser, traverse the woods, blazing each tree of the proper pulp wood species and size thus giving the boys a clear idea of what timber to cut and what to leave standing. and bruce and jiminy were asked to accompany him so that they might become familiar with the forest. tramping the length and breadth of twenty-five acres of wood land, blazing every tree between six and eight inches, was not the easiest sort of work the scouts had ever undertaken, and when they finally arrived at woodbridge at four o'clock in the afternoon they were "plum tuckered," to quote jiminy. however, a brief rest and a hearty evening meal put them in fine shape once more and they were able to get to the troop headquarters betimes that evening, for a meeting had been called at which plans were to be laid for the start of the lumber camp. mr. ford was at headquarters to hear the details of the cruise from jiminy and bruce, and he also gave the scouts some expert advice as to the equipment they would want for the beginning of the camp on the morrow. among other things he suggested that they build a winter camp immediately by putting up lean-tos with thatched roofs on the shores of the lake. these would be warmer than their tents and would make more or less comfortable quarters until along toward snow time, when the big log cabin the lads hoped to build would be well on its way toward completion. then, too, these structures could be left in the woods and would always be ready for the boys, whereas if they used their tents they would have to make and break camp every saturday. the assistant scoutmaster also made out lists of provisions, clothes and equipment for the boys and they spent a busy evening getting everything together and in shape for an early start next morning. in the weird half light of dawn next day, long before woodbridge was awake and stirring, nearly a score of scouts were hustling toward headquarters on the crown of otter hill. every lad was in uniform and most of them wore mackinaws or sweaters to keep out the early morning chill. also each carried the family ax, and over his shoulder blanket roll and haversack. "old nanc," the troop's automobile, stood in front of the old machine shop piled high with tarpaulins, cooking utensils, provisions, and a dozen and one other things that the scouts used in their summer camp, and in the driver's seat was brad henshaw, dr. lyman's chauffeur. several of the boys found room for themselves on the running board; the others went on their motorcycles, which were to be brought back in the car, for there was no safe place in camp for such things. it was with considerable groaning and grumbling that the home-made automobile finally got under way, but when she was safely started the rest of the expedition followed in her wake, and trundled on toward their destination. a little after sun-up found the lads at the lake shore. here "old nanc" and the cycles were halted, for there was no chance of her making her way along the uneven wood road that skirted the lake for half a mile before it turned and entered the heart of the forest. at this point the scouts detrained, as it were, and deposited all their luggage on the ground. then, having unloaded the automobile, they proceeded to reload her, this time with her brood of gasoline-fed ducklings. this done the outfit was turned over to brad again who immediately started back to woodbridge. for an hour after the departure of the automobile the scouts were as busy as bees carrying their paraphernalia to the camp site which they had picked out on the lake shore at the point where the wood road turned and entered the forest. here was a little stretch of high ground that had been partly cleared by wind-falls and bruce and jiminy had selected it as an ideal location for the camp and site for the troop's future log cabin headquarters. with practically three patrols at work it did not take the lads long to clear away the underbrush and fallen logs in the open space. indeed the whack, whack of their hatchets and the heavier cluck, cluck of their axes could be heard on all sides of the clearing and in a surprisingly short time a big space had been made ready for the camp. dozens of young cedars and fir trees were felled for the lean-tos and in short order the lads were busy with hammers and nails putting up the frame-work of six of these shelters. they worked with a will and the little forest settlement grew apace. after the frame work of the structures was completed the scouts set to work with clasp knives and hatchets and stripped the cedars and firs of their branches. then with this material they began to thatch the sides and roof of the lean-tos working the twigs in and out until they formed a thickly matted protection against the weather. they worked with a will in spite of cut and blistered fingers and pitch blackened hands until it began to look as if they would have their little lumbering village finished and ready for occupancy by mid-afternoon. at half past eleven romper ryan, ray martin and buster benson knocked off shelter-building, for they had been appointed cooks for the camp. hastily they put together a big stone fireplace well away from any leaves and underbrush, and after they had a good fire going they began preparing the first meal at the quarry scout lumber camp. the three lads elected to the commissary department were the best cooks in the troop, and they did themselves proud on that particular occasion, for when romper finally sounded his call to quarters on the bottom of the tin dishpan there were stacks of golden brown country sausages, snowy white boiled potatoes, savory strips of fried bacon, three big pots of steaming hot coffee and last, but not least, nearly a hundred chocolate doughnuts which jiminy gordon's mother had contributed just by way of showing the boys how much she thought of them. in a jiffy seventeen youngsters were assembled in line, tin plate and cup in hand. one by one they filed past the three cooks and received their portions, and shortly after they were all sitting cross legged on the ground, each devoting his full attention to filling a vacant space just under his belt. the only sound that could be heard was the scraping of knives and forks against the tin plates, and now and then a grunt of satisfaction, for their work in the open had given the lads appetites of young sharks. "um-m-m, jiminy, that was some feed!" grunted jiminy gordon as he put down his plate and wiped his mouth on his handkerchief. "you said it, only i wish i could have just one more helping of sausages and maybe a little more potatoes; i think i'd feel entirely satisfied then," said fat babe wilson, looking pleadingly at romper. "aw give him enough to eat, romper, he's only had three helpings already," jeered bud weir. "sorry, babe, but you've cleaned us out. there isn't a potato or a sausage left," said romper. "gee, that's a fine note. want to starve him?" said ray martin, sarcastically. "hi, don't you talk. you got your share before we did. pretty soft being a cook. i'd like to have that job myself," snorted babe wilson. "you leave ray alone, babe. he's some cook, he is. so is romper, too, only he lets his old fire smoke. look at that yellow haze up there among the trees. did your fire make all that smoke, romper?" said bruce. "my fire--why--blame it all it's out. it's plum down to ashes--and, gee! i didn't heat any dish water. hi, buster, what did you let that fire go out for? i told you to put some wood on and heat water." "i--i--aw, i was so hungry i forgot about it. never mind i'll build it again. i--" "say, romper, is your fire really out?" queried bruce, looking at the fireplace. then he added: "sure enough, but by gollies i smell some--i hope it isn't--gee, look over to the west there above the trees: is that smoke? is it? say, fellows, can it be a forest fire? gee, i hope not." "forest fire!" exclaimed half a dozen scouts. every lad jumped to his feet immediately and looked in the direction bruce was pointing. and there they beheld a pall of yellow smoke hanging low above the tree tops. they could smell it, too. the pungent odor of burning hemlock was so strong as to be unmistakable. then for the first time the lads noted that the sunlight seemed dimmed too. "jove, i believe it _is_ a forest fire," cried bud weir. "i'll bet--say, fellows, look at those big jack rabbits, and there's a fox, and look at the birds. it's a forest fire all right, or those animals wouldn't be running out in the open like that and streaking it for the lake. cracky what'll we do? i-- hi, bruce, what's getting you, you're as pale as a ghost?" every lad turned toward the leader of the owl patrol, who stood as if stricken dumb with horror. but even as they gazed at him he shook off the mental fetters and immediately became a lad of action. "fellows," he cried, "listen! there's a man in there--in the fire. perhaps three of them. jiminy, you remember, dave--dave, what's-his-name--connors. you know, the fellow in camp over there with the twisted ankle. we saw him yesterday. he's probably in there yet. we must get him out. he can't move, and a forest fire's about the most terrible thing in the world. quick, fellows! get your blankets and wet 'em in the lake. quick, now! follow me!" chapter xv a narrow escape as usual dave connors awoke to find himself alone in camp that morning. jack and bart, his camping companions, had left at dawn and gone out partridge hunting exactly as they had done every day since dave fell down into the gully and twisted his ankle. they were thoughtful enough to leave the coffee pot within reach of dave's cot, however, along with some fried strips of bacon, bread and butter and a couple of boiled eggs, so that the injured man did not have to hobble about to get his own breakfast. dave dashed a cup of water over his hands and splashed a little in his face by way of performing his toilet and then sitting on the edge of his cot, proceeded to devour what was before him eagerly, for, although his foot was injured, his appetite was entirely healthy. "um--m--m that was good," he muttered as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked down at his bandaged foot. "now if my old kick was in good order i'd go for a long tramp with a gun but--ah,--ouch--still sore and swollen. guess i won't be able to hobble about for a couple of days yet," he reflected as he felt of the injured member. then steadying himself on the edge of the cot with the assistance of a cane that jack cut for him three days before, he hobbled to the tent doorway and looked out. "jove, what a corking day! it's a shame i had to get laid up right at the beginning of the trip. but i'll be all right in a couple of days and i suppose i can stand it as long as my books hold out. but, blame it all, look at this camp. jack and bart are the sloppiest fellows i ever saw. look at the blankets on the ground again and the papers scattered everywhere. and look at the big fire they've left. what for, i wonder? i wish i could get out there and clean up the place. i'll speak to them to-night. i don't think such conditions are sanitary. i--i--ouch, blast it, i can't clean up the place," and with a look of disgust the man from boston limped over to his camp chair and picked up the book that had held his interest the day before. how long he had been reading he did not know; perhaps an hour, perhaps two. but suddenly he was aroused by a strange, unnatural cracking sound. he looked up with a start, and his eyes dilated with horror at what he saw. there, not ten feet from him, creeping and writhing through the dried grass and leaves and darting long yellow tongues toward him menacingly, wormed a streak of fire. it was like a serpent that had crawled out of the embers and sought to catch him unawares. slowly it moved forward, fanned by the fall breeze until it was a big v extending across the camp clearing, with each arm burning. on it advanced, licking up everything in its path. here it consumed a leaf, there a scrap of paper, and each time it devoured something it waxed stronger and more threatening. even while dave sat there staring at it, it reached a dried branch. with a crackle this burst into flame, setting fire in turn to a sheet of newspaper nearby. instantly this was a burning torch. dave tried to knock it out with his cane. but before he could reach it a gust of wind seized and whirled it across the opening, flinging it spitefully against a fir tree. with a hiss and a crackling roar this blazed up. in a moment it was a column of fire stretching skyward. the sight was terrible to behold. then like a whirlwind the arms of fire reached out and enveloped another tree, and sparks flying with the wind lodged in a spruce nearby and converted it into a roaring furnace. and thus in the space of a minute a forest fire was started! the scorching heat of the burning spruce brought dave to his senses. he saw before him a hideous fate. heedless of the pain in his foot he jumped up. his handkerchief be plunged into a pail of drinking water just inside the tent door, then with this wrapped about his face and mouth and with his stout cane in hand, he scrambled across the clearing and into the long wood road that led eastward through the forest toward the lake, half a mile distant. oh, if he could run! if he could only have the use of his injured foot for fifteen minutes, he thought, as he limped on. behind him he could hear the roar of the fire as it reached out and gathered energy by licking up tree after tree. the air was filled with smoke, pungent and nauseating. all about in the forest on either side of the road livid tongues upleaping, consuming everything and growing stronger every moment. on hobbled the man from boston, trying desperately to make time; trying mightily to cheat the fire demons that shrieked and roared behind him. and he was not the only one that was fleeing from the seething furnace that once had been a cool autumn woods. three deer whisked by him like flashes of the fire itself. rabbits, skunks and foxes darted here and there among the trees, all headed for the safety of the lake. and a big black bear lumbered by, grunting with every gallop. how dave envied them. they would be safe. would he? forward he hurried, braving excruciating pain in his injured limb to save his life. acrid smoke blasts swept down upon him and almost stifled him. on every side he could feel the heat of the flames. once a spark dropped upon his shoulder and fired his shirt. with a cry he beat it out and strove harder. the pain in his foot was unbearable. it made the perspiration stand out upon his forehead. it made him whirl with giddiness. but on he plunged, fighting the fire, the smoke and the pain and striving his hardest to gain the lake. once he thought of jack and bart and grew very bitter, for somehow the fire seemed the result of their carelessness. would they be trapped by it? they had two good strong legs. they would save themselves, he hoped. so must he! gritting his teeth and stifling a groan, he tried to gallop, using the cane and injured foot in unison. it was painful, but he must make time--he must go fast, faster. the fire was close behind. it was gaining. he could hear its triumphant roar. it would catch him soon. only a few minutes and a fiery arm would reach out like a python and wrap about him. the thought made him shudder. "no! no! it must not reach me!" he cried in horror and leapt forward. but his cane slipped and jammed between his legs. he tripped and lost his balance. in a mad effort to save himself from falling he put his injured foot forward. his entire weight came down upon it and the ankle snapped. the pain was more than he could stand. with a cry of agony he sank into a limp heap. bruce's startling revelation that there was a life to be saved spurred the scouts to action. one more glance in the direction of the smoke pall to the westward and in a twinkle every lad had his blanket in hand and was sousing it into the lake. handkerchiefs were doused too, for the youngsters knew well that the smoke would soon be so thick that they would need this kind of protection. and while the rest were thus occupied, bruce held a hasty conference with jiminy, and the two boys quickly cut scout staffs. with these in hand they waved the troop forward and started off at a mad pace up the wood road to meet the advancing forest fire. on they raced, the smoke growing heavier and more pungent as they neared the flames. they could hear the deep toned muttering of the conflagration. and all the way along the road they were breasting a tide of forest dwellers, deer, rabbit, bears, and a host of smaller animals, all scurrying away from the roaring doom behind them. soon the lads were in the zone of flying sparks. here and there along the road small fires were being started. these were quickly beaten out, for the boys were determined not to have their retreat cut off. as they moved forward bruce's heart grew heavy, for he could see that already the flames had swept by the camping site of dave connors and his companions. the patrol leader hoped fervently that the injured youth had been able to keep ahead of the rushing fire. they were approaching the fire belt. their eyes smarted from the smoke. they could feel the heat on every hand. they pulled their hats low to protect their foreheads and pushed on. fire was everywhere. here and there pine trees burst into flames with a hiss and a roar, and now and then blazing branches would come hurling through space to fall with a crash in the roadway. bruce began to be worried. had he brought the scouts out on a dangerous but useless mission? had dave connors come down the wood road, or had he gone wandering blindly through the forest to be trapped and burned to death? perhaps even now he was a charred mass somewhere back there in that seething forest. the smoke was so thick that the boys could not see two feet ahead of them, but they struggled forward, beating out menacing tongues of flames on every hand, hoping to keep the roadway open for a retreat. through the smoke they groped; bending low and breathing through their wet handkerchiefs. their eyes burned. their lungs pained with the gases they had inhaled, but they pushed on until suddenly with a cry bruce stumbled and pitched forward. but he was on his feet in an instant, and examining the apparently lifeless mass in the roadway that had tripped him. then with a shout of delight, he summoned jiminy and in an instant a coat stretcher was made with the aid of the scout staffs they had cut. then with the limp form of dave connors between them the two scouts started struggling back toward the lake. away from the fire they raced with the troop behind them still beating out the menacing sparks and flames. forward they hurried, but as they advanced this time their way grew easier and the smoke less pungent. soon they were among the refugees again. rabbits, mink and foxes scuttled along with them, and the boys had to turn out to keep from treading on some of the smaller animals who could not travel as fast as their bigger woods neighbors. the heat of the fire was left behind and falling sparks no longer bothered them. their way to the lake was clear. a few minutes later they reached the knoll upon which their lumber camp was being constructed. here they paused long enough to permit bruce and jiminy to administer first aid to the unconscious dave connors. and while the lads were reviving him, others gathered together hatchets, axes, cooking utensils and whatever else they could conveniently carry, and bidding farewell to their doomed camp they made ready for a plunge into the shallows of the lake. all that afternoon and a good part of the evening, the scouts stood shoulder deep in the cool waters and watched the landscape burn. acres and acres of woodland with thousands of dollars' worth of timber was consumed before their eyes. dave watched it sadly, for he knew that all this ruin had been wrought by him and his careless camping companions. every shallow of the lake was crowded with animal life of all kinds, and the lads knew that thousands of forest dwellers must have perished in that inferno. they stood among deer and bears and other more timid forest dwellers, but the fear of man and the natural enmity toward each other was completely blotted out by the greater fear of the fire, and a seeming sense of comradeship born of common danger. night came, and the sky was a livid pink. the lake had checked the fire's advance to the eastward and the wind had driven the flames north toward the mountains. further and further away traveled the flames painting the sky a sinister color and producing a spectacle that the scouts never forgot. at midnight, though the woods still smoldered, the boys contemplated leaving the shallows in which they had been standing and going ashore, for they argued that if the heat from the embers was not too intense they could work along the margin of the lake until they reached the opposite shore. but while they were contemplating this, off across the lake they saw lights advancing toward them. they heard shouts, too, and they shouted in answer, and it was not long before they had guided a flotilla of small boats toward them. this proved to be a rescuing party organized and headed by the anxious mr. ford and old dr. lyman, who were almost distracted until they made doubly certain that every lad was safe and whole of limb and body. chapter xvi quarry troop's christmas "whew-w-w! hi, shut that door--good night! want to freeze us out?" shouted romper ryan, as he glared across the workshop at bruce clifford and bud weir. "aw, don't get fidgety. you won't ever freeze the way you're hanging over that forge. what's the matter, romper?" asked bruce. "busted the frame of my snowshoe. trying to make a little brace for it and get it fixed up before you fellows arrived." "when'll you be ready? where are the rest of the fellows?" "they're upstairs. i'll be ready in a jiffy now." the two scouts crossed the shop and made their way noisily up the wooden stairs to the meeting room, where they found half a dozen lads in an animated discussion as to where the biggest and best christmas trees were to be found. "i tell you the forest fire cleaned everything out of the long lake district," asserted ray martin. "well, i suppose you want us to go all the way over into bland county this cold day," said fat babe wilson sarcastically. "speaking of forest fires," said bruce, who had come into the room just in time to hear ray martin's remark; "speaking of forest fires, did any of you fellows see the northern lights last night up back of haystack mountain? father and i thought first it _was_ a forest fire. the sky was all pink and white. but we concluded it must have been the reflection of the aurora borealis. you can see 'em this time of year, you know. snow helps their reflection, pop says." "is that what it was? i saw it too, and when i saw the red glow in the sky i just naturally thought of that long lake fire last month. say, by the way i got a postal card from that fellow in boston, we rescued. remember? dave connors is his name--gollies, every time i think of forest fires i shudder. he sure had a close squeak and so did we. that's why that glow in the sky last night sort of made an impression on me. i wondered if any one was caught in it, same as we were nearly caught?" said nipper knapp. "aw, i tell you it wasn't a fire. it was the northern lights back of haystack mountain. dad said so, and he knows, and, say, speaking of haystack mountain," added bruce, "why not go up there for our tree? if this is going to be the town's christmas tree it must be a whopper. most all of that land up there belongs to the people mr. ford works for and he has permission from them to cut as many trees as we need. how about it?" "by jiminy! that's just what i said, bruce," cried jiminy gordon, "and romper agrees with me." "sure i do," said romper, suddenly making his appearance from the workshop, his mended snowshoe in hand. "then it's haystack mountain. come on, fellows, get ready; half the morning will be gone before we start," said bruce, and in a twinkle a half-score of scouts were donning mackinaws and sweaters and making themselves generally secure against a temperature that hovered very close to the zero mark. and five minutes later the entire crew, armed with axes and snowshoe-shod were to be seen leaving headquarters in single file and heading up otter creek valley over three feet of december snow. woodbridge had once more honored the quarry troop. but the lads had earned the honor by suggesting that the town hold a public celebration in the square in front of the town hall on christmas eve. moreover, they had worked their hardest to gain the interest of village officials, ministers, and men and women of the community in such a celebration and it could well be said that through the efforts of the khaki-clad youngsters, woodbridge, as a community, would for the first time welcome the coming of christmas. neighbors and friends, rich and poor, young and old, would stand shoulder to shoulder this christmas eve and sing the joy and happiness of the yuletide. and for their share in the organization work the scouts had been granted the privilege of providing the town with a big community christmas tree, which was to stand in the center of the square and be decorated from bottom to tip with colored electric lights. this decorating was an affair of the quarry scouts also. they had been given the commission by mayor worthington and the councilmen to do all the electric wiring and the stringing of the bulbs. of course the lads welcomed such an important task, for they were eager to demonstrate how useful they could be. also they were pleased to display their knowledge of mechanics. so it can be easily understood why bruce and his chums were eager to get an early start the saturday morning a week before christmas. they intended to search the woods for the tallest and straightest fir tree in the township. in spite of the fact that their ears tingled with the bitter cold and the wind whistled through the valley, whirling the powdery crystals of snow into their faces, the scouts were a happy lot of youngsters as they swung their way northward. who could be other than happy with christmas but a week off? snowballs flew thick and fast among them, and now and then snowshoe races were run, too. the lads chose the valley bottom for their journey and avoided the highway which swung to the left and made a wide detour before the byroad that approached haystack mountain joined it. with this route the lads could cut down the journey at least three miles and then, too, they had fine snow for shoeing. soon they had left the open and entered the hardwood belt from which all the firs and other evergreens had long since been trimmed. snowshoeing through the woods was not so much of a lark, for the lads had no trail to follow and must needs work their way between half-covered underbrush. the snow was softer here, too, and their shoes dragged. but most of their surplus energy had been worked off by this time and they were willing to settle down to single file. each took his turn breaking a trail. on they traveled for more than an hour, always keeping the shoulder of haystack mountain, which loomed up above the tree line, their objective. about half a mile from the mountain they suddenly came clear of the woods and into the highway. here a brief conference was held as to the advisability of trying to climb the shoulder of the mountain or taking the road which led around. the last route was decided upon, because up here the thoroughfare was little traveled and was practically unbroken. indeed, they saw signs of very few sleighs having passed there since the snowstorm four days previous. away they swung, keeping an eye out on either side of the road for a christmas tree, but they did not find a fir tall enough to be used for the town's tree. soon they were around the shoulder of the mountain and traveling west. the woods were thicker here and trees more numerous. but there was a peculiar odor of burnt wood in the air, too, which all the scouts detected. "cracky! i believe your northern light was a forest fire, or--or--say, isn't that smoke rising above those trees there?" demanded nipper knapp. "right, by go lies!" shouted bruce, "but--oh, i know, now. there's a little farm in there. it's been vacant for--no, it hasn't, by jingoes! an old lady has been living there all fall. i've seen her in town. nanny haskells, they call her. cracky! come on, fellows, maybe the poor old soul has been burned to death!" the scouts were off at a gallop, stirring up the snow like a whirlwind as they loped along the road. soon they came to an unbroken lane through the woods. into this they turned and a hundred yards further on they emerged into the little farm clearing. what a sight met their eyes. in a smoldering, smoking heap of charred ruins lay what remained of an old-fashioned farmhouse and barn that had stood there for years. the fire had burned itself out, except here and there where glowing coals showed themselves. only two blackened timbers remained standing. and in this picture of devastation, looking the most lonesome and pathetic figure in the world, wandered the tiniest, most old-fashioned and motherly looking woman the lads had ever seen. she seemed all but distracted with her misery, for she went about wringing her hands and sobbing as if her heart were broken. here and there she picked her way, peering into the smoking ashes and now and then poking among them for a trinket or a keepsake that the fire had only blackened. it was a pathetic sight indeed, and the sturdy scouts all felt heavy hearted as they watched her. finally bruce left the group and went toward her. then for the first time the little woman looked up, startled at first. but when she saw the uniforms the lads wore she was no longer frightened. in truth, she seemed to welcome them as the only sympathetic human beings she had seen to whom she could tell her woes. "oh, boys, boys, it's gone, all, all gone. look--my old home all in ruins. oh, dear! oh, dear! i'm so miserable. what shall i ever do? why should this be taken from me, too? they took--they took her--her--and, oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall i do?" she cried. bruce put his hands out to comfort her as best he could and the little lady came toward him and laid her head upon his chest, sobbing as if her heart was broken. but the all-night strain on one so old had been too great and presently she became very quiet, so quiet indeed that bruce became frightened and looked down into her face. and instantly he realized that she was completely worn out. "here, fellows," he called in a business-like tone, "the poor old lady is all in. we must take her to town and get her into the hospital. come, fellows, quickly now. you, jiminy, and nipper, make a coat stretcher--cut some staffs--strong ones. the three of us will take her back to town. the rest of you fellows go after the christmas tree. but first lend us a jacket or a sweater or two to bundle the old lady in." in a twinkle the scouts were busy. staffs were cut, the stretcher constructed and old nanny made comfortable with extra coats and sweaters that the more warmly clad scouts could spare. then, as the three lads started townward, bruce shouted: "hi, bud, see that you get a whopping big tree. a thirty footer, if you can. we'll be back in an hour or so to help you. so long." crisp weather and an additional snowstorm during the week that preceded the holidays gave the youngsters of the vermont town full assurance of a white christmas. and they would have been mightily disappointed lads if such had not been the case, for what would a community christmas celebration and a town christmas tree be like without snow everywhere? it was good packing snow, too, as numerous snow fights at noon time, on the academy campus, attested. but, aside from these noon-day diversions, the quarry scouts had little time to indulge in winter sports that week. the hills about town were just right for coasting and the broad champlain valley stretched north and south to be explored on snowshoes, skis, and with sleigh-riding parties, but the scouts could not find time to enjoy these opportunities. rather, they found their fun in anticipating a good time after christmas, providing the snow lasted, for they had work to do. there was the big christmas tree to be erected and trimmed. it was a monster tree. thirty-two feet from base to tip, and as it lay there in front of the town hall waiting to be elevated into position, it commanded the admiration of the whole town. thursday afternoon, after the carpenters had finished a big platform and grandstand, the lads erected timber shears and block and tackle and set the tree into place in the very center of the pavilion, which was to accommodate the mayor, town officials, visitors, the orchestra and a host of school children who were to sing carols. "wow, it looks great," said nipper knapp, surveying the tall fir proudly, "and won't it look corking after we get it all trimmed to-morrow afternoon?" "yes, but mind you, fellows, we'll have to work like everything to-morrow. all the wiring has to be strung and all the lights put on between one o'clock in the afternoon and half past four. it'll be some job," said bud weir. "you're right it will," said bruce, "thank goodness we have everything shipshape up at headquarters to get a good start. there's more than enough wire in the lot mr. ford sent over. and i guess we must have put on about three thousand lamp sockets during the last few days, haven't we?" "two thousand and eighty-seven," corrected romper, "and it's a good thing school lets out at noon to-morrow." "it'll be a sight for sore eyes. say, fellows, i'll tell you what. let's bring old nanny haskell down and give her a seat on the visitors' stand. i guess mr. ford could arrange that for us. it might cheer the poor old soul up a little. how is she to-day? any one been up to the hospital?" "sure, romper and i were up there. she's all well and ready to leave, but the poor thing hasn't any place to go to, it seems. she's bluer than all git out, too. jiminy, but i feel sorry for her," said jiminy gordon. "well, then, by gollies! we'll see if we can't make her happy on christmas eve at least. we'll have her all bundled up and bring her down here. listening to the kids sing and all the fun and things might help her spirit a little." "fine idea, if she'll come," said bruce. "oh, we'll arrange that, all right, i think," replied romper. "i'll go up to the hospital to-morrow. perhaps mr. ford will go along, and we can talk it over with doctor bassett." "good enough; i'll go with you. and now let's go home and get some supper, fellows. it's getting dark," said bruce. and presently the scouts were tramping off through the snowy winter twilight to their respective homes. fortunately, mr. clifford allowed bruce the use of blossom, his big black trotting horse, and a light box sleigh, or otherwise the lads would have had to make a dozen trips up the steep, snow-covered otter hill to headquarters to get their coils of wire and boxes of lamps to town next day. as it was, the spirited animal had to haul three sleigh-loads of equipment to the town hall before the scouts could even start the task of decorating. as soon as the coils of wire arrived a dozen scouts began to swarm the big christmas tree, looping the wires from branch to branch and fastening them securely. other scouts followed in their wake and screwed red, white and blue, green and yellow lamps into the vacant sockets. and while all this was going on, a crew of linemen and meter-setters from the local electric light company were running an extension, or service line, from the nearest street wires, for the electric company had promised to furnish current free for the evening's celebration. the square was a very busy place for several hours that afternoon, and every one was working with a will for he realized that he must be finished before dusk came. by half past three, however, the scouts found that they could ease up a little for, with the arrival of one more load of colored lamps from headquarters, the tree would be thoroughly decorated even to the shining electrically illuminated star on top which jiminy gordon placed there with the help of an extra long ladder. "whoope-e-e! almost through. don't it look fine, eh? and here comes bruce with the last load of lamps. come on, fellows, and help unload the sleigh," shouted bud weir as jiminy finally reached the ground after he had finished wiring the big star in place. "right-o-o! and last man to the curb is no good," shouted nipper knapp, starting to run. next moment there was a scurry of scouts through the snow that covered the square and a pell-mell race to the curb where bruce drew up the panting blossom with a jingle of bells and a shower of powdery snow. "whoa there, blossom," he shouted. then to the scouts, "come on, you duffers, and get these things unloaded. i want to get the horse into the stable so i can do some work, too." the "duffers" arrived with a rush and in a twinkle the boxes were being removed from the sleigh in a manner quite violent, and this to the imminent peril of the contents. "hi, not so bloomin' reckless," shouted bruce, "don't smash 'em, whatever you do. they are the last colored lamps in town and we need 'em. and, say--listen--what's the fuss up the street? hear 'em shoutin'? gee, it's a runaway an' here it comes--no--no--it's going to turn down high street toward the railroad--an'--cracky! fellows, there's a freight pulling out of the siding! see the smoke! and there's a woman and a girl in the cutter! wow! look at those chumps up the street shoutin' and wavin' their arms. that's no way to stop a horse! those women will be killed. hi, bud, hop in here. come on, we've got to stop 'em. i'm goin' after 'em with blossom. geet_yap_ there, blossom. git, now, that's t' girl. go!" there could be no mistaking the fact that the horse and cutter coming down the street was a runaway. the big animal was almost mad with fright. his eyes bulged out until the whites showed and its nostrils were distended with fear. and, to make matters worse, there were a dozen men and boys shouting and waving their hands in a foolish effort to stop the horse. but all that they accomplished was to make the animal still more frightened. fortunately, bud's mind acted as quickly as bruce's. he came into the sleigh with a bound, but almost before he landed bruce had blossom under way. just a touch of the whip was all that was needed and the nervous trotter shot forward like a flash of lightning. a moment later she was a jet black streak flying toward the corner of high street around which the runaway cutter had just disappeared. almost in the wink of an eye blossom reached the corner and swept around it at a gallop while the sleigh careened first on one runner and then upon the other, each time on the brink of turning over and pitching its occupants into the snowbanks that lined the road. but the scouts gave no heed to this. all their attention was on the flying cutter a hundred yards ahead and upon the railroad crossing half a mile down the road. the freight train had left the siding, and at the moment the scouts rounded the corner she was chugging her way slowly toward the crossing. of course, the gates were down but this only added to the peril. the runaway horse was blind with fright. he would plunge into the gates, tear through them and probably kill himself and the women in the sleigh by dashing headlong into the freight train. "go it, bruce, go it. we _must_ save them. they'll be killed if we don't," cried the half frantic bud. and bruce, pale of face but determined, cut blossom with the whip to urge her forward. rarely was the trotter treated that way and when the cut came she leapt forward like a deer. then her racing instinct seemed to come back to her. she knew what was wanted. the horse ahead must be passed. she stretched her long legs to their utmost and the pace she set made the light sleigh pitch and rock like a ship in a gale. bruce never used the whip again. indeed, he tossed it into the road, for he must needs use two hands to govern the flying horse. the animal ahead was flying, too, and it was a question for a few moments whether the scouts could make up the distance. but blossom was at her best. faster and faster she went while town folk stood on the sidewalk and gaped in amazement at the pace she held. the hundred yard lead was cut down to fifty, now to forty, thirty-five, thirty. bruce and bud could see the look of terror on the faces of the girl and the woman in the cutter. also they could see the reason for the accident. the reins had parted and one short length dangled over the horse's side and slapped him continually on the ribs while the longer section dragged under the cutter. "we'll make it, bud, we'll make it. we've _got_ to make it. i'll drive like mad. we'll start to pass them and i'll run blossom as close as i dare and then when we get abreast of the horse you hang out upon the running-board, and jump for the shafts of the cutter. get astride the horse's back and grab those reins. get ready, bud! out on the running-board, now! hurry!" cried bruce. blossom was drawing abreast of the cutter. bud clung to the running-board and crouched for a spring. "go it, blossom," cried bruce. "good old girl, go it. go on, go on. get ready, bud--steady--ready now--_jump_!" bud reached far out and leaped. one foot struck the shafts. he threw himself forward and grasped the runaway's mane and in an instant he had swung himself astride the horse's back. for a moment all that he could do was cling to the swaying animal and when the horse felt the extra weight drop upon him he bounded forward like a stag uttering a shrill whinny of fear. for a fleeting moment the lad thought of the peril of his position. but when he recalled that the lives of two women depended upon him, he became active. reaching forward he grasped the broken line and the long one and forced the bit home into the horse's mouth. the animal snorted and plunged. bud pulled back again. the runaway reared and pawed the air, snorting and shaking its massive bead. "whoa," cried the scout, "whoa, boy, steady now," and it seemed as if the animal recognized the authority in his command for the next time the lad reined in the panic-stricken horse slowed up and presently came to a complete standstill and stood trembling like a leaf. then, when the scout looked up for the first time, there, not twenty yards away, was the railroad crossing, with the freight train rumbling slowly by. "fine work, bud, fine," cried bruce, who had pulled in on blossom the moment the scout had jumped from the sleigh. "fine work, and--and--gee! but it was a narrow escape." indeed it had been a narrow escape. bud realized it as well as bruce. and so did the woman and the little girl in the cutter, for their faces were white and they hardly had strength enough left to step from the cutter when bruce tried to assist them. "goodness me, what a day--what a day," said the woman, trembling with nervousness. and when the little girl heard this she began to cry. "oh, mother, i'm unhappy, too," she wept. "poor nanny, poor nanny, just think she's been burned to death, and all because you and father sent me to school last september. oh, mother, mother, it's terrible. and then the horse acting up like that. i--i--oh, mr.--er--mr. boy scout, do you know anything about old nanny--nanny haskell? she was my dear nurse. last fall she left our house in st. cloud because my father and mother sent me to school down in boston. she--she--oh, dear!--she said she wouldn't live in st. cloud without me, because she would be too lonesome, so she came back to her old farm in the woods here, where she hadn't been for ten years, and--now--oh, dear! oh, dear;--it burned down--and--nanny must have been burned to death." "why--why--no--no, she wasn't burned to death," said bruce, when he fully understood, "she--she--why she's over in the woodbridge hospital. that big building over there on willow street. we found her and took her there, and she wasn't a bit hurt, only sick, that's all." "what! is she alive--really--honest--nanny haskell--boy, you're sure?" cried the woman excitedly. "we--we--came over to-day to get her and bring her back to st. cloud. we wanted to tell her that genevieve had come home from boston to stay, and that we wanted her to come back with us on christmas eve and live with us for good. are you sure--?" "yes, yes, i'm sure. i helped bring her into town," said bruce. "then come, mother, come. i must see old nanny and cheer her up. the boys will take care of the horse and put him in a stable. won't you, boys?" said genevieve, excitedly. "sure--bud will fix the reins and drive him to the hotel stable. come into my sleigh and i'll take you to the hospital," said bruce. a cold wind was driving powdery flakes out of the darkness overhead when the woodbridge town folk began to gather in the square to celebrate their first community christmas. the scouts were there early, for, besides the fact that several of them had the task of taking care of the electric switches that controlled the lights on the big tree, the rest of the troop had been delegated to police the square. the ceremonies were supposed to begin at eight o'clock, but by half-past seven the big platform was filled with visitors, officials and prominent townsmen. the orchestra had arrived, too, and taken its place, and the chorus of four hundred school children stood waiting, song books in hand. the big square was literally jammed by joyous men and women and shivering, though none the less enthusiastic, youngsters. and over these thousand or more silence reigned and every eye was fastened on the tall somber looking tree. then came the signal from the mayor. the next moment the orchestra leader swung his baton and the orchestra rang forth. simultaneously the voices of the children took up the opening bars of a good old english christmas carol. this was the cue the four scouts at the switches were waiting for. one by one they jammed the tiny rubber covered connections home and in circuits of eight and twelve, the colored lamps on the great tree began to twinkle until it was a blaze of glory from the lowermost branches to the great glittering star on the top. what a wave of applause greeted this illumination. then some one in the throng took up the carol the children were singing and in a moment thousands of throats were pouring forth the happiness of yuletide. the people's enthusiasm seemed boundless. but though the lights of the great tree revealed joyous countenances everywhere, the scouts could single out three in the group on the platform that seemed far happier than the rest. in truth, tears of joy were coursing down old nanny haskell's cheeks as she sat there hugging the form of genevieve to her and listening to the rejoicing of the vast throng. and close beside them, her arm about the old nurse's shoulder, sat a very happy mother. all through the ceremonies they stayed, lingering even till the lights on the big tree began to go out in groups. and when the star on the top, after a preliminary wink, went dark too, they turned and made their way slowly across the square to where their cutter, a hired driver in the seat, stood waiting. "well, fellows," said bruce, as with a jingle of bells the sleigh started in the direction of st. cloud city, "i guess old nanny's christmas won't be such a sad one after all, thanks to bud, here." and then with boisterous shouts of "merry christmas, everybody," the scouts all started for home. the end life in the red brigade, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. wet, worn and weary--with water squeaking in his boots, and a mixture of charcoal and water streaking his face to such an extent that, as a comrade asserted, his own mother would not have known him--a stout young man walked smartly one morning through the streets of london towards his own home. he was tall and good-looking, as well as stout, and, although wet and weary, had a spring in his step which proved beyond all question that he was not worn-out. as the comrade above referred to would have said, "there was plenty of go in him still." his blue and belted coat, sailor's cap, and small hatchet, with the brass helmet swinging by its chin strap on his left arm, betokened him a member of "the red brigade,"--a london fireman--one of those dare-anything characters who appear to hold their lives remarkably cheap, for they carry these lives in their hands, as the saying goes, night and day; who seem to be able to live in smoke as if it were their native element; who face the flames as if their bodies were made of cast iron; and whose apparent delight in fire is such that one is led to suspect they must be all more or less distantly connected with the family of salamander. the young man's expression of countenance, as far as it could be discerned through the charcoal and water, was hearty, and his name-- dashwood--was in keeping with his profession. the comrade, whose opinion we have already quoted, was wont to say that he ought to change it to dashwater, that being his chief occupation in life. we need scarcely say that this comrade was rather fond of his joke. arrived at a small street, not far from the regent circus, young dashwood entered a fire-station there, and found the comrade above referred to in the act of disposing himself on a narrow tressel-bed, on which there was no bedding save one blanket. the comrade happened to be on duty that night. it was his duty to repose on the tressel-bedstead, booted and belted, ready at a moment's notice to respond to "calls." another fireman lay sleeping at his side, on another tressel-bed, similarly clothed, for there were always two men on duty all night at that station. the guard-room, or, as it was styled, the "lobby," in which they lay, was a very small room, with a bright fire in the grate, for it was winter; a plain wooden desk near the window; a plain deal table near the door, on which stood four telegraphic instruments; and having the walls ornamented with a row of wellington boots on one side, and a row of bright brass helmets on the other, each helmet having a small hatchet suspended by a belt below it. the comrade, who looked very sleepy, glanced at a small clock, whose tick was the only sound that fell upon the ear, and whose hands indicated the hour of half-past two. on hearing the door open, the comrade, whose name was bob clazie, raised himself on one elbow. "ah, joe,--that you?" he said, with a somewhat violent yawn. "all that's left of me, anyhow," replied joe dashwood, as he hung up his helmet and axe on his own particular peg. "bin much doin', bob?" "not much," growled bob; "but they don't give a poor fellow much chance of a sleep with them telegraphs. roused me four times already within the last hour--stops for chimbleys." "ha! very inconsiderate of 'em," said dashwood, turning towards the door. "it's time i had a snooze now, so i'll bid 'ee good night, bob." just as he spoke, one of the sharp little telegraphic bells rang viciously. he waited to ascertain the result while clazie rose--quickly but not hurriedly--and went to read the instrument with sleepy eyes. "another stop for a chimbley," he muttered, with a remonstrative growl. by this he meant that the head office in watling street had telegraphed that a chimney had gone on fire in some part of london; that it was being looked after, and that he and his comrades were to _stop_ where they were and pay no attention to it, even although some one should rush into the office like a maniac shouting that there was a fire in that particular place. this use of the telegraph in thus _stopping_ the men of the brigade from going out in force to trifling fires, is of the greatest service, because it not only prevents them from being harassed, the engines from being horsed, and steam got up needlessly, but it prevents rascals from running from station to station, and getting several shillings, instead of the one shilling which is due to the first intimator of any fire. having acknowledged the message, bob clazie lay down once more, gave another expostulatory grunt, and drew his blanket over him; while joe dashwood went home. joe's home consisted of a small apartment round the corner of the street, within a few seconds' run of the station. off the small apartment there was a large closet. the small apartment was dashwood's drawing-room, dining-room, and kitchen; the large closet was his bed-room. dashwood had a wife, "as tight a little craft, with as pretty a figurehead," he was wont to say, "as you could find in a day's walk through london." that was saying a good deal, but there was some truth in it. when joe entered, intending to go to bed for the night, he found that mary had just got up for the day. it was "washing-day," or something of that sort, with mary, which accounted for her getting up at about three in the morning. "hallo, lass, up already!" exclaimed the strapping fireman as he entered the room, which was a perfect marvel of tidiness, despite washing-day. "yes, joe, there's plenty to do, an' little may don't give me much time to do it," replied mary, glancing at a crib where little may, their first-born, lay coiled up in sheets like a rosebud in snow. joe, having rubbed the water and charcoal from his face with a huge jack-towel, went to the wash-tub, and imprinted a hearty kiss on mary's rosy lips, which she considerately held up for the purpose of being saluted. he was about to do the same to the rosebud, when mary stopped him with an energetic "don't!" "w'y not, molly?" asked the obedient man. "'cause you'll wake her up." thus put down, joe seated himself humbly on a sea-chest, and began to pull off his wet boots. "it's bin a bad fire, i think," said mary, glancing at her husband. "rather. a beer-shop in whitechapel. house of five rooms burnt out, and the roof off." "you look tired, joe," said mary. "i _am_ a bit tired, but an hour's rest will put me all to rights. that's the third fire i've bin called to to-night; not that i think much about that, but the last one has bin a stiff one, an' i got a fall or two that nigh shook the wind out o' me." "have something to eat, joe," said mary, in a sympathetic tone. "no thankee, lass; i need sleep more than meat just now." "a glass of beer, then," urged mary, sweeping the soap suds off her pretty arms and hands, and taking up a towel. the fireman shook his head, as he divested himself of his coat and neckcloth. "do, joe," entreated mary; "i'm sure it will do you good, and no one could say that you broke through your principles, considerin' the condition you're in." foolish mary! she was young and inexperienced, and knew not the danger of tempting her husband to drink. she only knew that hundreds of first-rate, sober, good, trustworthy men took a glass of beer now and then without any evil result following, and did not think that her joe ran the slightest risk in doing the same. but joe knew his danger. his father had died a drunkard. he had listened to earnest men while they told of the bitter curse that drinking had been to thousands, that to some extent the tendency to drink was hereditary, and that, however safe some natures might be while moderately indulging, there were other natures to which moderate drinking was equivalent to getting on those rails which, running down a slight incline at first--almost a level-- gradually pass over a steep descent, where brakes become powerless, and end at last in total destruction. "i don't require beer, molly," said dashwood with a smile, as he retired into the large closet; "at my time o' life a man must be a miserable, half-alive sort o' critter, if he can't git along without dutch courage. the sight o' your face and may's there, is better than a stiff glass o' grog to me any day. it makes me feel stronger than the stoutest man in the brigade. good night, lass, or good mornin'. i must make the most o' my time. there's no sayin' how soon the next call may come. seems to me as if people was settin' their houses alight on purpose to worry us." the tones in which the last sentences were uttered, and the creaking of the bedstead indicated that the fireman was composing his massive limbs to rest, and scarcely had mrs dashwood resumed her washing, when his regular heavy breathing proclaimed him to be already in the land of nod. quietly but steadily did mrs dashwood pursue her work. neat little under-garments, and fairy-like little socks, and indescribable little articles of lilliputian clothing of various kinds, all telling of the little rosebud in the crib, passed rapidly through mary's nimble fingers, and came out of the tub fair as the driven snow. soon the front of the fire-place became like a ship dressed with flags, with this difference, that the flags instead of being gay and parti-coloured, were white and suggestive of infancy and innocence. the gentle noise of washing, and the soft breathing of the sleepers, and the tiny ticking of the clock over the chimney-piece, were the only audible sounds, for london had reached its deadest hour, four o'clock. rioters had exhausted their spirits, natural and artificial, and early risers had not begun to move. presently to these sounds were added another very distant sound which induced mary to stop and listen. "a late cab," she whispered to herself. the rumbling of the late cab became more distinct, and soon proved it to be a hurried cab. to mary's accustomed ear this raised some disagreeable idea. she cast a look of anxiety into the closet, wiped her hands quickly, and taking up a pair of dry boots which had been standing near the fire, placed them beside her husband's coat. this was barely accomplished when the hurried cab was heard to pull up at the neighbouring fire-station. only a few seconds elapsed when racing footsteps were heard outside. mary seized her husband's arm-- "up, joe, up," she cried and darted across the room, leaped on a chair, and laid violent hands on the tongue of the door-bell, thereby preventing a furious double ring from disturbing the rosebud! at the first word "up," the bed in the closet groaned and creaked as the fireman bounded from it, and the house shook as he alighted on the floor. next moment he appeared buttoning his braces, and winking like an owl in sunshine. one moment sufficed to pull on the right boot, another moment affixed the left. catching up his half-dried coat with one hand, and flinging on his sailor's cap with the other, he darted from the house, thrust himself into his coat as he ran along and appeared at the station just as four of his comrades drew the fire-engine up to the door, while two others appeared with three horses, which they harnessed thereto--two abreast, one in front--with marvellous rapidity. the whole affair, from the "up, joe, up," of mrs dashwood, to the harnessing of the steeds, was accomplished in less than five minutes. by that time joe and several of his mates stood ready belted, and armed with brass helmets on their heads, which flashed back the rays of the neighbouring street lamp and the engine lanterns. there was wonderfully little noise or fuss, although there was so much display of promptitude and energy; the reason being that all the men were thoroughly drilled, and each had his particular duty to perform; there was, therefore, no room for orders, counter-orders, or confusion. the moment the call was given, bob clazie, having received no telegraphic "stop," had at once run to ring up the men, who, like dashwood, had been sleeping close at hand. he rang up the driver of the engine first. at the same moment his comrade on duty had run round to the stable, where the horses stood ready harnessed, and brought them out. thus the thing was done without a moment's delay. the driver, when roused, flung on his coat and helmet, and ran to the engine. it was a steam fire-engine; that is, the pumps were worked by steam instead of by hand. the firing was ready laid, and the water kept nearly at the boiling point by means of a jet of gas. he had scarcely applied a light to the fire and turned off the gas, when four comrades ran into the shed, seized the red-painted engine, and dragged her out, as we have seen. much shorter time did it take to do all this than is required to describe it. when the driver mounted his box, the others sprang on the engine. crack! went the whip, fire flew from the paving-stones, fire poured from the furnace, the spirited steeds tore round the corner into regent street, and off they went to the fire, in the dark winter morning, like a monster rocket or a vision of roman gladiators whirled away by a red fiery dragon! mrs dashwood heard them go, and turned with a little sigh to her washing-tub. she was very proud of joe, and she had good reason to be, for he was one of the best men in the red brigade, and, what was of more importance to her, he was one of the best husbands in the world. perhaps this was largely owing to the fact that she was one of the best of wives! his career as a fireman had been short, but he had already become known as one of the daring men, to whom their chief looked when some desperate service had to be performed. on several occasions he had, while in charge of the fire-escape, been the means of saving life. upon the whole, therefore, it is not surprising that mary was proud of her husband--almost as proud of him as she was of the little rosebud; but in regard to this she was never quite sure of the exact state of her mind. meditating on joe, and giving an occasional glance at may, whose sweet upturned face seemed nothing short of angelic, mrs dashwood continued energetically to scrub the fairy-like habiliments, and make the soapsuds fly. meanwhile, the red engine whirled along its fiery course at full gallop, like a horrible meteor, clattering loudly in the deserted streets of the great city. so it would have sped in its wild career even if it had been broad day, for the loss of a single moment in reaching a fire is important; but in this case the men, instead of sitting like brazen-headed statues, would have stood up and increased the din of their progress by shouting continuously to clear the crowded thoroughfares. as it was, they had it all to themselves. sometimes the corner of a window-blind was hastily lifted, showing that some wakeful one had curiosity enough to leap out of bed to see them pass. here and there a policeman paused, and followed them with his eye as long as the tail of sparks from the furnace was visible. occasionally a belated toper stopped in his staggering progress to gaze at them, with an idiotical assumption of seriousness and demand, "wash ey maki'n sh' a 'orrible row for?" now and then a cat, with exploratory tendencies, put up its back and greeted them with a glare and a fuff, or a shut-out cur gave them a yelping salute; but the great mass of the london population let them go by without notice, as they would have treated any other passing thunderbolt with which they had nothing to do. and yet they _had_ something to do with that engine, or, rather, it had to do with them. but for it, and the rest of the red brigade, london would have long ago been in ashes. it is only by unremitting vigilance and incessant action that the london fires can be kept within bounds. there are nearly two thousand fires in the year in the metropolis, and the heroic little army which keeps these in check numbers only three hundred and seventy-eight men. that this force is much too small for the work to be done is proved by the fact, that the same men have sometimes to turn out three, four or five times in a night, to work of the most trying and dangerous nature. there is no occupation in which the lives of the men employed are so frequently risked, and their physical endurance so severely tried, as that of a london fireman. as there are, on the average, five fires every night all the year round, it follows that he is liable to be called out several times every night; and, in point of fact, this actually takes place very often. sometimes he has barely returned from a fire, and put off his drenched garments, when he receives another "call," and is obliged to put them on again, and go forth weary--it may be fasting--to engage in another skirmish with the flames. in all weathers and at all seasons--hot or cold, wet or dry--he must turn out at a moment's notice, to find himself, almost before he is well awake, in the midst of stifling smoke, obliged to face and to endure the power of roasting flames, to stand under cataracts of water, beside tottering walls and gables, or to plunge through smoke and flames, in order to rescue human lives. liability to be called _occasionally_ to the exercise of such courage and endurance is severe enough; it is what every soldier is liable to in time of war, and the lifeboat-man in times of storm; but to be liable to such calls several times every day and night all round the year is hard indeed, and proves that the red brigade, although almost perfect in its organisation and heroic in its elements, is far too small. paris has about seven hundred fires a year; new york somewhere about three hundred; yet these cities have a far larger body of firemen than london, which with little short of two thousand fires a year, does her work of extinction with only three hundred and seventy-eight men! she succeeds because every man in the little army is a hero, not one whit behind the spartans of old. the london fireman, ford, who, in , at one great fire rescued six lives from the flames, and perished in accomplishing the noble deed, is a sample of the rest. all the men of the brigade are picked men--picked from among the strapping and youthful tars of the navy, because such men are accustomed to strict discipline; to being "turned out" at all hours and in all weathers, and to climb with cool heads in trying circumstances, besides being, as a class, pre-eminently noted for daring anything and sticking at nothing. such men are sure to do their work well, however hard; to do it without complaining, and to die, if need be, in the doing of it. but ought they to be asked to sacrifice so much? surely londoners would do well to make that complaint, which the men will _never_ make, and insist on the force being increased, not only for the sake of the men, but also for the sake of themselves; for, although there _are_ three hundred and seventy-eight heroes who hold the fiery foe so well in check, there are limits to heroic powers of action, and it stands to reason that double the number would do it better. but we are wandering from our point. the engine has been tearing all this time at racing speed along the bayswater road. it turns sharp round a corner near notting hill gate--so sharp that the feat is performed on the two off wheels, and draws from bob clazie the quiet remark, "pretty nigh on our beam-ends that time, joe." a light is now seen glaring in the sky over the house-tops; another moment, and the engine dashes into ladbroke square, where a splendid mansion is in a blaze, with the flames spouting from the windows of the second floor. the engine pulls up with a crash; the reeking horses are removed and led aside. "look alive, lads!" is the only word uttered, and the helmeted heroes, knowing their work well, go into action with that cool promptitude which is more than half the battle in attacking the most desperate odds or the fiercest foe. chapter two. the house on fire was, as we have said, an elegant mansion--one of those imposing edifices, with fresh paint outside, and splendid furniture within, which impress the beholder with the idea of a family in luxurious circumstances. no one could tell how the fire originated. in the daily "report" of fires, made next day by the chief of the red brigade, wherein nine fires were set down as having occurred within the twenty-four hours, the cause of this fire in ladbroke square was reported "unknown." of the other eight, the supposed causes were, in one case, "escape of gas," in another, "paraffin-lamp upset," in another "intoxication," in another, "spark from fire," in another, "candle," in another, "children playing with matches," and so on; but in this mansion none of these causes were deemed probable. the master of the house turned off the gas regularly every night before going to bed, therefore it could not have been caused by escape of gas. paraffin-lamps were not used in the house. candles were; but they were always carefully handled and guarded. as to intoxication, the most suspicious of mortals could not have dreamed of such a cause in so highly respectable a family. the fires were invariably put out at night, and guards put on in every room, therefore, no spark could have been so audacious as to have leaped into being and on to the floor. there were, indeed, "matches" in the house, but there were no children, except one old lady, who, having reached her second childhood, might perhaps have been regarded as a child. it is true there was a certain betty, a housemaid, whose fingers were reported by the cook to be "all thumbs," and who had an awkward and incurable tendency to spill, and break, and drop, and fall over things, on whom suspicion fastened very keenly at first; but betty, who was young and rather pretty, asserted so earnestly that she had been unusually happy that night in having done nothing whatever of a condemnable nature, and backed her asseverations with such floods of tears, that she was exonerated, and, as we have said, the cause was reported "unknown." it was not, however, so completely unknown as was at first supposed. there was a certain grave, retiring, modest individual who knew the gentleman of the house and his doings a little more thoroughly than was agreeable to the said gentleman, and who had become aware, in some unaccountable way, which it is impossible to explain, that he, the said gentleman, had very recently furnished the house in a sumptuous style, and had insured it much beyond its value. the said individual's knowledge ultimately resulted in the said gentleman being convicted and transported for arson! but with all this we have nothing to do. whatever the uncertainty that afterwards arose as to the cause of the fire, there could be no uncertainty as to the fire itself at the time. it blazed and roared so furiously, that the inside of the house resembled a white-hot furnace. flames spouted from the windows and chimneys, glaring fiercely on the spectators, who assembled rapidly from all quarters, as if defying them all, and daring the firemen to do their worst. sparks enough to have shamed all the roman candles ever made in or out of rome were vomited forth continuously, and whirled away with volumes of dense black smoke into the wintry sky. "it's well alight," observed a chimney-sweep to a policeman. the policeman made no reply, although it did seem as if it would have been quite safe, even for a policeman, to admit that the sweep was thoroughly correct. it _was_ "well alight," so well, that it seemed absolutely ridiculous to suppose that the firemen could make any impression on it at all. but the firemen did not appear to think the attempt ridiculous. "never give in" was, or might have been, their motto. it was their maxim to attack the enemy with promptitude and vigour, no matter what his strength might be. when he crept out like a sneaking burglar from under a hearth-stone, or through an over-heated flue, they would "have at him" with the hand-pumps and quench him at once. when he came forth like a dashing party of skirmishers, to devastate a wood-yard, or light up a music-hall with unusual brilliancy, they sent an engine or two against him without delay, and put him down in an hour or two. when he attacked "in force," they despatched engine after engine--manuals and steamers-- to the front, until he was quelled, and if the prey already seized could not be wrenched from his grasp, they, at all events, killed him before he could destroy more. when he boldly and openly declared war, attacking the great combustible warehouses of tooley street, threatening a descent on the shipping, and almost setting the thames on fire, they sent out the whole available army from every quarter of the metropolis with all their engines of war--manuals, steamers, and floating batteries, or spouteries, and fought him tooth and nail, till he gave in. they might be terribly over-matched--as in the case of the great fire when the gallant braidwood fell--they might lose men, and might have to fight day and night for weeks, but they would "never say die," until the enemy had died and left them, tired and torn, but still tough and triumphant victors on the field of battle. before the engine from regent street came on the ground, two manual engines from kensington and notting hill had arrived, and opened water on the foe. at first their shot fell harmlessly on the roaring furnace; but by the time the "steamer" had got ready for action, some little effect was beginning to be produced. when this great gun, so to speak, began to play, and sent a thick continuous stream through the windows, like an inexhaustible water mitrailleuse, clouds of white steam mingled with the black smoke, and varied the aspect of the fire, but did not appear to lessen its fury in any degree. just then another manual engine dashed into the square at full gallop, and formed up. before it had well taken a position, another "steamer," with three horses, came swinging round the corner, and fell into the ranks. the panting steeds were unharnessed, the bold charioteers leaped down, the suction-pipe was dipped into the water-trough, and the hose attached. as two engines cannot "drink" at the same plug, a canvas trough with an iron frame is put over the plug, having a hole in its bottom, which fits tightly round the plug. it quietly fills, and thus two or more engines may do their work convivially--dip in their suction-pipes, and "drink" simultaneously at the same fountain. "down with her!" shouted the man who held the "branch," or nozzle, at the end of the hose. a steam whistle gives a shrill, short reply; the engine quivers under the power of man's greatest servant, and another battery opens on the foe. but london firemen are not content to play at long bowls. while the artillery goes thus vigorously into action, the helmets of the men are seen gleaming and glancing everywhere amid the smoke, searching for weak points, turning the enemy's flanks, and taking him in rear. hose are dragged through neighbouring houses, trailing their black coils like horrid water snakes, through places were such things were never meant to be. if too short, additional lengths are added, again and again, till the men who hold the branches gain points of vantage on adjoining roofs or outhouses, until, at last from below, above, in front, and behind, cataracts of water dash into the glowing furnace. the fire-escape had been first to reach the ground after the alarm was given, this being the instrument nearest to the scene of conflagration. it happened that night to be in charge of david clazie, a brother of comrade bob. being a smart young fellow, david, had--with the assistance of two early risers who chanced to be at hand, and the policeman on the beat--run up his escape, and put it in position before the fire had gained its full force. the gentleman of the house had already got out, and fled in his night garments; but the fire had rendered the staircase impassable, so that the cook, the many-thumbed betty, and the old lady, who was the gentleman's mother, were imprisoned in the upper floor. david clazie did not learn this from the gentleman, however. that amiable character had received such a fright, that he had taken himself off, no one--except the individual aforementioned--knew whither. fortunately, betty announced the fact of her existence by rushing to a window and shrieking. david ran his escape towards the window, mounted the ladder, carried the damsel down, bore her, kicking, into a neighbouring house, and left her in fits. meanwhile the cook rushed to the same window, shrieked, and fell back half-suffocated with the smoke which just then surrounded her. a policeman gallantly ran up the escape, jumped into the room, gathered up the cook with great difficulty--for she was unusually fat and the smoke very suffocating-- carried her down, bore her to the same house where betty lay, and left her there in violent hysterics. as neither of them could answer questions, it could not be ascertained whether there were any more people in the burning house. david therefore explored it as far as was possible in the circumstances, and much more than was safe for himself, but found no one. after nearly choking himself, therefore, he drew aside the escape to prevent its being burned. when the engines came up, however, it was again brought into play, to enable the firemen to get up with their "branches" to the upper windows. "try that window, dashwood," said the officer of the station to which joe belonged, pointing to a window on the second floor. "there ain't much smoke coming out." before he had done speaking, joe and a comrade had pushed the escape towards the window in question. he ascended and leaped into the room, but could scarcely see for the smoke. knowing that the air in a burning house is clearer near the floor, he stooped as low as possible, and went round the room guiding himself by the walls. coming to a door he seized the handle and tried to open it, but found it locked, and the handle so hot that he was forced to let go abruptly. he seized a chair, tried to burst it open with a blow, and shivered the chair to atoms, but did not force the door. a powerful effort with his foot also failed. rushing to the window he got out on the escape, and shouted:-- "the axe, lads, look sharp and pass up the hose. we'll get at it here." a large heavy axe was handed up by one fireman, while another let down a rope, to which the end of the hose was attached and hauled up. joe seized the axe, returned to the door, and, with one blow, dashed it open. flames leaped upon him, as if they had been eagerly awaiting the opportunity, licked hungrily round his legs, and kissed his whiskers--of which, by the way, he was rather proud; and with good reason, for they were very handsome whiskers. but joe cared no more for them at that moment than he did for his boots. he was forced to retreat, however, to the window, where bob clazie had already presented his branch and commenced a telling discharge on the fire. "that's the way to do it," muttered bob, as he directed the branch and turned aside his head to avoid, as much as possible, the full volume of the smoke. "let's get a breath o' fresh air," gasped joe dashwood, endeavouring to squeeze past his comrade through the window. at that moment a faint cry was heard. it appeared to come from an inner room. "some one there, joe," said bob clazie in a grave tone, but without diverting his attention for an instant, from the duty in which he was engaged. joe made no reply, but at once leaped back into the room, and, a second time, felt his way round the walls. he came on another door. one blow of the ponderous axe dashed it in, and revealed a bed-room not quite so densely filled with smoke as the outer room. observing a bed looming through the smoke, he ran towards it, and struck his head against one of the posts so violently that he staggered. recovering he made a grasp at the clothes, and felt that there was a human being wrapped tightly up in them like a bundle. a female shriek followed. joe dashwood was not the man to stand on ceremony in such circumstances. he seized the bundle, straightened it out a little, so as to make it more portable, and throwing it over his shoulder, made a rush towards the window by which he had entered. all this the young fireman did with considerable energy and haste, because the density of the smoke was increasing, and his retreat might be cut off by the flames at any moment. "clear the way there!" he gasped, on reaching the window. "all right," replied bob clazie, who was still presenting his branch with untiring energy at the flames. joe passed out, got on the head of the escape, and, holding the bundle on his shoulder with one hand, grasped the rounds of the ladder with the other. he descended amid the cheers of the vast multitude, which had by this time assembled to witness the fire. as joe hurried towards the open door of the nearest house, betty, with the thumbs, rushed frantically out, screaming, "missis! oh! my! she'll be burnt alive! gracious! help! fire! back room! first floor! oh, my!" "be easy, lass," cried joe, catching the flying domestic firmly by the arm, and detaining her despite her struggles. "let me go; missis! i forgot her!" "here she is," cried joe, interrupting, "all safe. you come and attend to her." the reaction on poor betty's feelings was so great that she went into fits a second time, and was carried with her mistress into the house, where the cook still lay in violent hysterics. joe laid the bundle gently on the bed, and looked quickly at the bystanders. observing several cool and collected females among them, he pointed to the bundle, which had begun to exhibit symptoms of life, and said briefly, "she's all right, look after her," and vanished like a wreath of that smoke into which in another moment he plunged. he was not a moment too soon, for he found bob clazie, despite his fortitude and resolution, on the point of abandoning the window, where the smoke had increased to such a degree as to render suffocation imminent. "can't stand it," gasped bob, scrambling a few paces down the ladder. "give us the branch, bob, i saw where it was in fetchin' out the old woman," said joe in a stifled voice. he grasped the copper tube from which the water spouted with such force as to cause it to quiver and recoil like a living thing, so that, being difficult to hold, it slipped aside and nearly fell. the misdirected water-spout went straight at the helmet of a policeman, which it knocked off with the apparent force of a cannon shot; plunged into the bosom of a stout collier, whom it washed whiter than he had ever been since the days of infancy, and scattered the multitude like chaff before the wind. seeing this, the foreman ordered "number " engine, (which supplied the particular branch in question), to cease pumping. joe recovered the erratic branch in a moment, and dragged it up the escape, bob, who was now in a breatheable atmosphere, helping to pass up the hose. the foreman, who seemed to have acquired the power of being in several places at one and the same moment of time, and whose watchful eye was apparently everywhere, ordered bob's brother david and another man named ned crashington, to go up and look after joe dashwood. meanwhile joe shouted, "down with number ;" by which he meant, "up with as much water as possible from number , and as fast as you can!" and sprang into the room from which he had just rescued the old woman. in passing out with her he had observed a glimmer of flame through the door which he had first broken open, and which, he reflected while descending the escape, was just out of range of bob clazie's branch. it was the thought of this that had induced him to hurry back so promptly; in time, as we have seen, to relieve his comrade. he now pointed the branch at the precise spot, and hit that part of the fire right in its heart. the result was that clouds of steam mingled with the smoke. but joe was human after all. the atmosphere, or, rather, the want of atmosphere, was too much for him. he was on the point of dropping the branch, and rushing to the window for his life, when ned crashington, feeling his way into the room, tumbled over him. speech was not required in the circumstances. ned knew exactly what to do, and joe knew that he had been sent to relieve him. he therefore delivered the branch to ned, and at once sprang out on the escape, where he encountered david clazie. "go in, davy, he can't stand it long," gasped joe. "no fears of 'im," replied davy, with a smile, as he prepared to enter the window; "ned can stand hanythink a'most. but, i say, send up some more 'ands. it takes two on us to 'old _that_ 'ere branch, you know." the brass helmets of more hands coming up the escape were observed as he spoke, for the foreman saw that this was a point of danger, and, like a wise general, had his reserves up in time. david clazie found ned standing manfully to the branch. ned was noted in the red brigade as a man who could "stand a'most anything," and who appeared to cherish a martyr-like desire to die by roasting or suffocation. this was the more surprising that he was not a boastful or excitable fellow, but a silent, melancholy, and stern man, who, except when in action, usually seemed to wish to avoid observation. most of his comrades were puzzled by this compound of character, but some of them hinted that crashington's wife could have thrown some light on the subject. be this as it may, whenever the chief or the foreman of the brigade wanted a man for any desperate work, they invariably turned to ned crashington. not that ned was one whit more courageous or willing to risk his life than any of the other men, _all_ of whom, it must be remembered, were picked for courage and capacity for their special work; but he combined the greatest amount of coolness with the utmost possible recklessness, besides being unusually powerful, so that he could be depended on for wise as well as desperate action. joe dashwood was thought to be almost equal to ned--indeed, in personal activity he was superior; but there was nothing desperate in joe's character. he was ever ready to dare anything with a sort of jovial alacrity, but he did not appear, like ned, to court martyrdom. while ned and david subdued the flames above, joe descended the escape, and being by that time almost exhausted, sat down to rest with several comrades who had endured the first shock of battle, while fresh men were sent to continue the fight. "have a glass, joe?" said one of the firemen, coming round with a bottle of brandy. "no, thank 'ee," said joe, "i don't require it." "hand it here," said a man who stood leaning against the rails beside him, "my constitution is good, like the british one, but it's none the worse for a drop o' brandy after such tough work." there was probably truth in what the man said. desperate work sometimes necessitates a stimulant; nevertheless, there were men in the red brigade who did their desperate work on nothing stronger than water, and joe was one of these. in three hours the fire was subdued, and before noon of that day it was extinguished. the "report" of it, as published by the chief of the fire-brigade next morning, recorded that a house in ladbroke square, occupied by mr blank, a gentleman whose business was "private"--in other words, unknown--had been set on fire by some "unknown cause," that the whole tenement had been "burnt out" and "the roof off," and that the contents of the building were "insured in the phoenix." some of the firemen were sent home about daybreak, when the flames first began to be mastered. joe was among these. he found mary ready with a cup of hot coffee, and the rosebud, who had just awakened, ready with a kiss. joe accepted the second, swallowed the first, stretched his huge frame with a sigh of weariness, remarked to mary that he would turn in, and in five minutes thereafter was snoring profoundly. chapter three. one pleasant afternoon in spring david clazie and ned crashington sat smoking together in front of the fire in the lobby of the station, chatting of hair-breadth escapes by flood and fire. "it's cold enough yet to make a fire a very pleasant comrade--w'en 'e's inside the bars," observed david. "h'm," replied crashington. as this was not a satisfactory reply, david said so, and remarked, further, that ned seemed to be in the blues. "wotever can be the matter wi' you, ned," said david, looking at his companion with a perplexed air; "you're a young, smart, 'ealthy fellar, in a business quite to your mind, an' with a good-lookin' young wife at 'ome, not to mention a babby. w'y wot more would you 'ave, ned? you didn't ought for to look blue." "pr'aps not," replied ned, re-lighting his pipe, and puffing between sentences, "but a man may be in a business quite to his mind and have a good-looking wife, and a babby, and health to boot, without bein' exactly safe from an attack of the blues now and then, d'ye see? `it ain't all gold that glitters.' you've heard o' that proverb, no doubt?" "well, yes," replied clazie. "ah. then there's another sayin' which mayhap you've heard of too: `every man's got a skeleton in the cupboard.'" "i've heard o' that likewise," said clazie, "but it ain't true; leastways, _i_ have got no skeleton in none o' my cupboards, an', wot's more, if i 'ad, i'd pitch him overboard." "but what if he was too strong for you?" suggested ned. "why, then--i don't know," said clazie, shaking his head. before this knotty point could be settled in a satisfactory manner, the comrades were interrupted by the entrance of a man. he was a thick-set, ill-favoured fellow, with garments of a disreputable appearance, and had a slouch that induced honest men to avoid his company. nevertheless, ned crashington gave him a hearty "good afternoon," and shook hands. "my brother-in-law, clazie," said ned, turning and introducing him, "mr sparks." clazie was about to say he "was 'appy to," etcetera, but thought better of it, and merely nodded as he turned to the grate and shook the ashes out of his pipe. "you'll come and have a cup of tea, phil? maggie and i usually have it about this time." phil sparks said he had no objection to tea, and left the station with ned, leaving david clazie shaking his head with a look of profound wisdom. "you're a bad lot, you are," growled david, after the man was gone, "a werry bad lot, indeed!" having expressed his opinion to the clock, for there was no one else present, david thrust both hands into his pockets, and went out to take an observation of the weather. meanwhile ned crashington led his brother-in-law to his residence, which, like the abodes of the other firemen, was close at hand. entering it he found his "skeleton" waiting for him in the shape of his wife. she was anything but a skeleton in aspect, being a stout, handsome woman, with a fine figure, an aquiline nose, and glittering black eyes. "oh, you've come at last," she said in a sharp, querulous tone, almost before her husband had entered the room. "full ten minutes late, and i expected you sooner than usual to-night." "i didn't know you expected me sooner, maggie. here's phil come to have tea with us." "oh, phil, how are you?" said mrs crashington, greeting her brother with a smile, and shaking him heartily by the hand. "ah, if you'd only receive _me_ with a smile like that, _how_ different it might be," thought ned; but he _said_ nothing. "now, then, stoopid," cried mrs crashington, turning quickly round on her husband, as if to counteract the little touch of amiability into which she had been betrayed, "how long are you going to stand there in people's way staring at the fire? what are you thinking of?" "i was thinking of you, maggie." "h'm! thinking no good of me, i dare say," replied maggie, sharply. "did your conscience tell you that?" asked ned, with a heightened colour. maggie made no reply. one secret of her bad temper was that she had all her life been allowed to vent it, and now that she was married she felt the necessity of restraining it very irksome. whenever she had gone far enough with ned, and saw that he was not to be trifled with, she found that she possessed not only power to control her temper, but the sense, now and then, to do so! on the present occasion she at once busied herself in preparing tea, while ned sat down opposite his brother-in-law, and, taking fred, his only child, a handsome boy of about five years of age, on his knee, began to run his fingers through his jet black curly hair. "did you get your tasks well to-day, fred?" asked ned. "no, father." "no?" repeated ned in surprise; "why not?" "because i was playin' with may dashwood, father." "was that a good reason for neglecting your dooty?" demanded ned, shaking his head reproachfully, yet smiling in spite of himself. "iss, father," replied the boy boldly. "you're wrong, fred. no doubt you might have had a worse reason, but _play_ is not a good reason for neglect of dooty. only think--what would be said to me if i was called to a fire, and didn't go because i wanted to play with may dashwood?" "but i was sent for," pleaded fred. "mrs dashwood had a big--oh, _such_ a big washin', an' sent to say if i might be let go; an' mother said i might, so i went." "ah, that alters the case, fred," replied his father, patting the boy's head. "to help a woman in difficulties justifies a'most anything. don't it, phil?" thus appealed to, phil said that he didn't know, and, what was more, he didn't care. "now don't sit talkin' nonsense, but sit in to tea," said mrs crashington. the stout fireman's natural amiability had been returning like a flood while he conversed with fred, but this sharp summons rather checked its flow; and when he was told in an exasperating tone to hand the toast, and not look like a stuck pig, it was fairly stopped, and his spirit sank to zero. "have you got anything to do yet?" he asked of phil sparks, by way of cheering up a little. "no, nothin'," replied sparks; "leastways nothin' worth mentionin'." "i _knew_ his last application would fail," observed maggie, in a quietly contemptuous tone. his last application had been made through ned's influence and advice, and that is how she came to _know_ it would fail. ned felt a rising of indignation within him which he found it difficult to choke down, because it was solely for his wife's sake that he had made any effort at all to give a helping hand to surly phil sparks, for whom he entertained no personal regard. but ned managed to keep his mouth shut. although a passionate man, he was not ill-tempered, and often suffered a great deal for the sake of peace. "london," growled sparks, in a tone of sulky remonstrance, "ain't a place for a man to git on in. if you've the luck to have friends who can help you, an' are willin', why it's well enough; but if you haven't got friends, its o' no manner o' use to try anything, except pocket-pickin' or house-breakin'." "come, phil," said ned, laughing, as he helped himself to a huge round of buttered toast, "i 'ope you han't made up your mind to go in for either of them professions, for they don't pay. they entail hard work, small profits, an' great risk--not to mention the dishonesty of 'em. but i don't agree with you about london neither." "you never agree with nobody about anythink," observed mrs crashington, in a low tone, as if the remark were made to the teapot; but ned heard it, and his temper was sorely tried again, for, while the remark was utterly false as regarded himself, it was particularly true as regarded his wife. however, he let it pass, and continued-- "you see, phil, london, as you know, is a big place, the population of it being equal to that of all scotland--so i'm told, though it ain't easy to swallow that. now it seems to me that where there's so many people an' so much doin', it ought to be the very place for smart, stout fellows like you. if i was you, i'd--" "yes, but you _ain't_ him," interrupted mrs crashington, testily, "so it won't do him much good to tell what you would or wouldn't do." "i've heard of wives, maggie, who _sometimes_ tried to be agreeable," said ned, gravely. "if i don't suit you, why did you marry me?" demanded maggie. "ah, why indeed?" said ned, with a frown. at this critical point in the conversation, little fred, who was afraid that a storm was on the point of bursting forth, chanced to overturn his tin mug of tea. his mother was one of those obtuse women who regard an accident as a sin, to be visited by summary punishment. her usual method of inflicting punishment was by means of an open-handed slap on the side of the head. on this occasion she dealt out the measure of justice with such good-will, that poor little fred was sent sprawling and howling on the floor. this was too much for ned, who was a tender-hearted man. the blood rushed to his face; he sprang up with such violence as to overturn his chair, seized his cap, and, without uttering a word, dashed out of the room, and went downstairs three steps at a time. what ned meant to do, or where to go, of course no one could tell, for he had no definite intentions in his own mind, but his energies were unexpectedly directed for him. on rushing out at the street door, he found himself staggering unexpectedly in the arms of bob clazie. "hullo! bob, what's up?" "turn out!" said bob, as he wheeled round, and ran to the next fireman's door. ned understood him. he ran smartly to the station, and quickly put on helmet, belt, and axe. already the engine was out, and the horses were being harnessed. in two minutes the men were assembled and accoutred; in three they were in their places--the whip cracked, and away they went. it was a good blazing, roaring, soul-stirring fire--a dry-salter's warehouse, with lots of inflammable materials to give it an intense heart of heat, and fanned by a pretty stiff breeze into ungovernable fury--yet it was as nothing to the fire that raged in ned's bosom. if he had hated his wife, or been indifferent to her, he would in all probability, like too many husbands, have sought for congenial society elsewhere, and would have been harsh to her when obliged to be at home. but ned loved his wife, and would have made any sacrifice, if by so doing, he could have smoothed her into a more congenial spirit. when, therefore, he found that his utmost efforts were of no avail, and that he was perpetually goaded, and twitted, and tweaked for every little trifle, his spirit was set alight--as he at last remarked in confidence to david clazie--and all the fire-engines in europe, asia, africa and america couldn't put it out. the dry-salter's premises seemed to have been set on fire for poor ned's special benefit that night. they suited his case exactly. there was more than the usual quantity of smoke to suffocate, and fire to roast, him. there was considerable danger too, so that the daring men of the brigade were in request--if we may say that of a brigade in which _all_ the men were daring--and ned had congenial work given him to do. the proverbial meeting of greek with greek was mere child's play to this meeting of fire with fire. the inflamed ned and the blazing dry-salter met in mortal conflict, and the result was tremendous! it made his brother firemen stand aghast with awful admiration, to observe the way in which ned dashed up tottering staircases, and along smoke-choked passages, where lambent flames were licking about in search of oxygen to feed on, and the way in which he hurled down brick walls and hacked through wood partitions, and tore up fir-planking and seized branch and hose, and, dragging them into hole-and-corner places, and out upon dizzy beams, and ridge poles, dashed tons of water in the fire's face, until it hissed again. it was a fine example of the homoeopathic principle that "like cures like;" for the fire in ned's bosom did wonders that night in the way of quenching the fire in the dry-salter's warehouse. when this had gone on for an hour, and the fire was at its height, ned, quite exhausted, descended to the street, and, sitting down on the pavement, leaned against a rail. "if you goes on like that, ned," said bob clazie, coming up to him, "you'll bust yourself." "i wish i could," said ned. at that moment, bob's brother david came towards them with the brandy bottle. "have a glass, ned, you need it," said david. ned, although not a teetotaller, was one of the men who did not require spirits, and therefore seldom took more than a sip, but he now seized the glass, and drained it eagerly. "another," he cried, holding it up. david refilled it with a look of some surprise. ned drained it a second time. "now," said he, springing up, and tightening his belt, "i'm all right, come along, bob!" with that he rushed into the burning house, and in a few seconds was seen to take the branch from a fireman on one of the upper floors, and drag it out on a charred beam that overhung the fire. the spot on which they stood was brilliantly illuminated, and it was seen that the fireman remonstrated with ned, but the latter thrust him away, and stepped out on the beam. he stood there black as ebony, with a glowing background of red walls and fire, and the crowd cheered him for his unwonted courage; but the cheer was changed abruptly into a cry of alarm as the beam gave way, and ned fell head foremost into the burning ruins. the chief of the brigade--distinguishable everywhere by his tall figure--observed the accident, and sprang towards the place. "if he's not killed by the fall, he's safe from the fire, for it is burnt out there," he remarked to david clazie, who accompanied him. before they reached the place, joe dashwood and two other men had rushed in. they found ned lying on his back in a mixture of charcoal and water, almost buried in a mass of rubbish which the falling beam had dragged down along with it. in a few seconds this was removed, and ned was carried out and laid on the pavement, with a coat under his head. "there's no cut anywhere that i can see," said joe dashwood examining him. "his fall must have been broke by goin' through the lath and plaster o' the ceilin' below," suggested bob clazie. at that moment, there was a great crash, followed by a loud cry, and a cheer from the multitude, as the roof fell in, sending up a magnificent burst of sparks and flame, in the midst of which ned crashington was borne from the field of battle. while this scene was going on, mrs crashington and her brother were still seated quietly enjoying their tea--at least, enjoying it as much as such characters can be said to enjoy anything. when ned had gone out, as before mentioned, phil remarked:-- "i wouldn't rouse him like that, mag, if i was you." "but he's so aggravatin'," pleaded mrs crashington. "he ain't half so aggravatin' as _you_ are," replied phil, gruffly. "i don't understand your temper at all. you take all the hard words _i_ give you as meek as a lamb, but if _he_ only offers to open his mouth you fly at him like a turkey-cock. however, it's no business o' mine, and now," he added, rising, "i must be off." "so, you won't tell me before you go, what sort of employment you've got?" "no," replied phil, shortly. "why not, phil?" "because i don't want you to know, and i don't want your husband to know." "but i won't tell him, phil." "i'll take good care you can't tell him," returned phil, as he fastened a worsted comforter round his hairy throat. "it's enough for you to know that i ain't starvin' and that the work pays, though it ain't likely to make my fortin'." saying this, mr sparks condescended to give his sister a brief nod and left the house. he had not been gone much more than a couple of hours, when mrs crashington, having put little fred to sleep, was roused from a reverie by the sound of several footsteps outside, followed by a loud ring at the bell; she opened the door quickly, and her husband was borne in and laid on his bed. "not dead?" exclaimed the woman in a voice of agony. "no, missus, not dead," said david clazie, "but hardly better, i fear." when maggie looked on the poor bruised form, with garments torn to shreds, and so covered with charcoal, water, lime, and blood, as to be almost an indistinguishable mass, she could not have persuaded herself that he was alive, had not a slight heaving of the broad chest told that life still remained. "it's a 'orrible sight, that, missus," said david clazie, with a look that seemed strangely stern. "it is--oh it is--terrible!" said mrs crashington, scarce able to suppress a cry. "ah, you'd better take a good look at it," added clazie, "for it's your own doing, missus." maggie looked at him in surprise, but he merely advised her to lend a hand to take the clothes off, as the doctor would be round in a minute; so she silently but actively busied herself in such duties as were necessary. meanwhile phil sparks went about the streets of london attending to the duties of his own particular business. to judge from appearances, it seemed to be rather an easy occupation, for it consisted mainly in walking at a leisurely pace through the streets and thoroughfares, with his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth. meditation also appeared to be an important branch of this business, for phil frequently paused in front of a large mansion, or a magnificent shop, and gazed at it so intently, that one might have almost fancied he was planning the best method of attempting a burglary, although nothing was farther from phil's intentions. still, his meditations were sometimes so prolonged, that more than one policeman advised him, quite in a friendly way, to "move on." apparently, however, phil turned over no profit, on this business, and was about to return home supperless to bed, when he suddenly observed smoke issuing from an upper window. rare and lucky chance! he was the first to observe it. he knew that the first who should convey the alarm of fire to a fire-station would receive a shilling for his exertions. he dashed off at once, had the firemen brought to the spot in a few minutes, so that the fire was easily and quickly overcome. thus honest phil sparks earned his supper, and the right to go home and lay his head on his pillow, with the happy consciousness of having done a good action to his fellow-men, and performed a duty to the public and himself. chapter four. it is probable that there is not in all the wide world a man--no matter how depraved, or ill-favoured, or unattractive--who cannot find some sympathetic soul, some one who will be glad to see him and find more or less pleasure in his society. coarse in body and mind though philip sparks was, there dwelt a young woman, in one of the poorest of the poor streets in the neighbourhood of thames street, who loved him, and would have laid down her life for him. to do martha reading justice, she had fallen in love with sparks before intemperance had rendered his countenance repulsive and his conduct brutal. when, perceiving the power he had over her, he was mean enough to borrow and squander the slender gains she made by the laborious work of dress-making--compared to which coal-heaving must be mere child's play--she experienced a change in her feelings towards him, which she could not easily understand or define. her thoughts of him were mingled with intense regrets and anxieties, and she looked forward to his visits with alarm. yet those thoughts were not the result of dying affection; she felt quite certain of that, having learned from experience that, "many waters cannot quench love." one evening, about eight o'clock, phil sparks, having prosecuted his "business" up to that hour without success, tapped at the door of martha's garret and entered without waiting for permission; indeed, his tapping at all was a rather unwonted piece of politeness. "come in, phil," said martha, rising and shaking hands, after which she resumed her work. "you seem busy to-night," remarked sparks, sitting down on a broken chair beside the fireless grate, and taking out his bosom companion, a short black pipe, which he began to fill. "i am always busy," said martha, with a sigh. "an' it don't seem to agree with you, to judge from your looks," rejoined the man. this was true. the poor girl's pretty face was thin and very pale and haggard. "i was up all last night," she said, "and feel tired now, and there's not much chance of my getting to bed to-night either, because the lady for whom i am making this must have it by to-morrow afternoon at latest." here mr sparks muttered something very like a malediction on ladies in general, and on ladies who "_must_" have dresses in particular. "your fire's dead out, martha," he added, poking among the ashes in search of a live ember. "yes, phil, it's out. i can't afford fire of an evening; besides it ain't cold just now." "you can afford matches, i suppose," growled phil; "ah, here they are. useful things matches, not only for lightin' a feller's pipe with, but also for--well; so she _must_ have it by to-morrow afternoon, must she?" "yes, so my employer tells me." "an' she'll not take no denial, won't she?" "i believe not," replied martha, with a faint smile, which, like a gleam of sunshine on a dark landscape, gave indication of the brightness that might have been if grey clouds of sorrow had not overspread her sky. "what's the lady's name, martha?" "middleton." "and w'ere abouts may she live?" "in conway street, knightsbridge." "the number?" "number , i believe; but why are you so particular in your inquiries about her?" said martha, looking up for a moment from her work, while the faint gleam of sunshine again flitted over her face. "why, you see, martha," replied phil, gazing through the smoke of his pipe with a sinister smile, "it makes a feller feel koorious to hear the partiklers about a lady wot _must_ have things, an' won't take no denial! if i was you, now, i'd disappoint her, an' see how she'd take it." he wound up his remark, which was made in a bantering tone, with another malediction, which was earnest enough--savagely so. "oh! phil," cried the girl, in an earnest tone of entreaty; "don't, oh, don't swear so. it is awful to think that god hears you, is near you-- at your very elbow--while you thus insult him to his face." the man made no reply, but smoked with increasing intensity, while he frowned at the empty fire-place. "well, martha," he said, after a prolonged silence, "i've got work at last." "have you?" cried the girl, with a look of interest. "yes; it ain't much to boast of, to be sure, but it pays, and, as it ties me to nothin' an' nobody, it suits my taste well. i'm wot you may call a appendage o' the fire-brigade. i hangs about the streets till i sees a fire, w'en, off i goes full split to the nearest fire-station, calls out the engine, and gits the reward for bein' first to give the alarm." "indeed," said martha, whose face, which had kindled up at first with pleasure, assumed a somewhat disappointed look; "i--i fear you won't make much by that, phil?" "you don't seem to make much by that," retorted phil, pointing with the bowl of his pipe to the dress which lay in her lap and streamed in a profusion of rich folds down to the floor. "not much," assented martha, with a sigh. "well, then," continued phil, re-lighting his pipe, and pausing occasionally in his remarks to admire the bowl, "that bein' so, you and i are much in the same fix, so if we unites our small incomes, of course that'll make 'em just double the size." "phil," said martha, in a lower voice, as she let her hands and the work on which they were engaged fall on her lap, "i think, now, that it will never be." "what'll never be?" demanded the man rudely, looking at the girl in surprise. "our marriage." "what! are you going to jilt me?" "heaven forbid," said martha, earnestly. "but you and i are not as we once were, phil, we differ on many points. i feel sure that our union would make us more miserable than we are." "come, come," cried the man, half in jest and half in earnest. "this kind of thing will never do. you mustn't joke about that, old girl, else i'll have you up for breach of promise." mr sparks rose as he spoke, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, put it in his waistcoat pocket, and prepared to go. "martha," he said, "i'm goin' off now to attend to my business, but i haven't made a rap yet to-day, and its hard working on a empty stomach, so i just looked in to light my pipe, and enquire if you hadn't got a shillin' about you, eh!" the girl looked troubled. "oh, very well," cried sparks, with an offended air, "if you don't _want_ to accommodate me, never mind, i can get it elsewhere." "stop!" cried martha, taking a leathern purse from her pocket. "well, it _would_ have been rather hard," he said, returning and holding out his hand. "there, take it," said martha, "you shouldn't judge too quickly. you don't know _why_ i looked put out. it is my--" she stopped short, and then said hurriedly, "don't drink it, phil." "no, i won't. i'm hungry. i'll eat it. thankee." with a coarse laugh he left the room, and poor martha sat down again to her weary toil, which was not in any degree lightened by the fact that she had just given away her last shilling. a moment after, the door opened suddenly and mr sparks looked in with a grin, which did not improve the expression of his countenance. "i say, i wouldn't finish that dress to-night if i was you." "why not, phil?" asked the girl in surprise. "'cause the lady won't want it to-morrow arternoon." "how do you know that?" "no matter. it's by means of a kind of second-sight i've got, that i find out a-many things. all i can say is that i've got a strong suspicion--a what d'ye call it--a presentiment that mrs middleton, of number , conway street, knightsbridge, won't want her dress to-morrow, so i advise you to go to bed to-night." without waiting for a reply mr sparks shut the door and descended to the street. purchasing and lighting a cheroot at the nearest tobacco shop with part of martha's last shilling, he thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntering along various small streets and squares, gave his undivided attention to business. for a man whose wants were rather extensive and urgent, the "business" did not seem a very promising one. he glanced up at the houses as he sauntered along, appearing almost to expect that some of them would undergo spontaneous combustion for his special accommodation. occasionally he paused and gazed at a particular house with rapt intensity, as if he hoped the light which flashed from his own eyes would set it on fire; but the houses being all regular bricks refused to flare up at such a weak insult. finding his way to trafalgar square, mr sparks threw away the end of his cheroot, and, mending his pace, walked smartly along piccadilly until he gained the neighbourhood of knightsbridge. here he purchased another cheroot, and while lighting it took occasion to ask if there was a street thereabouts named conway street. "yes, sir, there is," said a small and exceedingly pert crossing-sweeper, who chanced to be standing near the open door of the shop, and overheard the question. "i'll show you the way for a copper, sir, but silver preferred, if you're so disposed." "whereabouts is it?" asked mr sparks of the shopman, regardless of the boy. "round the corner to your right, and after that second turning to your left." "oh, that's all wrong," cried the boy. "w'y, 'ow should 'ee know hanythink about streets? never goes nowheres, does nothink but sell snuff an' pigtail, mornin', noon, and night. 'ee should have said, _right_ round the corner to your right, and 'ee should have added `sir,' for that's right w'en a gen'l'm'n's spoke to, arter w'ich, w'en you've left this 'ere street, take second turnin' to your left, if you're left-'anded, an' then you come hall right. that's 'ow 'ee ought to have said it, sir." in the midst of this flow of information, mr sparks emerged into the street. "i'll show you the way for love, sir, if you ain't got no money," said the boy in a tone of mock sincerity, stepping up and touching his cap. "let 'im alone, bloater," cried another and smaller boy, "don't you see ee's one of the swell mob, an' don't want to 'ave too much attention drawed to him?" "no 'ee ain't, little jim, ee's only a gen'l'm'n in disguise," replied the bloater, sidling up to mr sparks, and urgently repeating, "show you the way for a copper, sir, _only_ a copper." mr sparks, being, as we have said, an irascible man, and particularly out of humour that evening, did not vouchsafe a reply, but, turning suddenly round, gave the bloater a savage kick that turned him head over heels into the road. the bloater, whose proper name was robert herring, from which were derived the aliases, raw herring and the bloater, immediately recovered himself and rushed at mr sparks with his broom. he was a strong, resolute, passionate boy, yet withal good-humoured and placable. in the first burst of indignation he certainly meant to commit a violent assault, but he suddenly changed his mind. perhaps the look and attitude of his antagonist had something to do with the change; perhaps the squeaky voice of little jim, shouting "hooray, bloater, go in an' win," may have aroused his sense of the ludicrous, which was very strong, and helped to check him. at all events, instead of bringing his broom down on the head of mr sparks, bloater performed an impromptu war-dance round him and flourished his weapon with a rapidity that was only surpassed by the rapid flow of his language. "now then, gunpowder, come on; wot do you mean by it--eh? you low-minded son of a pepper-castor! who let you out o' the cruet-stand? wot d'ee mean by raisin' yer dirty foot ag'in a _honest_ man, w'ch _you_ ain't, an' never was, an' never will be, an' never _could_ be, seein' that both your respected parients was 'anged afore you was born. come on, i say. you ain't a coward, air you? if so, i'll 'and you over to little jim 'ere, an' stand by to see fair play!" during this outburst, mr sparks had quietly faced the excited boy, watching his opportunity to make a dash at him, but the appearance of a policeman put a sudden termination to the riot by inducing the bloater and little jim to shoulder their brooms and fly. mr sparks, smiling grimly, (he never smiled otherwise), thrust his hands into his pockets, resumed his cheroot, and held on the even tenor of his way. but he had not yet done with the bloater. that volatile and revengeful youth, having run on in advance, ensconced himself behind a projection at the corner of the street close to which sparks had to pass, and from that point of vantage suddenly shot into his ear a yell so excruciating that it caused the man to start and stagger off the pavement; before he could recover himself, his tormentor had doubled round the corner and vanished. growling savagely, he continued his walk. one of the turns to the left, which he had to make, led him through a dark and narrow street. here, keeping carefully in the middle of the road for security, he looked sharply on either side, having his hands out of his pockets now, and clenched, for he fully expected another yell. he was wrong, however, in his expectations. the bloater happened to know of a long ladder, whose nightly place of repose was on the ground in a certain dark passage, with its end pointing across that street. taking up a position beside this ladder, with little jim--who followed him, almost bursting with delight--he bided his time and kept as quiet as a mouse. just in the nick of time the ladder was run out, and mr sparks tripping over it, fell violently to the ground. he sprang up and gave chase, of course, but he might as well have followed a will-o'-the-wisp. the young scamps, doubling like hares, took refuge in a dark recess under a stair with which they were well acquainted, and from that position they watched their enemy. they heard him go growling past; knew, a moment or two later, from the disappointed tone of the growl, that he had found the opening at the other end of the passage; heard him return, growling, and saw him for a moment in the dim light of the entrance as he left the place. then, swiftly issuing from their retreat, they followed. "i say, bloater," whispered little jim, "ee's got such an ugly mug that i do b'lieve ee's up to some game or other." "p'raps 'ee is," returned the bloater, meditatively; "we'll let 'im alone an' foller 'im up." the prolonged season of peace that followed, induced mr sparks to believe that his tormentors had left him, he therefore dismissed them from his mind, and gave himself entirely to business. arrived at conway street, he found that it was one of those semi-genteel streets in the immediate neighbourhood of kensington gardens, wherein dwell thriving tradespeople who know themselves to be rising in the world, and unfortunate members of the "upper ten," who know that they have come down in the world, but have not ceased the struggle to keep up appearances. it was a quiet, unfrequented street, in which the hum of the surrounding city sounded like the roar of a distant cataract. here mr sparks checked his pace--stopped--and looked about him with evident caution. "ho, ho!" whispered little jim. "we've tracked 'im down," replied the bloater with a chuckle. mr sparks soon found number . on the door a brass plate revealed "mrs middleton." "ha! she _must_ have it, must she, an' _won't_ take no denial," muttered the man between his teeth. mr sparks observed that one of the lower windows was open, which was not to be wondered at, for the weather was rather warm at the time. he also observed that the curtains of the window were made of white flowered muslin, and that they swayed gently in the wind, not far from a couple of candles which stood on a small table. there was no one in the room at the time. "strange," muttered mr sparks, with a grim smile, "that people _will_ leave lights so near muslin curtains!" most ordinary people would have thought the candles in question at a sufficiently safe distance from the curtains, but mr sparks apparently thought otherwise. he entertained peculiar views about the danger of fire. from the position which the two boys occupied they could not see the man while he was thus engaged in examining and commenting on number , conway street, but they saw him quite well when he crossed the street, (which had only one side to it, a wall occupying the other), and they saw him still better in the course of a few seconds when a bright light suddenly streamed towards him, and illumined his villainous countenance, and they heard as well as saw him, the next instant, when he shouted "_fire--fire_!" and rushed frantically away. "hallo!" exclaimed the bloater, and dashed off at full speed. little jim echoed the sentiment and followed. robert, alias raw herring, was a sharp-witted lad. he understood the case, (partly at least), in a moment, and proceeded to appropriate action. being intimately acquainted with that part of london, he took a short cut, overshot mr sparks, and was first to give the alarm at the fire-station. when, therefore, mr sparks ran in, panting and shouting "fire!" great was his surprise to find the men already roused, and the horses being attached to the engine. "where away?" inquired one of the firemen, supposing that sparks, perhaps, brought information of another fire. "number , conway street," he gasped. "all right, we've got the noos already. the boys brought it." the bloater, with a mouth extending from ear to ear and all his teeth displayed, uttered the single word "sold!" as mr sparks turned his eyes on him. one glance was enough. the man became very pale, and suddenly left the station amid a shout of laughter from the firemen, as they leaped on the engine and drove away, followed by the two boys whose spirits were already excited to the highest pitch of ecstasy by a fire. it was early morning before the fire was subdued, and number left the blackened skeleton of a house. long before that, the bloater and little jim had sought repose in the cart-shed of a neighbouring stable. long before that mr philip sparks had retired to rest, growling anathemas on the heads of boys in general, and crossing-sweepers in particular; and not _very_ long before that poor martha reading had put in the last stitch of her work, and fallen into a profound sleep in her chair. mr sparks turned out to be a true prophet. mrs middleton did _not_ insist on having her dress home that afternoon, and when martha, true to her promise, conveyed it to number , conway street, she found no one there to receive it except a few drenched men of the red brigade, and the police. chapter five. mr philip sparks, though not naturally fond of society, was, nevertheless, obliged to mingle occasionally with that unpleasant body, for the purpose of recruiting his finances. he would rather have remained at home and enjoyed his pipe and beer in solitude, but that was not possible in the circumstances. owing, no doubt, to the selfishness of the age in which he lived, people would _not_ go and pour money into his pockets, entreat him to accept of the same, and then retire without giving him any farther trouble. on the contrary, even when he went out and took a great deal of trouble to obtain money--much more trouble than he would have had to take, had he been an honest working man--people refused to give it to him, but freely gave him a good deal of gratuitous advice instead, and sometimes threatened the donation of other favours which, in many instances, are said to be more numerous than ha'pence. things in general being in this untoward condition, mr sparks went out one morning and entered into society. society did not regard him with a favourable eye, but sparks was not thin-skinned; he persevered, being determined, come what might, to seek his fortune. poor fellow, like many a man in this world who deems himself a most unlucky fellow, he had yet to learn the lesson that fortunes must be _wrought_ for, not _sought_ for, if they are to be found. finding society gruffer than usual that morning, and not happening to meet with his or anybody else's fortune in any of the streets, through which he passed, he resolved to visit martha reading's abode; did so, and found her "not at home." with despairing disgust he then went to visit his sister. mrs crashington was obviously at home, for she opened the door to him, and held up her finger. "hallo, mag!" exclaimed sparks, a little surprised. "hush!" said mrs crashington, admitting him, "speak low." thus admonished, mr sparks asked in a hoarse whisper, "what was up?" "ned's had a bad fall, phil," whispered mrs crashington, in a tremulous tone that was so unlike her usual voice as to make sparks look at her in surprise not unmingled with anxiety. "you don't mean to say, mag, that he's a-goin' to--to--knock under?" "i hope not, phil, but--the doctor--" here the poor woman broke down altogether, and sobbed quietly as she led her brother through the house, and into the little bed-room where the injured fireman lay. ned's bruised, burned, and lacerated frame was concealed under a patchwork coverlet. only his face was visible, but that, although the least injured part of his body, was so deadly pale that even mr sparks was solemnised by the supposition that he was in the presence of death. "oh, ned, ned!" exclaimed maggie, unable to repress her grief, "can you--can you ever forgive me?" she laid her hand on the fireman's broad breast, and passionately kissed his brow. he opened his eyes, and whispered with difficulty, "forgive you, maggie? god for ever bless you." he could say no more, owing to excessive weakness. "come, missus, you mustn't disturb him," said david clazie, emerging from behind the curtains at the foot of the bed. "the doctor's orders was strict--to keep 'im quiet. you'd better go into the other room, an' your brother likewise. pr'aps you might send 'im to tell joe dashwood to be ready." david clazie, who was more a man of action than of words, quietly, but firmly, ejected the brother and sister from the little room while he was speaking, and, having shut the door, sat down at his post again as a guard over his sick comrade. "seems to me it's all up with 'im," observed sparks, as he stood gazing uneasily into the fire. as mrs crashington replied only by sobbing, he continued, after a few minutes-- "does the doctor say it's all up, mag?" "no, oh no," replied the poor woman, "he don't quite say so; but i can't git no comfort from that. ned has lost _such_ a quantity of blood, it seems impossible for him to git round. they're goin' to try a operation on 'im to-day, but i can't understand it, an' don't believe in it. they talk of puttin' noo blood into 'im! an' that reminds me that the doctor is to be here at twelve. do run round, phil, to the dashwoods, and tell joe to be here in good time." "what's joe wanted for?" "never mind, but go and tell him that. i can't talk just now," she said, pushing her brother out of the room. tapping at joe dashwood's door, phil received from a strong, deep voice permission to "come in." he entered, and found a very different state of things from that which he had just left. a bright room, and bright, happy faces. the windows were bright, which made the light appear brighter than usual; the grate was bright; the furniture was bright; the face of the clock, whose interior seemed about to explode on every occasion of striking the hour, was bright--almost to smiling; and the pot-lids, dish-covers, etcetera, were bright--so bright as to be absolutely brilliant. joe dashwood and his little wife were conversing near the window, but, although their faces were unquestionably bright by reason of contentment, coupled with a free use of soap and the jack-towel, there was, nevertheless, a shade of sadness in their looks and tones. nothing of the sort, however, appeared on the countenances of the rosebud and young fred crashington. these gushing little offshoots of the red brigade were too young to realise the danger of ned's condition, but they were quite old enough to create an imaginary fire in the cupboard, which they were wildly endeavouring to extinguish with a poker for a "branch" and a bucket for a fire-engine, when mr sparks entered. "oh! kik, feddy, kik; put it out kik, or it'll bu'n down all 'e house," cried little may, eagerly, as she tossed back a cataract of golden curls from her flushed countenance, and worked away at the handle of the bucket with all her might. "all right!" shouted fred, who had been sent to play with the rosebud that he might be out of the way. "down with number ; that's your sort; keep 'er goin'; hooray!" he brought the poker down with an awful whack on the cupboard at this point, causing the crockery to rattle again. "hallo! youngster, mind what you're about," cried joe, "else there will be more damage caused by the engine than the fire--not an uncommon thing, either, in our practice!" it was at this point that he replied to mr sparks's knock. "come in, mr sparks, you've heard of your poor brother-in-law's accident, i suppose?" "yes, i've just comed from his house with a message. you're wanted to be there in good time." "all right, i'll be up to time," said joe, putting on his coat and cap, and smiling to his wife, as he added, "it's a queer sort o' thing to do. we'll be blood-relations, ned and i, after this. look after these youngsters, molly, else they'll knock your crockery to bits. good-day. mr sparks." "good-day," replied sparks, as joe went out. then, turning to mrs dashwood, "what sort of operation is it they're goin' to perform on ned?" "did you not hear? it's a very curious one. ned has lost so much blood from a deep cut in his leg that the doctors say he can't recover, no matter how strong his constitution is, unless he gits some blood put into him, so they're goin' to put some o' my joe's blood into him." "what!" exclaimed sparks, "take blood out o' your husband and put it hot and livin' into ned? no, no, i've got a pretty big swallow, but i can't git _that_ down." "if you can't swallow it you'll have to bolt it, then, for it's a fact," returned mary, with a laugh. "but how do they mean to go about it?" asked sparks, with an unbelieving expression of countenance. "well, i ain't quite sure about that," replied mary; "they say that the doctor cuts a hole in a vein of the arms of both men, and puts a pipe, or something of that sort, into the two veins, and so lets the blood run from the one man into the other. i don't half believe it myself, to say truth; but it's quite true that they're goin' to try it on ned. the doctor says it has bin tried before with great success, and that the main thing is to get a stout, healthy young man to take the blood from. they thought, at first, to get a healthy youth from the country, but my joe begged so hard to let him supply his friend and comrade, with what they wanted, that they agreed, and now he's off to have it done. ain't it funny?" "funny!" exclaimed sparks, "well, it is, just. but i'm not such a fool as to believe that they can pump the blood out o' one man into another in that fashion." "i hope they can for poor ned's sake," said mary, in a sad tone, as she stirred a large pot which stood simmering on the fire. there was a short silence after that, for mary was thinking of the strange operation that was probably going on at that moment, and phil sparks was debating with himself as to the propriety of attempting to induce mrs dashwood to lend him a shilling or two. he could not easily make up his mind, however; not because he was ashamed to ask it, but, because he was afraid of receiving a rebuke from the pretty little woman. he knew that she and martha reading were intimate friends, and he had a suspicion that mrs dashwood was aware of martha's fondness for him, and that she bore him no good will in consequence. besides, although one of the sweetest tempered women in london, mary was one whose indignation could be roused, and whose clear blue eye had something overawing in it, especially to scoundrels. he therefore sat there more than an hour, conversing on various subjects, while mary busied herself in household matters; which she occasionally left off in order to assist in extinguishing the fire in the cupboard! at last sparks resolved to make the attempt, and thought he would begin by trying to propitiate mary by commenting on her child. "that's a pretty little girl of yours, missis," he remarked in a casual way. "that she is," cried mary, catching up the child and kissing her rosy face all over; "and she's better than pretty--she's good, good as gold." "oh 'top, ma. let may down, kik! fire not out yit!" "that's right, never give in, may. wot a jolly fireman you'd make!" cried fred, still directing all his energies to the cupboard. "that's a queer sort o' helmet the boy's got on," said sparks, alluding to a huge leathern headpiece, of a curious old-fashioned form, which was rolling about on the boy's head, being much too large for him. "it was bought for him by my joe, in an old curiosity shop," said mary. "ha!" replied sparks. "well, missis dashwood, i'll have to be goin', though i haven't got no business to attend to--still, a man must keep movin' about, you know, specially w'en he's had no breakfast, an' han't got nothin' to buy one." "that's a sad condition," said mary, pursing her lips, for she knew the man. "it is, missis. you couldn't lend me half-a-crown, could you?" "no, i couldn't," replied the little woman with decision, while her cheeks reddened; "moreover, i wouldn't if i could. you ought to be ashamed of yourself, mr sparks; it's a disgrace for a man of your strength and years to be goin' about borrowing as you're in the habit of doin'; and you have got the impudence, too, to be running after poor martha reading, but you shall never get her if i can prevent it." mr sparks was much nettled by the first part of mrs dashwood's speech. the last part put him in a towering passion. he started up, but had the wisdom to restrain himself to some extent. "perhaps," he said, between his teeth, "you _can't_ prevent it, missis." "perhaps not, but i shall try." at that moment, master fred crashington chanced to stumble in his energetic attempts to extinguish the fire in the cupboard, which the rosebud assured him, in excited tones, was "not out yit; gittin' wus an' wus!" in falling, the old-fashioned helmet flew off, and the comb of it hit mr sparks a severe blow on the shin-bone. in the heat of the moment he dealt fred a violent slap on the cheek, which sent him tumbling and howling on the floor. at that moment the door opened and joe dashwood entered. he had heard the noise before entering, and now stood with a stern frown on his face as he gazed at his wife and her visitor. "did _you_ do that?" he demanded of sparks, pointing to the little boy. "he did, joe," said mary; "but--" joe waited for no more. he seized mr sparks by the nape of the neck with a grip that almost choked him--strong though he was--and thrust him out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the street, where he gave him a final kick, and shut the door. "oh, dear joe!" exclaimed mary, on his return, "you shouldn't have been so violent to 'im." "w'y not, molly? surely you would not have me stand by and look on, while he insulted you and knocked down the boy?" "no, but it would have been a better rebuke if you had ordered him off quietly. no good ever comes of violence, joe, and he's such a spiteful, vindictive man that he will never forgive you--perhaps he'll do you a mischief if he ever gets the chance." "i hope he will never get the chance," replied joe. "i hope not, but i fear him," said mary. "but tell me, joe, how has the operation succeeded?" "first-rate, molly. ned and i are blood-relations now! i don't know how much they took out o' me, but it don't signify, for i am none the worse, an' poor ned seems much the better." here joe entered into a minute detail of all that had been done--how a puncture had been made in one of the veins of his arm, and another in one of the veins of ned's arm; and how the end of a small tube with a bulb in the middle of it had been inserted into _his_ puncture, and the other end into _ned's_ puncture, and the blood pumped, as it were, from the full-blooded man into the injured man until it was supposed that he had had enough of it; and how ned had already shown signs of revival while he, (joe), didn't feel the loss at all, as was made abundantly evident by the energetic manner in which he had kicked mr sparks out of his house after the operation was over. to all this mary listened with wide open eyes, and fred crashington listened with wider open eyes; and little rosebud listened with eyes and mouth equally open--not that she understood anything of it, but because the others were in that condition. "now, may, my pet," cried the fireman, catching up his little one and tossing her in the air, "ned, that is so fond of you, is a blood-relation, so you may call him `uncle' next time he comes--uncle ned!" "unkil ned," lisped the rosebud. "and me cousin," chimed in fred. "iss--cuzn," responded may. "just so," cried joe, seizing fred round the waist and tossing him on his right shoulder--rosebud being already on his left--"come, i'll carry you down the fire-escape now; hurrah! down we go." how long joe would have gone on playing with the children we cannot say, for he was interrupted by the entrance of bob and david clazie. "come along, joe," said the latter, "it's your turn to go along with us to drill." "it's 'ard work to 'ave to go playin' at fires doorin' the day, an' puttin' of 'em out doorin' the night, joe; ain't it?" said bob clazie. "so 'tis bob, but it must be done, you know. duty first, pleasure afterwards," replied joe, with a laugh. "besides, the green hands could never learn how to do it if they hadn't some of the old uns to show 'em the way." "hall right," replied bob; "come along." they left the room with a hearty "good-day" to mrs dashwood, and a nod to the children. putting on the round sailor's caps which replaced the helmets when they were not on actual service, the three firemen took their way towards the city, and finally reached a large piece of open ground, where a number of very old houses had been partly pulled down, to be soon replaced by new ones. the fire-brigade had obtained permission to perform their drill there until the ground should be required. it was a curious waste place in the heart of the great city, with rubbish cumbering the ground in front of the half demolished houses. here several ungainly fire-escapes leaned against the ruined walls, and thrust their heads through broken windows, or stood on the ground, rampant, as if eager to have their heads crammed into smoke and flames. here also were several manual engines, with their appropriate gearing and hose, and near to these were grouped a band of as fine, fresh, muscular young fellows as one could wish to see. these were the new hands of the brigade--the young men, recently engaged, who were undergoing drill. each was a picked, and, to some extent, a proved man. the lightest and least powerful among these men was a sturdy, courageous fellow. he, like the others, had been tried at an old fire-escape which stood in a corner of the yard, and which was unusually large and cumbrous. if he had failed to "work" various portions of that escape single-handed, without assistance, he would have been pronounced physically unfit for the service. courage and strength alone would not have been sufficient. weight, to a certain extent, was essential. among these youths were several of the older hands, and one or two officers of the brigade, the latter being distinguished by brass ornaments or "brasses" on their shoulders. they were there to superintend and direct. in the midst of them stood their chief, explaining the minutiae of the work they had to do. when our three firemen reached the drill-ground the chief was showing his recruits how to coil several lengths of the hose, so as to avoid a twist or "kink," which might endanger its bursting when the water was turned suddenly on by the powerful "steamers." he then pointed to the tall empty buildings beside him and ordered his recruits to go into the third floor of the premises, drag up the hose, and bring the branch to bear on the back rooms, in which fire was supposed to be raging. "look alive, now," he said, "see how quickly you'll manage it." instantly the active youths sprang to their work. some got the hose out of the box of an engine and uncoiled it length by length towards the house, others screwed the lengths together at the same time that the water-trough was being set up and the suction-pipe attached. meanwhile, some had run up into the building, and from an upper window let down a rope so as to be ready to drag up the hose when it was made long enough to reach them. thus they practised during the forenoon the mimic warfare with the flames which they should have to carry into actual operation at night. in another part of the yard a foreman was instructing some recruits in the use of the fire-escape. under a neighbouring archway stood a small group of idlers looking on at these stirring operations, one of these was philip sparks, another was the bloater. the interests of the first had taken him there, the second had been led to the scene by his affections. sparks did not observe the bloater, but the bloater being unusually sharp, had observed sparks, and, with a look of surprise and glee at the unexpected sight, set himself to watch and listen. "that's him," growled sparks in a low whisper, pointing to joe dashwood as he entered the yard. this was said to a dark-skinned, ill-looking, powerful man who stood at his elbow. the man nodded in reply. "take a good look at him, jeff; you'll know him again?" jeff nodded and guessed that he would. "well, then, west-end; friday, at p.m. number , close to the fire-station. you won't forget?" whispered sparks, as he and his ill-looking friend slunk away. "i say," observed the bloater, poking little jim in the ribs, and looking down at him with one eye shut, "you and i shall form an engagement for friday night--shan't we." little jim opened his eyes very wide, pressed his mouth very tight, and nodded his head violently. "well then," continued the bloater, repeating sparks's words in a deep stage whisper, "west-end; friday, at p.m. number , close to the fire-station. you won't forget?" little jim again nodded his head, and uttered a little shriek of delight. this attracted the notice of a policeman, who hinted, as delicately as possible, that the boys had better "move on." they took the hint, and retired precipitately. chapter six. oh! but it _was_ an interesting occupation to watch the expression of little jim's countenance, as the bloater watched it, while the two boys were on their way to the "west-end" that evening, bent on doing duty as amateur watchmen on "number ," close to the fire-station. "your face ain't cherubic," observed the bloater, looking down at his little friend. "if anythink, i should say it partakes of the diabolic; so you've got no occasion to make it wus than it is by twistin' it about like that. wotever do you do it for?" little jim replied by a sound which can only be represented by the letters "sk," pronounced in the summit of the nose. "that ain't no answer," said the bloater, with a knowing smile, the knowingness of which consisted chiefly in the corners of the mouth being turned down instead of up. this peculiarity, be it carefully observed, was natural to the bloater, who scorned every species of affectation. many of his young friends and admirers were wont to imitate this smile. if they could have seen the inconceivably idiotic expressions of their countenances when they tried it, they would never have made a second effort! "wot a jolly lark!" said little jim, prefacing the remark with another "sk." "ha!" replied the bloater, with a frown that implied the pressure of weighty matters on his mind. after a few minutes' silence, during which the cherubic face of little jim underwent various contortions, the bloater said-- "if i ain't mistaken, jim, you and i are sound of wind and limb?" jim looked up in surprise, and nodded assent. "besides which," continued the bloater, "we're rayther fleet than otherwise." again jim nodded and grinned. "no bobby as ever stuck 'is hignorant hinsolent 'ead into a 'elmet ever could catch us." "sk!" ejaculated jim, expanding from ear to ear. "well, then," continued the bloater, becoming more grave and confidential, "it's my opinion, jim, that you and i shall 'ave a run for it to-night. it's quite plain that our hamiable friend who seems so fond o' fire-raisin' is goin' to pay 'is respects to number . 'avin' got it well alight it is just within the bounds o' the possible--not to say prob'ble--that 'e'll give 'em leg-bail--make tracks, as the yankees say--cut and run for it. well, in course it would never do to let 'im go off alone, or with only a 'eavy stoopid, conceited slow-coach of a bobby at 'is tail." "no, no," responded little jim; "that would never do. quite out of the question. 'ighly himproper." "therefore," said the bloater, with emphasis, "you and i shall 'ave to keep our heyes on 'im, shan't we?" he put this concluding question with a wink of such astounding significance, that little jim could only reply with another "sk!" as he stopped for a few moments to hug himself. at the fire-station "close to number ," the firemen lounged about that evening with the air of men who, although they chanced to be idle at the moment, were nevertheless on the alert and ready for action at a moment's notice. their large folding-doors stood open with an air of off-hand hospitality. a couple of engines stood within, glittering from excessive polish and cleanliness. coils of hose and buckets, etcetera, were seen here and there in readiness, while in an interior room a glimpse might be had of gleaming brass helmets, which hung in a row on the wall, each with an axe pendant below it; and, opposite to these, a row of dry boots arranged on pegs with their soles to the ceiling. the two boys lingered about the station admiring all this, and commenting in their own peculiar fashion on men and things, sometimes approvingly, often critically, and now and then disparagingly. they sometimes ventured to address a remark or two to any of the men who chanced to look at them with a sufficiently good-humoured expression, and even went the length of asking bob clazie if, in the event of the thames going on fire, "'e thought 'e could manage to put it hout!" to which bob replied that he thought he could if "cheek" were a fire-extinguisher, and he only had a brigade of boys equal to the bloater to help him. as the night advanced the firemen devoted themselves to pipes, draughts, and miscellaneous conversation in their back room, in which they were occasionally interrupted by the tingle of the telegraphic bell, to inform them that there was a chimney on fire in holborn, to which they need pay no attention, even though "called" by an excited informer, because it was already being attended to, and didn't merit farther notice; or to let them know that there was a fire raging in whitechapel, which, although being most energetically looked after by the men of the brigade in its immediate neighbourhood, would be the better of aid, nevertheless, from _one_ man from that station. on such distant duty, bob clazie and his brother david were successively sent out in different directions during the first part of the night; but they returned in the course of an hour or so--bob considerably dirtied and moistened in consequence of having had to go vigorously into action at the tail end of a fire, while david returned as he went, having found that _his_ fire had been effectually got under before his arrival. only once during the night did a regular "call" reach the station. it was about eleven o'clock. our youthful watchmen, feeling that the appointed hour was drawing nigh, had retired to the shade of a neighbouring court to avoid observation, when a man came tearing round the corner, dashed into the fire-station, tumbled over a bucket into the midst of the men, and yelled, "fire!" in three minutes the engine was out, the horses were attached, the men in their places, and away they went. "oh! let's follow," cried little jim, enthusiastically, while his eyes glittered as if they, too, were on fire. the more sedate bloater laid his hand heavily on his little friend's shoulder. "no, jim, no. business fust, pleasure arterwards. we've got business on hand to-night." little jim felt the force of the observation, and made what we may call a mighty effort--considering that he was such a mite of a thing--to restrain himself. his heroism was rewarded, for, in less than half an hour, the engine came rattling back again, its services not having been required! the fire had occurred close to the fire-escape, of which one of the men of that station had the charge that night. he had run to the fire with his escape at the first alarm, and had brought to bear on it the little hand fire-engine, with which all the escapes are now provided. at that early stage in the fire, its little stream was more effectual than the flood from a powerful "steamer" would have been at a later period. the consequence was that the fire was got under at once, and, as we have said, the engine was not required. "wirtoo," observed the bloater, sententiously, "is its own reward." he pointed to the returning engine, and looked at little jim with solemnity; whereupon jim displayed all his teeth, nodded approval of the sentiment, and--"sk!" "little jim," continued the bloater, shaking his head gravely, "they do say--them as knows best, or thinks they does, which is all the same-- that there's wit in silence; if so, it appears to me that you tries to be too witty at times." "i dun know, bob," replied jim, with a meditative look, "much about wit bein' in silence. i only wish there was wittles in it. oh! wouldn't i 'old my tongue, just, till i was fit to bust!" "but there ain't wittles in it, jim, nor nothin' else worth 'avin', so don't try it on too much to-night. you see, i'm a bit down-'earted about the thoughts o' this 'ere black business, an' feel the want of a cheerin' word now and agin to keep up my droopin' spirits, d'ye see; so don't stand grinnin' there like a cheshire cat, else i'll--" the bloater terminated the sentence in action, by squeezing little jim's cap over his eyes. he was still engaged in this act of pleasantry when mr sparks and his friend jeff appeared on the other side of the street. they walked smartly past the door of the fire-station, which was shut by that time, the men having retired to their various domiciles for the night, with the exception of the two on night duty. they stopped at the corner of the street, looked back, and stood as if conversing casually with each other. meanwhile, the two boys shrank out of sight, and gazed at them like weasels peeping out of a hole. the street, being a small back one, was quite deserted at that hour. after talking in low tones for a few seconds, and making sure, as jeff said, that the coast was clear, the incendiaries shrunk round the corner and disappeared. "now, jim," whispered the bloater, "they've gone to number ; let's foller." they were uncommonly active and sly little fellows, but, despite their utmost efforts, they failed to gain a position of vantage from which to observe the enemy without being seen. they did, indeed, manage to make out that the two men were for some time busily and stealthily engaged in the neighbourhood of joe dashwood's dwelling, but what they were doing could not be ascertained. after repeated and desperate efforts to overcome his difficulties, at the risk of his neck and to the detriment of his shins, the bloater at last sat down on a doorstep within a dark passage, and feigned to tear his hair. "now ain't it wexin'?" he whispered, appealing to his small friend. "aggrawatin' beyond endoorance," replied jim, with looks of sympathy. "wot _is_ to be done?" demanded the bloater. "invite a bobby to come an' help us," suggested jim. "h'm! an' stop 'em in their game, p'raps, at a pint w'ere nobody could prove nothink against 'em, besides bringin' on ourselves the purlite inquiry, `wot are _you_ up to 'ere?'" little jim looked disconsolate and said nothing, which, as the bloater testily remarked, was another of his witty rejoinders. "well, then," said jim, "we must just wait till the fire breaks out an' then bust upon 'em all of a 'eap." "h'm! much they'd care for _your_ bustin' on 'em. no, jim, we must risk a little. never wenter, never win, you know. just you go round by the other end of the street and creep as close as you can; you're small, you know, an' won't be so easy seen as me. try to make out wot they're up to and then--" "then wot?" "w'y, come back an' let me know. away!" said the bloater, waving his hand with the air of a field-marshal. jim disappeared at once and was absent about ten minutes, during which master robert herring sat in the dark passage biting his nails and feeling really uncomfortable, as is usually the case with energetic spirits when reduced to unavoidable inaction. presently little jim returned with, as his friend and patron remarked, his eyes like two saucers, and his face as white as a sheet. "hallo, jim, wot's up?" "oh, bob!" gasped jim. "speak!" exclaimed the bloater, seizing him by the shoulders and shaking him violently. "they've got the 'ouse choke full o' combustibles," gasped jim in an excited whisper. "i see 'em stuffin' straw and pitch, an' i dun know wot all, through a small back winder." "so--_now's_ the time for a bobby," observed the bloater, leaping up. "no, taint," said jim, detaining him. "i 'eard 'em speak. oh, they're sly dogs! they ain't a-goin' to run away arter settin' it alight. they're goin' to run to the station, rouse up the men, an' help to put it out! an' one of 'em says, `jeff,' says 'e, larfin', `won't we lend 'em a good 'and to put it hout neither!' and the other grinned, an' says, `yes, phil, we'll do our best, an' it'll go hard if i can't in the middle o' the smoke an' flames, git a chance at joe to--.' 'e didn't say no more, but 'e drewed 'is finger across 'is throat; but the one as 'e called phil said, `no, jeff, no, i'll split on you if you do. it's quite enough to give 'im a rap over the 'ead!' i didn't wait to 'ear no more arter that." "they're safe not to go off, then," observed the bloater; "nevertheless, we must take a bobby into our confidence now, for the case begins to look ugly." while these things were transpiring in the dark and silent night outside of "number ," the inmates of that modest mansion were buried in profound repose. joe dashwood, on leaving the station for the night, and going home, had found that molly had already retired, and was asleep in the inner room with the rosebud in her bosom. after contemplating this pleasant sight for a few minutes he returned to the outer or kitchen-dino-drawing-room, where he found a cot extemporised out of four chairs and a baking-board, on which reposed the sturdy little figure of fred crashington. that enthusiastic amateur fireman had been invited to take up his quarters at number , until his father should be out of danger, and having devoted his energies during the entire day, along with the rosebud, in a futile effort to extinguish that obstinate fire in the cupboard, had at length been persuaded to retire exhausted to the baking-board, where he lay with a happy smile on his parted lips, and his right arm embracing the quaint old helmet, with which he was wont to extinguish his little head. being unusually tired that night, but not sleepy, joe resolved to solace himself with a pipe before lying down. he threw off his coat, vest, and braces, pulled up his flannel shirt, so as to let it hang comfortably loose over the waistband of his trousers, sat down in an armchair in front of the fire, filled his pipe, and began to smoke. his intention was to "take a few whiffs and then turn in," but the influence of the tobacco appeared to be soporific, for he soon began to nod; then he removed his pipe, stared earnestly at the fire, and established quite a nodding acquaintance with it. presently he dropped his chin on his broad chest and snored steadily. from this condition of repose he was awakened by a sensation as if of suffocation by smoke. this was such an extremely natural, not to say habitual, state of things with joe, that he was at least a couple of seconds in realising the fact that there was unusual cause for haste and vigorous action. like a giant refreshed joe leaped to his work. every fibre of his huge frame was replete with energy, and his heart beat strong, but it beat steadily; not a vestige of a _flutter_ was there, for his head was clear and cool. he knew exactly what to do. he knew exactly what was being done. surprise did, indeed, fill him when he _reflected_ that it was his own house which had caught fire, but that did not for a moment confuse him as to the certainty that the engine must be already out, and his comrades rushing to his assistance. he strode to the door and opened it. a volume of dense black smoke, followed by sheets of flame drove him back. at the same moment loud shouts were heard outside, and a shriek came from the inner room. joe dashed towards it. in passing, he pulled fred off the baking-board, and at the same moment seized the curious old helmet, and almost instinctively clapped it on his own head. there was a back door to the house. joe grasped his wife, and the rosebud, and the bedclothes in one mighty embrace, and bore the whole bundle towards this back door. before he reached it it was dashed open by bob clazie, who sprang in with the "branch." bob, having been roused to a fire so near at hand, had not taken time to go through the usual process of putting on his uniform. he, like joe, was in dishabille. "here, take care of 'em. let go the branch; i'll look after it. foul play here. let the police look out." joe said this sharply as he thrust the bundle containing his wife into bob's arms, and, picking up the rosebud, who had slipped out, clapped her on bob's back. bob made for the back staircase, while joe picked up the branch, and turning his head in the direction of the open door, shouted in the voice of a stentor, "down with 'er!" meanwhile, fred, who had a vague impression that the fire in the cupboard had got to a powerful head at last, picked up the hose and looked on with a sleepy smile. obedient to the order, the water rushed on, filled and straightened the hose, threw fred on his back on the floor, and caused the nozzle to quiver as joe directed it to the fire. just then a man dashed into the room. "lend a hand here," cried joe glancing round. he saw in a moment by the man's look that he meant mischief. instantly he turned the nozzle full in his face. jeff, for it was he, fell as if he had been shot, and was partly washed, partly rolled down the back staircase, at the foot of which a policeman was prepared to receive him, but jeff sprang up, knocked down the policeman, and fled. seeing this, mr sparks took alarm, and was about to follow when the bloater suddenly sprang at his throat and little jim caught him by the legs. he quickly disengaged himself, however, and ran off at full speed, closely followed by his young tormentors and two policemen, besides a miscellaneous crowd of hooting and yelling lads and boys. it was an exciting chase that ensued. the two policemen were young and strong, and for some time kept pretty near the fugitive, but gradually they fell behind, and, by doubling through several narrow streets, sparks threw them off the scent. as for the crowd, the greater part of those who composed it gave in after a short run. but the bloater and little jim were not thus to be got rid of. they were fleet of foot and easily kept mr sparks in view, though he made desperate efforts to catch them, as well as to get away from them. the two boys were so persevering that they followed him all the way to thames street, and, just when the unhappy man thought he had at length eluded them, they set up the cry of "stop thief!" and gave chase again with a new force of policemen and roughs at their heels. turning abruptly into a dark passage, sparks rushed upstairs, burst open a door and fell exhausted on the floor of the cheerless room occupied by poor martha reading. almost at the same moment the two boys, who were at least a hundred yards in advance of the other pursuers, sprang into the room. "ha! run you down at last, have we?" gasped the bloater. poor startled martha, leaping at once to the conclusion that he was pursued, fell on her knees, and, in a voice of agonising entreaty, begged the boys to have mercy on him! "eh! hallo! what?" exclaimed the bloater, taken by surprise. then, under a sudden impulse, he dashed out of the room followed by little jim, and rushed into the street just as the first of the crowd came up. "this way! straight on! hooray!" he shouted, leading off the crowd in the direction of the river. the crowd followed. the bloater led them into a maze of intricate back streets; shot far ahead of them, and then, doubling, like a hare, into a retired corner, stood chuckling there while the shouting crowd swept by. for a few minutes, little jim was utterly bereft of speech, owing to a compound of amazement, delight, excitement and exhaustion. after a little time he said-- "well, this _is_ a lark! but, i say, bloater, d'ye think it was right to let 'im off like that?" "who's let 'im off, stoopid?" retorted the bloater. "don't i know 'is name--at least part of it; an' the 'abitation of 'is wife, or sweet-'eart, or sister, or suthin' o' that sort?" "oh, ah, werry true," replied little jim, with a terminating "sk!" "well, that bein' 'ow it is, we han't let 'im off just yet, d'ye see? so, now we'll go an' turn in." with that observation the bloater and little jim went away to search for and appropriate some convenient place of repose for the night. chapter seven. seated by the fire-side of joe dashwood's new abode--for the old one, although not quite "burnt out," was uninhabitable--bob clazie chatted and smoked his pipe contentedly. at the conclusion of a remark, he looked up in mrs dashwood's puzzled face, and said, "that's 'ow it is, d'ye see?" "no, i don't see," replied mary, with a smile. "no? well, now, that _is_ koorious. w'y, it's as plain as the nose on my face. see here. as the law now stands, there is no public authority to inwestigate the cause o' fires in london; well, wot's the consikence, w'y, that there are regular gangs of scoundrels who make it their business to arrange fires for their own adwantage." "now, that's just what i don't understand," said mary, knitting her pretty brows; "what advantage _can_ it be to any one to set fire to a house, except to pick-pockets who may get a chance of doing business in the crowd?" "well, that of itself is enough to endooce some blackguards to raise a fire, and likewise to get the shillin' for bringin' the first noose to the station; which, by the way, was the chief okipation of that willain phil sparks, i'm pretty sure. but here's 'ow it is. the swindlers i speak of, go an' take 'ouses--the further from fire-stations the better. then they furnishes the 'ouses, arter which they insures 'em. in the course of a short time they removes most of the furniture in a quiet way, and then set the 'ouses alight, themselves escapin', p'r'aps, in nothin' but their night clothes. so, you see, they gits the insurance, which more than pays for all the furniture they had bought, besides which they 'ave a good deal of the furniture itself to sell or do wot they please with. that's one way in which fires are raised,--ain't it joe?" joe, who sat smoking in silence on the other side of the fire, nodded, and, turning his head round, advised fred crashington and little may to make "less row." "but we can't put it out widout a row!" remonstrated the rosebud. "what! have you found a fire in _this_ cupboard, as well as in the one o' the old house?" asked joe, with a laugh. "iss, iss; an' it's a far wuss fire than the last one!" "that's your sort!" cried fred; "now then, may, don't stand jawin' there, but down with number two. look alive!" "ha! chips o' the old blocks, i see," said bob clazie, with a grin. "well, as i was sayin', there's another class o' men, not so bad as the first, but bad enough, who are indooced to go in for this crime of fire-raisin'--arson they calls it, but why so is beyond me to diskiver. a needy tradesman, for instance, when at his wits'-end for money, can't help thinkin' that a lucky spark would put him all right." "but how could the burning of his goods put him all right?" demanded mary. "w'y, 'e don't want goods, you know, 'e wants to sell 'is goods an' so git _money_; but nobody will buy, so 'e can't sell, nor git money, yet money must be 'ad, for creditors won't wait. wot then? all the goods are insured against fire. well, make a bonfire of 'em, redoose 'em all to hashes, an' of coorse the insurance companies is bound to pay up, so 'e gits rid of the goods, gits a lot o' ready money in 'and, pays off 'is creditors, and p'r'aps starts fresh in a noo business! now, a public officer to inwestigate such matters would mend things to some extent, though 'e mightn't exactly cure 'em. some time ago the yankees, i'm told, appointed a officer they called a fire-marshal in some of their cities, and it's said that the consikence was a sudden an' extraor'nary increase in the conwictions for arson, followed by a remarkable decrease in the number o' fires! they've got some-thin' o' the same sort in france, an' over all the chief towns o' europe, i b'lieve, but we don't need no such precautions in london. we're rich, you know, an' can afford to let scamps burn right an' left. it ain't worth our while to try to redooce the number of _our_ fires. we've already got an average of about five fires every twenty-four hours in london. why should we try to make 'em less, w'en they furnishes 'ealthy work to such fine fellows as joe and me and the police--not to mention the fun afforded to crossin'-sweepers and other little boys, whose chief enjoyment in life would be gone if there was no fires." "if _i_ had the making of the laws," exclaimed mary, flushing with indignation as she thought of her own recent risks and losses in consequence of fire-raising, "i'd have every man that set light to his house _hanged_!" "ah; an' if 'e could also be draw'd and quartered," added bob, "and 'ave the bits stuck on the weathercocks of saint paul's, or atop of temple bar, it would serve 'im right." "we must have you into parliament some day, molly," said joe, with a smile. "women are tryin' hard, i believe, to get the right to vote for members; w'y not go the whole hog and vote themselves in?" "they'd make splendid firemen too," said clazie, "at least if they were only half as vigorous as your little may. by the way, joe," continued bob, "has sparks been took yet?" "not yet. it is rumoured that the crossin'-sweeper who chased him down so smartly, suddenly favoured his escape at last, from some unaccountable cause or other. i suppose that sparks bribed him." "you're sure it was sparks, are you?" inquired bob. "quite sure. it is true i only saw his confederate, but one of the men who had often seen sparks in company with crashington, his brother-in-law, knew him at once and saw him run off, with the boys after him. he's a bad lot, but i hope he'll escape for poor mrs crashington's sake." "and _i_ hope he won't escape, for poor martha reading's sake!" said mary with much decision of tone. "that's his sweet-'eart--a friend of molly's!" said joe to bob in explanation. at this point in the conversation, master fred crashington, in his frantic efforts to reach an elevated part of the cupboard, fell backwards, drawing a shelf and all its contents on the top of himself and may. neither of them was hurt, though both were much frightened. "i think _that_ must have put the fire out at last," said joe, with a laugh, as he took the panting rosebud on his knee and smoothed her soft little head. "we'll sit quiet now and have a chat." a knock at the outer door here called mrs dashwood from the room. "fire!" exclaimed may, holding up her finger and listening with eager expectation. "no, little woman," said joe, "they would ring loud if it was fire." meanwhile mrs dashwood opened the door and found herself confronted by a boy, with his hands in his pockets and his cap thrown in a reckless way half on the side and half on the back of his head. "oh, i suppose you are the boy herring, sent here by miss reading," said mrs dashwood. "well, as to that, ma'am, you must be guided by taste. i've 'eard of men of my years an' standin' bein' styled 'obble-de-'oys. my name, likewise, is open to question. some of my friends calls me 'erring-- others of 'em, raw 'erring--others, again, the bloater. but i'm in no wise partikler, i _did_ come from miss reading to 'ave an interview with mrs dashwood--whom--i presoom--" here the bloater laid his hand on his heart and made a courtly bow. mrs dashwood laughed, and said, "come in, boy." "i have a pal, ma'am--a chum--a--in fact a _friend_--may i--" without finishing his sentence or waiting for a reply, the bloater gave a sharp whistle, and little jim stood by his side as if by magical influence, looking the embodiment of united innocence and impudence. "come in, both of you, and make haste," said mary, ushering them into a small empty room. "now, boy--" "bloater, ma'am, if you 'ave no objection." "well, bloater, our communication with each other must be brief and to the point, because--" "yes, ma'am--sharp and short," interrupted the bloater--"reasons not required." smiling in spite of herself, mrs dashwood said-- "you know mr sparks, and can--can--in short, give him into the hands of justice." "if i knowed w'ere justice was," said the bloater, sternly, "p'raps i might give mr sparks into 'is 'ands, but i don't. it's my opinion that _justice_ ain't finished yet. they've made 'is 'ands no doubt--and pretty strong ones they are too--but they 'aven't give 'im brains yet. 'ows'ever, to make a long story short, 'as 'amlet said to 'is father's ghost, w'ich was prince of timbuctoo, i _do_ know mr sparks, and i _can_ give 'im into the 'ands of the p'lice--wot then?" "_do it_!" said mrs dashwood, with sudden intensity of feeling and manner, "do it, boy--" ("bloater," murmured the lad), "do it, bloater. oh! you have no idea what a blessing it would be to--to--to--a poor, dear girl who is mad--infatuated and, and--then, he is _such_ a scoundrel; such a fire-raiser, deceiver, villain--" "you don't appear to like 'im yourself," remarked the bloater. he said this so quietly and with an air of calmness which contrasted so strongly with mrs dashwood's excitement, that little jim gave vent to an irresistible "sk" and blew his nose violently to distract attention from it. "will you not consent to give up a thorough scoundrel, who every one condemns?" demanded mrs dashwood, with sudden indignation. "well, that depends--" "bloater," said mary, with increasing earnestness, "i cannot bribe you-- i have not the means even if i had the will; but i would not if i could. i scorn bribery. if you will not aid me for the sake of a poor, helpless, infatuated girl, who is on the brink of ruin--" "missis dashwood," said the bloater, with a look of serio-comic dignity, "i scorns bribery as much as you does. `no bribery, no c'rupt'ons, no popery,' them's my mottoes--besides a few more that there's no occasion to mention. w'ether or not i gives 'im up depends on circumstances. now, i s'pose _you_ want's 'im took an' bagged, 'cause 'e ain't fit for your friend martha reading--we'll drop the `miss' if you please. well, wot i want to know is, does martha think as you does?" "of course not, boy. no doubt she knows that he is an unworthy scoundrel, but she can't prevail on herself to forsake him; so, you see, i want to help her a little." "ah, i see--yes--i see. well, missis, i'll take it into consideration. come along, jim." without waiting for a reply, the bloater quitted the house abruptly, followed by his friend. he walked very fast towards the city--so fast that jim was compelled to trot--and was unusually silent. he went straight to the abode of martha reading, and found her sewing and weeping. "ha! _he's_ bin with you, i see," said the bloater. "did 'e ask you to let 'im 'ide 'ere?" "ye-es;" said martha, hesitating; "but i refused to do it. god knows how willing--how willing--i would be to shelter and save him if i could!" "would you shelter a _guilty_ man?" demanded the bloater, sternly. "i don't know that he is guilty," said martha, evasively. "but, tell me, what did mrs dashwood want with you?" "that's a private matter," said the bloater, frowning. "you can't turn me off the scent like that. i ask you, ain't it right to 'and a guilty man over to justice?" "it is," replied martha, wiping her eyes, "but it is also right to temper justice with mercy." "i say, that's drawin' it rather fine, ain't it?" said the bloater, screwing up one eyebrow and turning towards little jim; but that small youth was so touched with the poor girl's sorrow and so attracted by her countenance, that he had quite forgotten his patron for the moment. going towards her, he laid his dirty little hand on her knee, and looked up in her face. "god bless you, dear boy," she said, patting him on the head, "you are the first that has given me a look of sympathy for many--" she broke down suddenly, burst into a flood of tears, and, seizing the child in her arms, absolutely hugged him! "hallo! hallo!" cried the bloater, when little jim was released. "i say, you know, come, this sort o' thing will never do. w'y, its houtrageous. come along with you." saying which he seized little jim by the collar, dragged him out into the street, and hurried him along. presently he released him, but without slackening his pace, and said, "now, jim, you an' i shall go and pay _another_ wisit." they traversed several small streets, which seemed to be influenced by a tendency to gravitate towards the thames; while the river, as if in sympathy, appeared to meet them more than half way in the shape of mud. as they proceeded, huge warehouses frowned above, having doors high up on their blank faces where windows ought to have been, with no steps leading thereto, but in some cases with huge block tackles pendent therefrom, suggestive of the idea that the owners were wont to drop the enormous hooks and fish for passers-by. these streets naturally became more nautical in some respects as they neared the river. old bits of timber lay here and there among old cordage in little yards, where the owners appeared to deal in small-coal and miscellaneous filth. elsewhere, worn-out anchors held tenaciously to the mud, as if afraid of being again pressed into service and carried off to sea. everything was cold, dismal, dreary, disreputable; and here, in the dirtiest corner of the smallest possible yard, the bloater found a half-concealed door that might have been the portal to a dog-kennel or pig-sty. opening it he entered, and little jim followed. the aspect of things inside was not attractive. dirt, damp, and rubbish prevailed in the room, which was just big enough to permit of a tall man lying down, but not high enough to admit of his standing up. an uncommonly small four-post bed almost filled the apartment, at the foot of which, on the floor and half-reclining against one of the posts, lay phil sparks, either dead-drunk or asleep, or both. the bloater glanced back at little jim with a look of satisfaction, and held up his finger to enjoin silence. peering round the room, which was lighted by a farthing candle stuck in the neck of a pint bottle, he observed a piece of rope lying among some rubbish. "ha! this'll do," he whispered, as he took it up, and, with wonderful rapidity, made a loop on it. "now, jim, you be ready to cut and run if he should waken before i 'ave 'im fast. don't mind me; i'll look arter myself. an' wotever you do, _don't holler for the bobbies_. mind that, else i'll strangle you." with this advice and caution, the bloater advanced toward the recumbent man, and passed the rope softly round his body, including his arms and the bedpost in the coil. drawing it suddenly tight, he hastily made it fast; but there was no occasion for haste, for the sleep of the man was so profound that the action did not awake him. "hall right--fus' rate," said the bloater aloud, as he wound the rope round and round sparks, so as to make him doubly secure. "nothin' could be better. now, jim, i'm goin' for to preach a sermon to-night--a sort o' discoorse. you never heard me preach, did you?" little jim, who, despite his love of mischief, was somewhat alarmed at the strange proceedings of his friend and patron, looked at him with a mingled expression of fear and glee, and shook his head. "well, you shall 'ear. moreover, i 'ope that you'll profit by wot you 'ears." saying this, he advanced his hand towards the sleeping man's face, and, causing his thumb to act as a trigger to his middle finger, gave him such a flip on the point of his nose, that he awoke with a tremendous roar. suddenly he became pale as death--supposing, no doubt, that he had betrayed himself--and glanced towards the door with a bewildered stare. "oh, you needn't alarm yourself," said the bloater, placing a stool in front of his victim, and sitting down thereon, with a hand on each knee, "it ain't the bobbies. if you keep quiet, there's no fear of _them_ in this neighbourhood. i can call 'em w'en i wants 'em. there's nobody but me and little jim 'ere--your friends, you know." becoming suddenly convinced of the truth of this, phil sparks, who was very drunk, made so desperate an effort to free himself that he nearly overturned the bed. "oh, you are anxious to see the bobbies, are you? well, go an' call 'em in, jim." jim rose to obey, and the man became instantly quiet. "ho! you're reasonable now, are you? that's well. you needn't call 'em in yet, jim. we'll grant 'im a reprieve. fetch that stool, an' sit down beside me--there. now, mr sparks, _alias_ blazes, no doubt _you're_ a precious specimen of hinnocent 'unmanity, ain't you?" sparks made no reply, but scowled at the boy with a look of deadly hatred. "well, upon my word," resumed the bloater, with a smile, "if i kep' a menagerie, i'd offer you five 'undred a year to represent a tasmanian devil. but look 'ere, now, i've no time to waste with you; i come 'ere to give you a bit of my mind. you're a fire-raiser, you are. ah! you may well wince an' grow w'ite. you'd grow w'iter still, with a rope round your neck, if you wos left to _my_ tender mercies, you w'ite livered villain! for i knows you; i've watched you; i've found you hout; an' i've only got to 'old up my little finger to cut your pretty little career prematoorly short. you don't seem to like that? no, i didn't expect you would. this young man, whose 'art is big, if 'is body's small, knows as much about you as i do. two witnesses, you see; but you _ain't_ left to _our_ tender mercies; and if you wants to know who delivered you from us, and from the maginstrates, and jack ketch, _alias_ calcraft, i replies, _martha reading_. ha! you look surprised. quite nat'ral. you've deserved very different treatment from that young ooman, an' didn't expect that she'd return good for evil, i s'pose. that's because you don't know 'er; you don't understand 'er, you miserable lump of selfish stoopidity. 'ows'ever, as i said before, i ain't a-goin' to waste no more time with you. but let me, before biddin' you adoo, give you a caution. remember, that _i've got my eye on you_. just one word more. w'en you thinks of _me_, don't think of one as 'as got any tender mercies, for i ain't got none; not a scrap of 'em, nor nothin' of the sort. w'en you wants to know the true cause of your bein' let off, just think of two words--_martha reading_! she knows nothin' o' wot i'm doin', nevertheless, _she's_ done it! let 'er name ring in your ears, an' thunder in your brain, and burn in your 'art, till it consooms your witals or your willany! now, jim," concluded the bloater, rising and opening a large clasp-knife, "you go to the door, open it wide, an' stan' by to cut, and run. this gen'lm'n ain't to be trusted w'en free. are you ready?" "hall ready," replied jim. the bloater cut the cord that bound phil sparks, and darted from the room. before the man could disentangle himself from its coils, the boys were safe from pursuit, quietly wending their way through the crowded thoroughfares of the great city. chapter eight. several months passed away. during this period phil sparks kept in close hiding, because, although the bloater, true to his promise, refrained from giving information against him, there were others who knew and suspected him, and who had no visions of an imploring martha to restrain them in their efforts to deliver him into the hands of justice. during this period, also, ned crashington recovered his wonted health and vigour, while his wife, to some extent, recovered her senses, and, instead of acting as an irritant blister on her husband, began really to aim at unanimity. the result was, that ned's love for her, which had only been smothered a little, burst forth with renewed energy, and maggie found that in peace there is prosperity. it is not to be supposed that maggie was cured all at once. she was not an angel--only an energetic and self-willed woman. she therefore broke out now and then in her old style; but, on the whole, she was much improved, and the stalwart fireman no longer sought martyrdom in the flames. during this period, too, the men of the red brigade held on the even tenor of their furious fiery way; not, indeed, scatheless, but with a much smaller amount of damage to life and limb than might have been expected in a service where the numerical strength was so low--only about men--and where the duty, night and day, was so severe and hazardous. about this time, their chief's "report" for the past year was issued, and it revealed a few facts which are worthy of record. it stated that there had been altogether fires in london during the past twelve months; that is, an average of a little more than five fires every twenty-four hours. of these had been slight, while were serious. in these fires persons had been seriously endangered, of whom were rescued by the men of the red brigade, while perished, despite the most gallant efforts to save them. the report showed, further, that there were in london at that time, (and it is much the same still), fire-engine stations, land steam fire-engines, manual fire-engines, floating steam fire-engines on the thames, and fire-escapes. the number of journeys made by the fire-engines during the year was , and the total distance run was , miles. this, the reader will observe, implies an enormous amount of labour performed by the heroes who constitute the red brigade, and who, although thus heavily overtaxed, were never heard to murmur or complain. that they suffered pretty frequently and severely might have been expected. in truth, it is a marvel that they did not suffer more. the report showed that, among them all in the course of the year, they had received contusions, dislocations, fractures, and such like injuries; incised, lacerated, and punctured wounds; injuries to eyes, head, and arms; internal injuries; sprains, and, strange to say, only burns and scalds, making injuries altogether, but no deaths. things being in this condition, the brigade lay on its oars, so to speak, awaiting "a call," one bleak evening in november, when everything in london looked so wet, and cold, and wretched, that some people went the length of saying that a good rousing fire would be quite a cheering sight for the eyes to rest upon. in the west-end station, to which we have directed attention more than once in this tale, joe dashwood, and ned crashington, and bob clazie, with his brother david, and some more of the men, were seated in the inner lobby, discussing the news of the day, and settling the affairs of the nation to their own entire satisfaction. the bloater and little jim were also there, hanging about the door. these fire-eating youths had become so fond of the locality and of the men, that they had taken to sweeping a crossing in the neighbourhood, and were wont to cheer their spirits, during intervals of labour, by listening to, or chaffing, the firemen, and following them, when possible, to fires. suddenly the rattle of the telegraphic bell roused the men. this was so common an occurrence, that it scarcely called forth a passing remark. one of them, however, rose with alacrity, and, replying to the signal, read off the message. we cannot give the precise words of the telegram, but it was to the effect that a fire had broken out at saint katharine's docks, and that all available force was to be sent out at once. on hearing this there was unusual promptitude in the movements of the firemen. at all times they are bound, on pain of a heavy fine, to turn out in three minutes after receiving the call to a fire. sometimes they succeed in turning out in less. it was so on the present occasion. mention of a fire anywhere near the docks has much the same effect on the red brigade as the order to march to the field of waterloo had on the british army. the extreme danger; the inflammable nature of the goods contained in the huge and densely-packed warehouses; the proximity to the shipping; the probability of a pitched battle with the flames; the awful loss of property, and perhaps of life, if the fire should gain the mastery, and the urgent need there is for hurrying all the disposable force in london to the spot without delay, if the victory is to be gained--all these circumstances and considerations act as an unusually sharp spur to men, who, however, being already willing at all times to do their utmost, can only force themselves to gain a few additional moments of time by their most strenuous exertions. in less than three minutes, then, our west-end engine sprang off, like a rocket, at full gallop, with a crack of the whip, a snort from the steeds, a shout from the men to clear the way, and a cheer from the bystanders. two of these bystanders started off alongside of the engine, with glittering eyes and flushed cheeks. the bloater and little jim had heard the telegraph read off, had caught the words, "fire--saint katharine's docks," and knew well what that implied. they resolved to witness the fight, and ran as if their lives depended on the race. it need scarcely be said that the engine quickly left them out of sight behind, not only because the horses were fleet, but also because various pedestrians, into whose bosoms the boys plunged in their blind haste, treated them rather roughly, and retarded their progress a good deal. but nothing short of a knock-down blow could have put a full stop to the career of those imps of the broom. after innumerable hair-breadth escapes from "bobbies" and others, by agile bounds and desperate plunges among horses' legs and carriage-wheels, they reached the scene of action not _very_ long after the engine with which they had set out. it was night. the fire had been raging for some time with terrible fury, and had already got full possession of two large warehouses, each five or six floors in height, all connected by means of double iron folding-doors, and stored from basement to roof with spirits, tallow, palm-oil, cotton, flax, jute, and other merchandise, to the extent of upwards of two millions sterling in value. the dock fire-engines had been brought to bear on the flames a few minutes after the fire was discovered. the two floating-engines were paddled at once to the spot, and their powerful hydrants poured continuous streams on the flames; while, every few minutes, another and another of the land-engines came rattling up, until all the available force of the red brigade was on the spot, each man straining, like the hero of a forlorn hope, regardless of life and limb, to conquer the terrible foe. the brompton and chelsea volunteer fire-brigade, and several private engines, also came up to lend a helping hand. but all these engines, brave hearts, and vigorous proceedings, appeared at first of no avail, for the greedy flames shot out their tongues, hissed through water and steam, and licked up the rich fuel with a deep continuous roar, as if they gloated over their unusually splendid banquet, and meant to enjoy it to the full, despite man's utmost efforts to oppose them. the excitement at this time was tremendous. every available spot of ground or building from which the most limited view of the fire could be obtained, was crowded to excess by human beings, whose upturned faces were lighted more or less ruddily according to their distance from the fire. no doubt the greater proportion of the vast multitude beheld the waste of so much property with anxiety and regret. doubtless, also, many thoughtless ones were there who merely enjoyed the excitement, and looked on it as a pyrotechnic display of unwonted splendour. but there was yet another class of men, aye, and women, whose view of the matter was fitted to cause anxiety in the breasts of those who talk of "elevating the masses," and this was by far the largest class. the greater part of them belonged to the lowest class of labourers, men willing to work for their living, but who got little to do. amongst these not one expression of regret was to be heard, though the women sometimes asked anxiously whether any one was likely to be hurt. but let a few of these speak for themselves. "ah," said an old woman, with an unintellectual style of countenance, "now there will be plenty of work for poor men." "yes," responded a rough, with a black eye, "that's true. my blissin', as paddy says, on a fire; it warms the cockles o' yer heart an' kapes yer hands busy." "they've much need to be kep' busy, sure enough," remarked another man, "for mine have been pretty idle for more than a week." "i wish," exclaimed another, with a bitter curse on mankind in general, "that the whole thames would go a-fire, from westminster to gravesend." the energy with which this was said caused a general laugh and a good deal of chaff, but there was no humour in the man who spoke. he was one of those of whom it is said by a periodical which ought to know, that hundreds of such may be seen day by day, year by year, waiting at the different gates of the docks, in stolid weariness, for the chance of a day's work--the wage of which is half-a-crown. when a foreman comes to a gate to take on a few such hands, the press of men, and the faces, hungry and eager beyond description, make one of the saddest of the sad sights to be seen even at the east end of london. in another part of the crowd, where the street was narrow, a scene of a most fearful kind was being enacted. all scoundreldom appeared to have collected in that spot. for two or three hours robbery and violence reigned unchecked in the very face of the police, who, reduced to inaction by the density of the crowd, could render little or no assistance to the sufferers. scarcely one respectably dressed person was unmolested. hats were indiscriminately smashed over the brows of their wearers, coats were torn off their backs, and watches and purses violently wrested from their owners. in many cases there was no attempt at secrecy, men were knocked down and plundered with all the coolness and deliberation, with which we commonly pursue our lawful calling. by degrees the perseverance and heroism of the firemen were rewarded. the fire began to succumb to the copious floods with which it was deluged, and, towards midnight, there was a perceptible diminution in the violence of the flames. there were, however, several temporary outbursts from time to time, which called for the utmost watchfulness and promptitude on the part of the brigade. during one of these a block of private dwellings nearest to the conflagration was set on fire. so intent was every one on the _great_ fire that this incidental one was not observed until it had gained considerable headway. the buildings were very old and dry, so that, before an engine could be detached from the warehouses, it was in a complete blaze. most of the inhabitants escaped by the chief staircase before it became impassable, and one or two leaped from the lower windows. it chanced that joe dashwood's engine was nearest to this house at the time, and was run up to it. "now then, lads, look alive," said joe, as the men affixed the hose and suction-pipe. "out o' the way!" cried ned crashington to two boys who appeared to be rather curious about the operations of the firemen. "i say," exclaimed the bloater in great excitement, "why--that's the 'ouse w'ere _martha_ lives!" "who's martha?" asked ned, without interrupting his operation of screwing on an additional length of hose. "w'y, the friend o' joe dashwood's wife--martha--martha reading, you know." "eh!" exclaimed ned, looking up. at that moment martha herself appeared at a window in the upper storey, waving her arms and shrieking wildly for help. men were seen endeavouring to bring forward a fire-escape, but the crowd was so dense as to render this an unusually difficult and slow operation. without uttering a word, ned crashington dashed up the blazing staircase. for a moment he was lost to view, but quickly reappeared, attempting to cross a half-charred beam which overhung a yawning gulf of fire where the first and second floors had just fallen in. suddenly a dense mass of smoke surrounded him. he staggered, threw up his arms, and was seen to fall headlong into the flames. a deep groan, or cry of horror, arose from the crowd, and wild shouts of "fetch a ladder," "bring up the escape," were heard, while poor martha got out on the window-sill to avoid the flames, which were rapidly drawing towards and almost scorching her. just then a man was seen to dash furiously through the crowd, he fought his way madly--knocking down all who opposed him. gaining the door of the burning house he sprang in. "i say," whispered little jim, in an excited voice, "it's phil sparks!" "i'm glad to hear it," observed a quiet, broad-shouldered man, who stood near two policemen, to whom he winked knowingly. the bloater attempted to move off, but one of the policemen detained him. the other detained little jim. meanwhile the crowd looked for phil's reappearance on the beam from which poor ned crashington had fallen, but phil knew the house better than ned. he gained the upper floor by a back stair, which was not quite impassable; seized martha in his arms, just as she was about to leap into the street, and dragged her back into the smoke and flames. it appeared almost certain that both must have perished; but in a few seconds the man was seen to descend the lower stair with the woman in his arms, and in another moment a wild enthusiastic cheer burst from the vast multitude as he leaped into the street. laying martha gently down on a doorstep, sparks bent over her, and whispered in her ear. she appeared to have swooned, but opened her eyes, and gazed earnestly in the face of her deliverer. "the lord must have sent you to save me, phil; he will save _you_ also, if you will trust him." "forgive me, martha, i was hard on you, but--" "god bless you, phil--" "clear the way there," cried a commanding voice; "here, doctor, this way." the crowd opened. a medical man came forward and examined martha, and pronounced her to be only slightly injured. several men then raised her and carried her towards a neighbouring house. phil sparks was about to follow, but the quiet man with the broad shoulders touched him gently on the arm, and said that he was "wanted." "sorry to interrupt you in such a good work, but it can't be helped. other people can take care of her now, you know; come along." sparks' first impulse was to knock the quiet man down and fly, but he felt a restraining power on his other arm, and, looking round, observed a tall policeman at his side. as if by magic, another tall policeman appeared in front of him, and a third behind him. he suddenly bent down his head and suffered himself to be led away. seeing this, the bloater and little jim wrenched themselves from the grasp of their respective captors, dived between the legs of the bystanders, as eels might do among sedges, and vanished, to their own inexpressible delight and the total discomfiture of the "bobbies." they met a few minutes later at a well-known rendezvous. "i wish 'e 'adn't bin took," said the bloater with a look of regret on his expressive though dirty countenance. "poor martha!" said little jim, almost crying as he thought of her. "'ow much d'you think 'e'll get, bloater?" "twenty years at least; p'r'aps go for life; you see it's an aggrawated case. i've bin makin' partikler inquiries, and i finds 'e's bin raisin' no end o' fires doorin' the last six months--kep' the red brigade trottin' about quite in a surprisin' way. i rather fear that 'e'll be let in for ever an' a day." the bloater was not quite correct in his guess. when the trial came on, to the surprise of all, especially of his "pals," phil sparks pleaded _guilty_! partly in consideration of this, and partly on account of his last courageous act in saving the girl, he was let off with fifteen years penal servitude. but, to return from this episode. the great fire at the docks, after gutting several warehouses, was finally subdued. and what of the loss? a hundred thousand pounds did not cover it, and every insurance office in london suffered! in addition to this, several persons lost their lives, while the red brigade, besides having some of their number more or less severely injured, lost one of its best and bravest men. gallant ned crashington's fighting days were over. his mangled remains were gathered up next morning, and, a few days later, were conveyed by his comrades to their last resting-place. it is no easy matter to move the heart of london. that vast nation-in-a-city has too many diverse interests to permit of the eyes of all being turned, even for a moment, upon one thing. nevertheless the fireman's funeral seemed to cause the great cord to vibrate for a little. hundreds of thousands of people turned out to witness the cortege. ned's coffin was drawn, military fashion, on one of the engines peculiar to his profession, with his helmet and hatchet placed upon the lid. the whole of the force of the brigade that could be spared followed him in uniform, headed by their chief, and accompanied by a large detachment of the police force. the procession was imposing, and the notices that appeared next day in all the papers were a touching tribute of respect to the self-sacrificing fireman, who, as one of these papers said, "left a widow and son, in poor circumstances, to mourn his early death." ah, these things were soon forgotten in the rush of the world's business by all save that widow and son, and one or two bosom friends. even the men of the red brigade _appeared_ to forget the fallen hero very soon. we say "appeared," because there were some among them who mourned ned as a dear brother, chief among whom was joe dashwood. but whatever the feelings of the firemen might have been, theirs was a warfare that allowed no time for the undue indulgence or exhibition of grief. the regular "calls" and duties went on steadily, sternly, as if nothing had occurred, and before ned's remains had lain a night in their last resting-place, many of his old comrades were out again doing fierce battle with the restless and untameable flames. chapter nine. years passed away, and with them many old things vanished, while many novelties appeared, but the red brigade remained much as it was, excepting that it was, if possible, smarter and more energetic than ever. in the lobby of our west-end station one pleasant summer evening, the men sat and stood about the open door beside the trim engines and _materiel_ of their profession, chatting heartily as men are won't to do when in high health and spirits. there were new faces among them, but there were also several that had long been familiar there. the stalwart form of joe dashwood was there, so little altered by time that there was nothing about him to tell that he was passing the period of middle-age, save a few grey hairs that mingled here and there with the dark curls on his temples. bob clazie was there also, but he had not stood the trials of his profession so well as joe--probably his constitution was not so strong. a disagreeable short cough harassed him, though he made light of it. frequent scorching, smoking, and partial suffocation had increased his wrinkles and rendered his eyelids permanently red. nevertheless, although nearly fifty years old, bob clazie was still one of the best men in the brigade. joe dashwood wore a pair of brass epaulettes on his shoulders, which indicated that he had attained to the highest rank in the service, short of the chief command. he was giving directions to one of the younger men of the force, when a tall strapping young man, with a plain but open and singularly pleasing countenance entered, and going up to him shook him warmly by the hand. "well, bob, what's the news? you seem excited this evening," said joe. "so i am, joe; and with good reason too, for several pleasant things have happened to-day. in the first place, my friend and patron--" "that's the old gentleman with the ruddy face and the bald head?" interrupted joe. "yes, and with the kind heart. don't ever omit the kind heart, joe, in your description of him, else you'll only have painted half the portrait." "well, but the kind heart ain't quite so visible at first sight as the ruddy face and bald head, you know." "perhaps not; but if you watched him long enough to see him _act_, you'd perceive the kind heart as plain as if it hung at his button-hole, and beat like a sixty-horse-power steam-engine _outside_ his ribs instead of inside," said the strapping young man with quite a glow of enthusiasm. "oh, if you could only see how that old gentleman labours, and strives, and wears himself out, in his desire to rescue what they call our street arabs, you couldn't help loving him as i do. but i'm wandering from the pleasant things i've got to tell about. through his influence my friend jim has obtained a good appointment on the metropolitan railway, which gives him a much better salary than he had in skrimp's office, and opens up a prospect of promotion; so, although it sends him underground before his natural time, he says he is quite content to be buried alive, especially as it makes the prospect of his union with a very small and exceedingly charming little girl with black eyes, not quite so remote as it was. in the second place, you'll be glad to hear that the directors of the insurance office with which i am connected have raised my salary, influenced thereto by the same old gentleman with the ruddy face, bald head, and kind heart--" "coupled with your own merits, bob," suggested joe. "i know nothing about _that_," replied the strapping young man with a smile, "but these pleasant pieces of good fortune have enabled me and jim to carry out a plan which we have long cherished--to lodge together, with martha reading as our landlady. in truth, anticipating some such good fortune as has been sent to us, we had some time ago devoted part of our savings to the purpose of rescuing poor martha from that miserable needlework which has been slowly killing her so long. we have taken and furnished a small house, martha is already installed as the owner, and we go there to-night for the first time, as lodgers." "you don't say so!" exclaimed joe, laughing; "why, bob, you and your friend act with as much promptitude as if you had been regularly trained in the fire-brigade." "we received much of our training _from_ it, if not _in_ it," returned the strapping young man with the plain but pleasant countenance. "don't you remember, joe, how perseveringly we followed you in former days when _i_ was the bloater and _he_ was little jim?" "remember it! i should think i do," replied joe. "how glad my mary will be when she hears what you have done." "but that's not all my news," continued the bloater, (if we may presume to use the old name). "last, but not least, fred has asked me to be his groom's-man. he wrote me a very pathetic letter about it, but omitted to mention the day--not to be wondered at in the circumstances. poor fred, his letter reminded me of the blotted copies which i used to write with such trouble and sorrow at the training school to which my patron sent me." "there's reason for the blotted letter besides the excitement of his approaching marriage," said joe. "he hurt his hand the last fire he attended, and it's in a sling just now, so he must have taken it out, for temporary duty when he wrote to you. the truth is that fred is too reckless for a fireman. he's scarcely cool enough. but i can inform you as to the day; it is thursday next. see that you are up to time, bob." "no fear of me being late," replied the bloater. "by the way, have you heard of that new method of putting out fires that somebody has invented?" "i did hear of some nonsensical plan," replied joe, with a slight expression of contempt, "but i don't think it worth while to pay attention to things o' this sort. there's nothin' can beat good cold water." "i'm not so sure of that, joe," replied his friend gravely. "i have been reading an account of it in the _insurance guardian_, and it seems to me that there is something worth attending to in the new plan. it looks as if there was life in it, for a company is to be got up called the `fire and water company.'" "but what _is_ this new plan?" asked joe, sending forth a violent puff from his pipe, as if to indicate that it would all end in smoke. "well, i'm not sure that i've got a correct notion of it myself, but my impression is that carbonic acid gas is the foundation-principle of it. fire cannot exist in the presence of this gas--wherever it goes extinction of fire is instantaneous, which is more than you can say for water, joe; for as you know well, fire, when strong enough, can turn that into steam as fast as you can pour it on, and after getting rid of it in this way, blaze up as furious as ever. what this company proposes to do is to saturate water with this carbonic acid gas mixed with nitrogen, and then pour that prepared water on fires. of course, if much water were required, such a plan would never succeed, but a very small quantity is said to be sufficient. it seems that some testing experiments of a very satisfactory kind have been made recently--so you see, joe, it is time to be looking out for a new profession!" "h'm. i'll stick to the old brigade, at all events till the new company beats us from the field. perhaps when that happens they'll enrol some of us to work the--what d'ye call 'em?--soda-water engines. they'll have engines of course, i suppose?" "of course," replied the bloater; "moreover, they mean to turn their prepared water to good account when there are no fires to put out. it is said that the proportions of the mixture can be so varied that, with one kind, the pump may be used for the clarification of beer, oils, treacle, quicksilver, and such like, and for the preservation of fruit, meat, milk, etcetera, and with another mixture they propose to ventilate mines and tunnels; water gardens; kill insects on trees and flowers; soften water for domestic uses, and breweries, and manufacture soda-water, seltzer water, and other aerated beverages--" "oh, i say, bob, hold on," cried joe; "you seem to forget that my capacity for swallowing is limited." "well, perhaps you'll get it enlarged enough before long, to swallow all that and a deal more," said the bloater, with a half serious air. "meanwhile i'll continue to wish all success and prosperity to the red brigade--though you _do_ cause a tremendous amount of damage by your floods of water, as we poor insurance companies know. why, if it were not for the heroes of the salvage corps we should be ruined altogether. it's my opinion, joe, that the men of the salvage corps run quite as much risk as your fellows do in going through fire and smoke and working among falling beams and tumbling walls in order to cover goods with their tarpaulins and protect them from water." "i admit that the salvage men do their work like heroes," said joe; "but if you would read our chief's report for last year, you would see that we do our best to put out fires with the smallest possible amount of water. why, we only used about eleven million gallons in the last twelve months--a most insignificant quantity that, for the amount of work done!" a tinkle of the telegraph bell here cut short the conversation. "fire, in the mall, kensington," was the signal. "get her out, lads!" cried joe, referring to the engine. helmets and hatchets were donned and buckled on in the old style, and quiet jokes or humorous and free-and-easy remarks were uttered in slow, even sleepy tones, while the men acted with a degree of prompt celerity that could not have been excelled had their own lives depended on their speed. in three minutes, as usual, they were off at full gallop. the bloater--who still longed to follow them as of old, but had other business on hand--wished them "good luck," and proceeded at a smart pace to his new lodgings. we must change the scene now, for the men of the red brigade do not confine their attentions exclusively to such matters as drilling, fighting, suffering, conquering, and dying. they sometimes marry! let us look in at this little church where, as a passer-by remarks, "_something_ appears to be going on." a tall handsome young man leads to the altar a delicate, beautiful, blooming bride, whose bent head and blushing cheek, and modest mien and dependent air, contrast pleasantly with the gladsome firm countenance, stalwart frame, and self-reliant aspect of the bridegroom. looking at them as they stood then, no one could have entertained for a moment the idea that these two had ever united in the desperate and strenuous attempt to put out a fire! yet so it was. they had, once upon a time, devoted themselves to the extinction of a fire in a cupboard with such enthusiasm that they had been successful not only in putting that fire out, but in lighting another fire, which nothing short of union for life could extinguish! joe dashwood gave away the bride, and he could not help remarking in a whisper to the bloater, (who was also there in sumptuous attire), that if ever a man was the born image of his father that man was fred crashington--an opinion which was heartily responded to by mrs maggie crashington, who, then in the period of life which is described as "fat, fair, and forty," looked on at the proceedings with intense satisfaction. mary dashwood--also fat, fair, and forty--was there too, and if ever a woman congratulated herself on a rosebud having grown into a full blown blush-rose, that woman was mary. besides a pretty large company of well-dressed people, with white favours in their breasts, there was a sprinkling of active men with sailor-like caps, who hung about the outskirts of the crowd, and among these were two or three stout fellows with brass helmets and dirty hands and faces, and wet garments, who had returned from a recent fire, just in time to take a look at their comrade and his fair bride. "poor ned, how his kind heart would have rejoiced to see this day!" murmured joe, brushing his cheek hastily as he retired from the altar. so, the wedding party left the church, and the firemen returned to their posts of watchfulness and duty. about the same period that this wedding took place, there was another wedding in the great metropolis to which we would draw the reader's attention. not that it was a great one or a splendid one; on the contrary, if it was marked by any unusual peculiarities, these were shabbiness and poverty. the wedding party consisted of only two, besides the bride and bridegroom, and everything was conducted with such quietness, and gravity, and absence of excitement, that it might almost have been mistaken for a funeral on a small scale by any one unacquainted with the ceremonial appertaining thereto. the happy pair, besides looking very sad, were past the meridian of life. both were plainly dressed, and each appeared desirous of avoiding observation. the man, in particular, hung his head and moved awkwardly, as if begging forgiveness generally for presuming to appear in the character of a bridegroom. his countenance had evidently never been handsome, but there was a sad subdued look about it--the result, perhaps, of prolonged suffering--which prevented it from being repulsive. he looked somewhat like an invalid, yet his powerful frame and the action of his strong muscular hands were not in keeping with that idea. the bride, although careworn and middle-aged, possessed a singularly sweet and attractive countenance--all the more attractive that it wore a habitual expression of sadness. it was a sympathetic face, too, because it was the index to a loving, sympathetic, christian soul, and its ever-varying indications of feeling, lightened and subdued and modified, but never quite removed, the sadness. the two who composed the remainder of this wedding party were young men, apparently in a higher position of life than the principals. the one was tall and strapping, the other rather small, but remarkably active and handsome. it was evident that they were deeply interested in the ceremony in which they took part, and the smaller of the two appeared to enjoy some humorous reminiscences occasionally, to judge from the expression of his face when his glance chanced to meet that of his tall friend. as they were leaving the altar, the bridegroom bent down and murmured in a deep soft voice-- "it's like a dream, martha. it ain't easy to believe that such good luck should come to the likes o' me." the bride whispered something in reply, which was inaudible to those who followed. "yes, martha, yes," returned the bridegroom; "no doubt it is as you put it. but after all, there's only one of his sayin's that has gone right home to me. i've got it by heart _now_--`i came not to call the righteous, but _sinners_ to repentance.' 'twould have bin all up with me long ago but for that, martha." they reached the door at this point, got into a cab, and drove away. the remainder of the wedding party left the little church on foot. the same evening on which this event took place, the strapping young man and the little active youth sat together at the open window of a comfortable though small parlour, enjoying a cup of tea. the view from the window was limited, but it possessed the charm of variety; commanding as it did, a vista of chimney-pots of every shape and form conceivable--many of which were capped with those multiform and hideous contrivances, with which foolish man vainly endeavours to cure smoke. "well, jim," asked the strapping youth, as he gazed pensively on this prospect, "what d'you think of it?" "what do you refer to, bob--our view or the wedding?" "the wedding, of course." "it's hard to say," replied jim, musing. "he seemed to be such an unmitigated scoundrel when we first made his acquaintance that it is difficult to believe he is a changed man now." "by which you mean to insinuate, jim, that the gospel is not sufficient for out-and-out blackguards; that it is only powerful enough to deal with such modified scoundrels as you and i were." "by no means," replied jim, with a peculiar smile; "but, d'you know, bloater, i never can feel that we were such desperate villains as you make us out to have been, when we swept the streets together." "just listen to him!" exclaimed the bloater, smiting his knee with his fist, "you can't _feel_!--what have _feelings_ to do with knowledge? don't you _know_ that we were fairly and almost hopelessly _in the current_, and that we should probably have been swept off the face of the earth by this time if it had not been for that old gentleman with the bald head and the kindly--" "there, now, bloater, don't let us have any more of that, you become positively rabid when you get upon that old gentleman, and you are conceited enough, also, to suppose that all the gratitude in the world has been shovelled into your own bosom. come, let us return to the point, what do i think of the wedding--well, i think a good deal of it. there is risk, no doubt, but there is that in everything sublunary. i think, moreover, that the marriage is founded on _true love_. he never would have come to his present condition but for true love to martha, which, in god's providence, seems to have been made the means of opening his mind to martha's _message_, the pith of which message was contained in his last remark on leaving the church. then, as to martha, our own knowledge of her would be sufficient to ease our minds as to her wisdom, even if it were not coupled with the reply she made to me when i expressed wonder that she should desire to marry such a man. `many waters,' she said, `cannot quench love!'" "ha! you know something of that yourself," remarked bob with a smile. "something," replied little jim, with a sigh. "well, don't despond," said the bloater, laying his hand on jim's shoulder. "i have reason to know that the obstacles in your way shall soon be removed, because that dear old gentleman with the--" he was cut short by a loud, gruff shouting in the street below, accompanied by the rattling of wheels and the clatter of horses' hoofs. "ah, there they go!" cried jim, his eyes glistening with enthusiasm as he and his friend leaned out of the window, and strove to gain a glimpse of the street between the forest of chimneys, "driving along, hammer and tongs, neck or nothing, always at it night and day. a blessing on them!" "amen," said the bloater, as he and jim resumed their seats and listened to the sound of the wheels, voices, and hoofs dying away in the distance. reader, we re-echo the sentiment, and close our tale with the remark that there are many rescued men and women in london who shall have cause, as long as life shall last, to pray for a blessing on the overwrought heroes who fill the ranks, and fight the battles of the red brigade. an amateur fireman james otis [illustration: life-saving corps at work. _frontispiece._] an amateur fireman by james otis author of "toby tyler," etc. [illustration: jip and the fire-alarm.--_page_ ] new york e. p. dutton & company fifth ave. copyright e. p. dutton & co contents. chapter page i. the amateur ii. 'lish davis iii. jip's revenge iv. sam the detective v. tardy repentance vi. an obstinate detective vii. new lodgings viii. jip collins's retreat ix. the uniform x. at headquarters xi. sam's return xii. the prisoner xiii. the letter xiv. the subpoena xv. the trial xvi. winning a medal xvii. the blow-out xviii. the exhibition drill illustrations. page life-saving corps at work _frontispiece_ 'lish davis and seth jip collins and the boys from brooklyn jip and the fire-alarm--_title-page_ seth catches the horse sam going to philadelphia the fire-engine going out seth rescues the baby the blow-out presenting the medals an amateur fireman. chapter i. the amateur. "i ain't sayin' as how i could run a whole fire, same as some of the chiefs do; but when it comes to drivin' an engine, dan roberts, an' doin' it in time to get the first water, or layin' hose, i wouldn't knuckle down to the biggest man in the department." "now see here, seth bartlett, what's the sense of talkin' that way? it would be a good deal better, an' i ain't the only one who says it, if you'd stick right to shinin', an' stop playin' fireman, for that's 'bout the biggest part of the work you do." "do you s'pose i count on shinin' boots for a livin' all my life?" "you've got to make a better fist at it than you have done for a year or more, else you'll never get into anythin' else. i tell you what it is, seth bartlett, when a man wants to hire a boy, he ain't pickin' out the feller that's failed up two or three times over; but he generally looks for the one what's makin' a go of it, whether it's shinin' or sellin' papers." "i ain't sayin' but you're right, dan, an' i s'pose it's a good thing for you to keep right on rememberin'; but it's different with me. i don't count on any one man hirin' me when i strike out for somethin' better'n shinin'." "oh, you don't, eh? what little game _have_ you got? goin' to run a bank, or keep a hotel, or do somethin' like that?" "you think you're funny, but you ain't. i'm goin' into the fire department when the right time comes, an' don't you make any mistake about it." dan laughed loud and long at this announcement, and seth gazed at him in grim silence until the explosion of mirth was somewhat subsided, when he said sharply: "i guess trade must have been pretty good with you to-day, else you wouldn't be feelin' so terrible funny." "well, it hasn't. i got stuck on four _heralds_ this mornin', an' five _expresses_ to-night. that comes pretty near cleanin' off all the profits, 'cause it's awful dull nowadays in my business, seth." "then i can't guess why you got so dreadful silly when i said i was goin' into the department some day." "it would make anybody laugh, seth, to hear a feller no bigger'n you talk of such things. you must be a man to get that kind of a job." "well, shan't i be in time--and not such a terrible long while either? i'm fourteen now, leastways, that's the way i figger it out, an' if i could get one of them early spring moustaches like sim jepson is raisin', folks would think i was a man when i wasn't only eighteen. don't you reckon all the firemen were boys once?" "yes," dan replied doubtfully, "i s'pose they was," and he added quickly as a sudden thought occurred to him, "but they had to know a good deal about the business before they could get a job." "course they did, an' it was a case of learnin'. that's jest what i'm doin' when i tend out on fires. i'm gettin' posted, an' by an' by when i'm old enough you'll see me in the department, that's all there is about it." seth bartlett and dan roberts were old friends, having made each other's acquaintance no less than three months previous, when the former, who had disagreed with jip collins on a matter regarding household affairs, was in search of a new roommate. seth owned, or believed he did, certain rights in a small shed situate in the rear of baxter brothers' carpenter shop, where he made his home. it was a rude affair, originally built for the purpose of sheltering mr. baxter's horse and carriage, but afterward used as a storage place for such odds and ends as accumulate in a carpenter's work-shop. seth had made his home in this shed for nearly a year, having been given permission to sleep there by one of the owners on a certain cold, stormy night, and he was not averse to telling his friends how he "worked the snap." this is his version of what may perhaps be called a business transaction: "i did start in to live with jim wardwell's folks. you see, business was mighty good for a spell, an' i got to feelin' way up toney where nothin' short of a reg'lar room would do me. i paid a dollar a week jest for sleepin' there. ten big, round plunks for ten weeks, an' then i tumbled to myself! you see, it was too rich for my blood when there come a long spell of bad weather, an' i wasn't takin' in more'n twenty-five cents a day, so i snooped 'round to see if i couldn't find somethin' that would be cheaper. then i struck this shed, an' i says to myself, says i, 'that's jest my size'; but i knew it wouldn't do to try to bite it out of the carpenter's ear 'less i had a pretty good story to put up. i waited four whole days till it turned 'round so cold that the hair on your head would freeze, an' long towards the middle of the afternoon it began to snow. then i said to myself that the time had come when i'd got to make the trade. i crawled into the carpenter's shop an' give him a pretty straight story. told him how bad business was--well, he could see for himself nobody would want boots shined in that weather. he said if i promised him i wouldn't freeze to death, 'cause he didn't want any dead bootblacks on his hands, i could come in for a spell. an' don't you think i wasn't fixed! all the shavings i wanted for a bed right there on the floor, an' if the boss of the astor house had got down on his knees beggin' me to come to his hotel to stop, i'd said 'no,' 'cause i couldn't be bothered with the airs they put on down that way. how long can i stay here? i ain't troublin' my head 'bout that. i don't let the man what owns the place see me any oftener than i can help, an' so long's i keep out of sight there ain't much chance of my bein' fired." seth's home in which he took so much pride was by no means as uncomfortable as one might suppose. with ample material in the shape of short lengths of boards, he had constructed a tiny apartment in one end with so great care that only such wind as was necessary for perfect ventilation found its way in to him, while his bed of shavings was more rest-inviting and probably more cleanly than was the well-worn mattress on which he had slept at mrs. wardwell's home. once having taken possession of this abode, seth set about making an honest penny out of his new possessions by allowing jip collins to become his roommate upon the payment of fifteen cents each week, and for several months these two lived in apparent harmony, although seth afterward said that "jip tired him" by finding so much fault with the fire department. then came the time when the lodger insisted upon the use of candles at night, and in smoking cigarettes inside the apartment, both of which luxuries or pleasures had been expressly forbidden by mr. baxter when he gave the bootblack permission to occupy the premises. jip had not departed in a friendly manner. he believed he had good cause for grievance against seth, and on the day he left the lodgings threatened with many a needless word to "make it hot" for the would-be fireman. then master bartlett had taken dan roberts as a tenant, and the two had been living as peacefully and comfortably as could be expected, save at such times as they heard of new and more startling threats from jip, up to this moment when the lodger took it upon himself to criticise his landlord's admiration of a fireman's calling. seth bartlett was not a general favorite among the merchants in the boot-blacking and newspaper business, owing to the general belief that he "put on airs" because of his acquaintance with 'lish davis, driver of ninety-four engine, which was stationed near mr. baxter's shed. when trade was dull, instead of joining his brother merchants in pitching pennies or such other games as they might chance to indulge in, seth spent his time about the engine-house, on the alert for an opportunity to be of benefit to some of the men, hoping thereby to so far earn their favor that he might be looked upon as a welcome visitor. during no less than two months had he thus apparently loitered around, bent on one object, and pursuing that steadily, without having been so fortunate as to attract particular attention. then on a certain day, elisha davis, the driver, called upon the small workman for a shine. seth's freckled face was radiant with delight as he entered the engine-house for the first time, and his big brown eyes wandered from the glittering machine, above the pole of which hung the shining harness, to the apparently complicated apparatus of brass and walnut over the house-watchman's desk. 'lish, as his comrades spoke of him, was not in the mood to wait until the boy's curiosity had been satisfied, for at any instant an alarm might summon him to duty, and he impatiently called upon seth to set about his work, or "clear out." never before had the bootblack spent so much time over a single pair of boots; he polished them with his brushes until they shone like mirrors, then hardened the gloss with a piece of flannel, and when it seemed as if his work had been done to perfection, blackened the brilliant surface again with the hope of improving what had apparently been a great success. "you're not any too quick about the job; but there ain't a lad around here that could have done it better," 'lish said approvingly, and would have given the boy a nickel, but that the latter drew back quickly. "i don't want anythin' for the shine; i'd like mighty well to give you one every day." "do you go around working for thanks?" the driver asked with no little surprise. "of course i take my pay from other folks; but i wouldn't let any fireman put up for a shine." "why not?" "'cause i'm jest the same as one myself--that is, i'm goin' into the department when i'm old enough." "stuck on the business, eh?" [illustration: 'lish davis and seth _page_ .] "that's jest the size of it!" seth cried enthusiastically. "i tend out on most all the fires in ninety-four's district, an' sometimes i get a chance to sneak inside the lines." "you do, eh? well, i'll have an eye out after this, and if i get my hands on you there won't be any more such sneaking." "now, what's the matter with my doin' a little thing like that? it don't hurt anybody, an' i pick up a good many points." "some day a falling wall will knock you down, or you'll find yourself under the wheels of an engine, and then your 'points' won't be of any particular advantage." "i can take care of myself as well as you, an' if i don't knock 'round when there's a fire, how am i ever goin' to learn the business?" "you don't want to learn what's a dog's life at the best. steer clear of it, lad, and put your mind on anything else, for a man don't last long at this kind of work; even if he doesn't get killed offhand, it's only a question of time--and in many cases a precious short time--before a fireman is laid on the shelf, worn out. now, clear away from here if you won't take pay for the shine, and remember that i'll have my eye out after this to see you don't get inside the lines." seth obeyed promptly with never a protest, and 'lish said to the watchman at the desk: "that's a decent kind of a lad, and if he hangs around here any more there's no reason why we shouldn't throw a job in his way now and then." "how does that fit in with the lesson you read to him?" "i didn't try to make it fit. if i can scare him out of the notion he's got in his head, it'll show he ain't suited for this kind of a life; but if he sticks at it, i'll believe it's worth while to give him a lift now and then." if seth could have heard this brief conversation he would, most likely, have indulged in the latest jig-step he had learned, and perhaps neglected his work as bootblack until hunger forced him to take up the brushes again; but he was ignorant of 'lish's good intentions, and went away with a heavy heart, yet having no idea of abandoning his efforts to "learn the business." he did not cease to spend his spare moments about ninety-four's house, and after 'lish davis had many times threatened the direst punishment if he persisted in such a course, but without effect, the members of the company came to look upon seth as a boy of pluck, who would one day force his way into the department. however, no one of ninety-four's men had given him an opportunity for doing other than blacking boots, and the boy was entirely ignorant of their friendliness toward him. such was the general position of affairs on the night when dan roberts believed it his duty to mildly reprove seth for spending so much time in what seemed to be idleness when he should be looking for customers. after the master of the shed-home had announced so positively that he would be a fireman in due course of time, dan, remembering how jip collins had lost his footing in the household, decided he had done his whole duty in the matter, and straight-way changed the subject of conversation by saying: "sam barney had mighty bad luck to-day. first off, somebody passed a lead dime on him, an' then he lost as many as fifteen cents at one slap." "how?" seth asked with no slight show of interest. "that's what he can't make out. he had the money in the same pocket where he always carries it, when all of a sudden it was gone." "somebody touched him." "must be, an' sam thinks he's got an idea who it is." "can't be any of the reg'lar gang, 'cause i don't know a feller what would do a trick like that." "sam's keepin' mighty close about it, an' i wouldn't wonder if he found the whole business out before long. he comes near to bein' a reg'lar detective, you know." "who? sam?" "sure." "but what does he know about the detective business?" "perhaps he's learnin' it same's you are the fireman's racket." this reduced seth to silence, and dan, fearing that he might have given offence, hastened to say in a most friendly tone: "of course if a feller studies over anything of that kind he'll soon come somewhere near knowin' a little about it, an' sam is posted in more ways than one." "then how does it happen he let anybody go through him?" "that's the funny part of it, an' the folks what did it must have been mighty slick, 'cause, you see----" dan was interrupted by the sound of footsteps near at hand, and ever on the alert against possible danger, seth made his way to the door of the shed as he asked sharply: "who's there?" "it's only me," a familiar voice replied, and he knew that the visitor was none other than the boy of whom he and his lodger had just been speaking. "dan was tellin' me you'd lost your money. didn't come up here reckonin' he or i'd got it, did you?" "i ain't any sich fool as that; but jip collins has been makin' a good deal of cheap talk this afternoon, an' i thought perhaps you'd like to know 'bout it." "he's allers doin' that, an' i reckon it's more wind than anythin' else." "i wouldn't wonder if this time he got right down to business, an' you ought'er keep a pretty sharp lookout, seth. these are too snug quarters for you to lose through a feller like jip." "come inside and set down," master bartlett said as his lodger joined him at the door of the shed. "dan an' me is here alone, an' you won't mind if it's dark, 'cause you see i promised mr. baxter straight out an' out that there shouldn't ever be any kind of a light inside. that's one of the things jip kicked about, you know." sam barney promptly accepted the invitation. being an old friend of seth's, he was familiar with the household arrangements, and despite the darkness made his way through the shed to the box-like home in one corner, where, after some difficulty, he found a block of wood that served as chair. seth threw himself upon the bed of shavings, and dan lounged negligently near the entrance. "i should think it would be kind er lonesome in here nights when it's like this," sam suggested as he tried in vain to distinguish the form of either of his companions. "well, it ain't, 'cause dan an' me don't spend a great deal of time settin' 'round after we once get in. we should have been asleep before this if he hadn't had considerable to say 'bout my tryin' to be a fireman. he'd jest got through when you came." "well, say, seth, you don't b'lieve you're ever goin' to get on to the department, jest 'cause you run to every fire ninety-four goes to, do you?" "i don't know why i can't be a fireman jest as easy as you can a detective, an' some of the fellers say you're workin' mighty hard to be one." "well, s'posen i am?" and sam spoke sharply. "i ain't kickin' against it; but was only sayin' that it's jest as easy for me to get what i'm tryin' for, as it is for you." sam's opinion on the subject may have differed from that of his host, but he refrained from making any reply, and at once began to speak concerning the purpose of his visit. "jip collins is goin' to work some kind of a racket on you, an' i reckon i can guess pretty nigh what it is. he was makin' a good deal of talk this afternoon, an' it seems as though the time had come when you'd better have your eyes open." "jip's allers had a good deal to say since i told him he couldn't sleep here any longer; but it never 'mounted to anythin'." "but look here, seth, this time i b'lieve he'll do some mischief. he's been tellin' that he'll give you a chance to show how much of a fireman you are, an' i heard him talkin' 'bout touchin' a match to shavings, so's to smoke you out, till i've made up my mind that he's goin' to set fire to this place." seth laughed derisively. "i ain't 'fraid of a feller like him." "then it's all right, an' no harm done in my tellin' you; but if i was in your place i'd keep my eyes open pretty wide. now, jip collins can't scare me a little bit; but yet if i was in a snap like this, an' i knew he'd threatened to set fire, it would kind er stir me up a bit." "don't you go to thinkin' i ain't glad 'cause you told me, sam, for i am, only it don't stand to reason a feller like jip collins can do much of anythin'." "don't you be so sure of that," dan roberts cried. "i've heard somethin' 'bout what jip's been sayin', though i never b'lieved he had it in his head to burn the place up; but this much is sure: if it could be done without his takin' too many chances, he's jest the kind of a feller what would try it. he claims that, accordin' to the trade, you give him the right to stay in this place jest as long as _you_ did, and that it was the same as swindlin' him when i come in." "he knows better than that. i told him we'd try it a spell, an' see how we got along; the very first night i went all over the business with him, an' said if we couldn't hitch together easy like, why we didn't want to stay in the same place, an' he was satisfied with it. now, i don't see how i can do anythin' if he's bent on settin' fire to the shed, more'n lookin' 'round pretty sharp before i go to bed." "if i owned this place same's you do, i should set up nights, 'cause then's when he'll try his game," sam said with an air of wisdom. "it ain't likely he'll come 'round here in the daytime; but after the men have gone away from the shop it wouldn't be anyways hard for him to get in an' strike a match to some of these shavin's." "but accordin' to that you couldn't do very much work, if you set up all night watchin' for jip collins. you'd have to sleep in the daytime. i don't see how a feller is goin' to earn his livin' any sich way." "i didn't say you ought'er do it," sam replied quickly; "but was only tellin' what i believed in. it ain't likely you'd have to stand watch many nights, 'cause the first time you caught jip you'd put an end to it by pretty nigh thumpin' the life out er him; then i don't reckon he'd come again." "do you s'pose he's countin' on doin' this all alone?" "no; he's got a couple of fellers from brooklyn that he's chummin' with jest now, an' most likely they're comin' into the game." "if they do, an' i should watch for jip till i caught him, there ain't any great show of my thumpin' him very bad if he's got two others to lend a hand." "you ain't scared of him, are you?" sam asked quickly. "not much i ain't; but i'll keep clear from that kind of a racket till i know somethin' 'bout it. i can't 'ford to have a row, don't you see, 'cause if any of ninety-four's men heard i was fightin' my way along, as likely as not they'd shut me off from goin' to the engine-house, an' then ag'in when the time comes for me to get into the department it would give me a black eye if i had the name of doin' sich things. i don't s'pose that would hurt a detective; but they're mighty careful what kind of fellers they have in the department, an' i don't count on havin' a bad mark to my name four years from now." "well, suit yourself about that, of course. it ain't any of my business, only i thought i'd tell you what jip's sayin', an' i've got to get along over towards hoboken." then, from the noise he made, his hosts understood that sam barney was making his way out of the apartment, and dan asked in a friendly tone if he had made any new discoveries regarding the theft of his money. "i'm follerin' up a pretty good clue now," sam replied in a tone calculated to give the hearer an impression that he could tell more if it was necessary, and then with a cheery "so long," he rapidly made his way across the lumber-yard to the street. chapter ii. 'lish davis. when their visitor had departed seth and dan held a long consultation as to the advisability of following sam's advice in the matter of standing guard during the hours of darkness. dan believed that, owing to his having made a study of the detective business, sam barney knew better than they what should be done toward warding off the threatened attack, and, regardless of the labor involved, he proposed that a sentinel be stationed just outside the shed door. "i'll go on guard until twelve o'clock, and you can sleep all that time; then i'll call you an' take my turn at it," dan said after they had discussed the matter in all its bearings for ten minutes or more. "how do you count on keepin' awake?" "that can easily be done, 'cause i'll walk 'round the yard, an' the nights are just about cold enough to make a feller want to move lively." "i don't believe jip collins would dare do what he threatens." "he would if he thought the game could be worked without too much risk, an' i tell you, seth, if both of us turn in an' go to sleep he might carry the whole shed away without our knowin' it." "all right; i'll 'gree to it, though if he should come 'round we mustn't have too much of a row, 'cause you remember what i told sam 'bout not wantin' to be taken for a fighter in this neighborhood, else i'll never get into the department." "you can be pretty certain i shouldn't tackle him alone, an' if them two fellers from brooklyn 'mount to anythin', why you an' i together wouldn't have too much of a show." then, after repeating that he was to be called at midnight in order to perform his full share of the labor, seth went into the box-like apartment, and dan began his work as watchman. during the first half-hour he paced to and from one end of the yard to the other, scrutinizing carefully every unfamiliar object, until it seemed to him the night was more than half spent. "i must have been here four hours now, an' sam barney left 'bout half-past seven, so i haven't got a great while to tramp 'round," he said to himself, and just at that moment the clock on a neighboring steeple struck the hour of eight. he was both surprised and discouraged at thus learning that the time was passing so slowly, and it suddenly came into his mind that he was very tired. it was foolish to keep constantly moving around, because if jip collins should come he would see the sentinel and make no effort to carry out his threats until the coast was clear. therefore it was that master roberts built a seat from pieces of board just inside the shed, and seating himself where he could have a full view of the yard while remaining unseen, he continued his duties in what appeared to him to be a much wiser, and certainly a more comfortable fashion. here he was protected from the chill wind, and as was only natural, here also he fell asleep even while saying to himself that nothing should tempt him to close his eyes even for a single moment. when the near-by clock struck the hour of twelve dan was still wrapped in slumber. at three o'clock in the morning his repose was most profound, and just at daylight seth shook him by the shoulder as he asked with a laugh: "how long have you been asleep?" dan's most intimate friends claimed that he never told a lie, and he was not tempted to do so on this occasion, even though the truth provoked mirth at his expense. "it couldn't have been a great while after eight o'clock. it didn't seem possible i'd go to sleep here, seth, an' sure i meant to keep my eyes wide open; but the first thing i knew it was done, an' i haven't woke up since." "well, that shows how much need there is to watch for jip collins. he's all wind, that feller is, an' likes to go 'round town braggin' what he'll do to us; but you'll find every night will be jest like this. as soon as it's dark he gets where he belongs, an' don't take the chances of bein' out too late. comin' up here in the night an' tryin' any funny business is too much for a coward like him, an' i tell you we might as well go to sleep as to stand guard." nothing could have been more convincing to dan than this experience. when the amateur detective left them it seemed positive jip collins would attempt to work mischief before daybreak, and had he been forced to lie down on the bed of shavings by the side of his landlord, dan roberts would have felt decidedly uneasy in mind. now, however, since he had kept such poor watch, and it was evident the enemy had not been in that vicinity, he came to look at the matter much as did seth. although no absolute decision was arrived at regarding what should be done in the future as to standing guard, it was understood between these two inmates of the shed-home, that such precaution was unnecessary. among his other conveniences for housekeeping seth had a tin biscuit-box which served him as cupboard, and the two were in the custom of bringing home at night sufficient for their breakfast next morning. it was necessary dan should be ready to begin business at a very early hour, and when the sun rose these two merchants were usually making ready for the day's work. on this particular morning, however, they lingered over the meal, having much spare time at their disposal because of seth's early awakening, and shortly after daybreak both set out, one to visit the newspaper offices and the other to loiter in the vicinity of the engine-house until the firemen should require his services, for now nearly all the company patronized the lad, whom they were pleased to call "the amateur." it is but right, however, to state that he was paid for such services. after that first morning when seth had refused to take money from 'lish davis, he was given to understand that when the members of the company wanted boots blacked they were to pay for the labor, otherwise some other of the fraternity would be called upon. seth begged for the privilege of "shinin' for the crowd free," declaring that he should not lose any money through such gratuitous labor, for he would be familiarizing himself with the indoor details of a fireman's life. to this, however, 'lish davis made answer: "see here, my son, you've got your living to earn, and can't afford to give up bread an' butter for the sake of getting on to our work. we'll pay for the shines, or you don't put your nose inside this house, and as for finding out what we do hereabout, why it's nothing but drudgery. cleaning harnesses, setting the machines to rights, and keeping the place neat as a new pin make up the bulk of the work. so take a nickel for every shine you give, or out you go, never to come back." from that hour seth had been paid regularly, and, thanks to such patronage, he was in a great measure independent of other customers, because there was seldom a day when he did not earn at least twenty-five cents from ninety-four's men. thus it can be understood that he was warranted in loitering near the engine-house until his patrons should be ready for his services, and on this particular morning the first man who came out of doors found him seated on his box, leaning against the building, whistling cheerily. "feeling pretty good this morning, ain't you, kid?" the fireman asked rather as a greeting than for the purpose of gaining information, and the boy replied in a tone of perplexity: "i ain't certain about that, mr. walters." "not sure whether you're feeling good or not?" "no, an' that's a fact. has mr. davis turned out yet?" "well, s'pose he has? do you want to consult with him?" "that's 'bout the size of it." "he's inside with the horses; go right through." in order that he might not be an unwelcome visitor, seth had had sufficient good sense never to enter the building without an express invitation or permission, and perhaps because he was thus scrupulous the men were all the more willing to admit him. "hello! what's up?" 'lish davis asked as the boy appeared thus unannounced. "if you ain't very busy i'd like to talk with you 'bout somethin' that's botherin' my pardner an' me a good bit since last night." "fire away, lad. i reckon i've got time enough to listen to the story, unless it is in more than one chapter." "it ain't so very long, an' i'll be quick as i can," seth replied, and then he told, without going too much into detail, of his trouble with jip collins, and of the latest threats which the boy had made, according to sam barney's statement, concluding by saying: "now, i don't believe jip's got sand enough to do any sich thing as settin' fire to the shed, an' it's sure he didn't try it last night, 'cause he had every chance; but i've been thinkin' 'bout it while i was waitin' for the house to be opened, an' it kind-er come into my mind that perhaps he might make a bluff at it." "i wouldn't be surprised at anything some of these young villains did," 'lish davis said after a brief time of reflection. "the general run of street boys get an idea into their heads, and don't stop to realize what the consequences may be. let me see, you live in the rear of baxter's carpenter shop, don't you?" "yes, sir." "there's a brick building butts up against the back end of that lot, so your only chance of getting out would be to come through the lumber-yard?" "yes, sir." "well, it wouldn't amount to very much as a fire; but in case one got started there, you and your partner would stand a good show of getting a dose." seth understood the driver to mean that there was danger of being suffocated by the smoke, and he admitted that such might be the case, but added: "we can't do as sam barney says, an' set up every night watchin', else when would we sleep?" "why don't you leave this place for two or three days, and find some other quarters?" "that never'd do, 'cause jest as soon as the fellers knew i'd gone, they'd snoop 'round, an' i'd be thrown out of a home mighty quick." "you might get baxter to let you put a lock on the shed; that would keep them out." "i wouldn't like to do it, 'cause you see i've got an idea the carpenter has forgot all about my sleepin' there, an' perhaps if i was to flash up so fresh askin' for a lock on the bedroom door he'd think it was 'bout time for me to skip." "well, look here, seth, you might as well give me a shine, and while you 're doing that i'll see if i can think of a way out for you. i'm inclined to believe the same as your detective friend does, that it stands you in hand to keep a pretty good watch, and i'll speak to the cop on this beat." seth set about his professional duties without delay, and by the time one boot had been polished so perfectly that it reflected surrounding objects almost as well as a mirror, the fireman asked abruptly: "how old are you, kid?" "fourteen, accordin' to the way i figger it." "don't you know?" "well, you see, old miss washburn--she was the woman that claimed to bring me up, though it's precious little she did towards it--wasn't no ways certain herself, but that's what she allowed, so it's good enough for me." "haven't got any folks, eh?" "well, i did have a mother, you know, till i was a couple of years old, so miss washburn says." "where's your father?" "you see, i never had one, leastways not what you would call a real father, 'cause when a man is a reg'lar gin-pig, no decent feller is goin' to own up that he's his relation. the last time i saw him he was goin' down on the island for ninety days, an' that was as much as three years ago." "you've still got the fool idea in your mind that you're going to be a fireman?" "it ain't any fool idea, mr. davis, 'cause it's a fact. that's jest what i count on bein'." "look here, my son, i've been thinking about you a considerable bit since i found it was no use trying to scare you out of the plan, and in a year's time or so, i reckon, between the captain and walters and me, we can get you in up to headquarters. now, don't jump so! i didn't mean we allowed you could go there as a recruit; but the captain was saying the other night that we might work it so's you could get some kind of a berth there--sweeping floors, washing windows, and the like of that, which, if you keep your ears and eyes open, would amount to the same as if you went into actual training. you ain't the lad i've got in my eye if you couldn't soon work your way into one of the classes." "if i only might!" seth replied emphatically, with a long indrawing of the breath. "if i only might!" "i allow we'll work it, lad; but you must grow a good bit 'twixt now and then." "i'm hopin' to get an early spring moustache before long. sim jepson's got one, an' i'm goin' to do the same as he did, 'cause the fellers say he put somethin' on to make the hair grow." the driver laughed long and loud at this announcement made in the gravest tone, and called upon every idle man in the building to come and hear the "amateur's" latest scheme for getting into the department. the boy's face flushed a deep red before 'lish davis was willing to cease laughing at or repeating the proposition; but finally he wearied of his sport, and, his boots having long since been polished, said in a serious tone: "i'll speak to the cop on this beat about your friend collins, and in the meantime make it your business to hunt him up. let the little scoundrel know you've told me; that i'm going to post the policeman, and that he'll get a mighty hot reception if he should try any of his firebug business. i reckon some such hint will knock the mischief out of his head, unless he's a born idiot." then mr. davis walked away, intent on the morning duties, and seth set about his regular work until all the company had been served, after which he started down-town in accordance with the plan proposed by the driver. owing to customers, and they were unusually plentiful on this day, it was not until late in the afternoon that he arrived at city hall square, where jip collins was most often to be found, and here he met his partner. dan was delighted at learning what steps had been taken for their safety, although because of the previous night's experience he had begun to doubt if their enemy would dare carry his threats into effect, and the two at once made search for master collins. he had been seen thereabouts within an hour by more than one of seth's acquaintances; but now although the two searched until nightfall it was impossible to accomplish their purpose. it seemed much as if jip collins, learning that seth was in the vicinity, believed it wisest to keep out of sight, and after the night had fully come dan said impatiently: "it's no use spendin' so much time on that duffer, 'cause he won't show up again to-night. we've told so many of the fellers what 'lish davis said, that jip will be sure to hear of it before he goes to bed, an' perhaps that will be just as well as if you had met him, 'cause there might have been a row. let's go up and get a bowl of five-cent soup and a piece of pie. i can stand a ten-cent spread to-night, an' business has been good enough with you." to this proposition seth assented, and the two made their way to a certain restaurant on chatham street, where, after an unusually profitable day's work, they were in the custom of feasting. if there was any one thing in which dan roberts excelled it was in his ability to eat very fast and for a long while. he ordered the waiter to bring him the pie and the soup at the same time, and it seemed to seth as if he had but just begun before his partner was finished. "i reckon i can take one more bowl of that soup, an' then be through before you are," he said, thoughtfully. "i made pretty near forty cents, an' it's kind'er tough if a feller can't spend fifteen of it, eh?" "go ahead if you want the soup, an' are willin' to pay for it. it don't make any difference to me, 'cause i'll stay here till you're filled plum full; but i tell you what it is, dan, you're gettin' into an awful habit of eatin'." "is that what you call a habit?" "course it is. if you didn't think about it every minute, you wouldn't be so hungry." "i'm pretty near starved all the time as it is, an' i don't know how i'd get along with any less," dan replied apologetically, and then, the soup having been brought, he gave his undivided attention to the pleasing task. after the feast the boys, having nothing of special importance to do, lounged leisurely towards their home in the shed, and it was nearly nine o'clock before they crept into the box that served as chamber, both feeling tired and sleepy. not until they were inside did seth realize that they had not searched the lumber-yard, and he insisted that they go at once to make certain no enemy was hidden near at hand. "what's the use of that?" dan asked petulantly. "you can be sure jip collins ain't anywhere 'round here, 'cause some of the fellers have told him what we said long before this, an' he'll give the place a wide berth." "you ain't sure he knows that i told 'lish davis 'bout the threats he was makin'." "well, he didn't come last night, an' you was the one that said he wouldn't dare to show his nose 'round." "i know it; but somehow or other, dan, it seems as if we ought'er look out a little sharper, 'cause he might be fool enough to try such a game." "an' if he did after tellin' everybody about it, he'd go up the river ten or fifteen years, sure--i ain't certain but that it would be a life sentence." "yes, i know all that, dan, but jip ain't the kind of a feller to figger on sich things, an' if he gets a notion right solid in his head, there's no knowin' how big a fool he might make of himself, so let's go out an' have a look 'round." it was with an ill grace that dan followed seth, and even then his share in the search was of but little service owing to the fact that he hurried from one part of the yard to the other without making an effort to ascertain if any one was secreted in the many convenient hiding-places near at hand. after ten minutes or more had been spent by the two boys, seth performing his work faithfully and dan shirking, the partners retired, and it was as if they had but just stretched themselves at full length on the bed of shavings when both were asleep. if dan had been acting the part of sentinel just inside the shed door an hour after the two retired, he would have seen in the gloom three dark forms emerge from behind a pile of boards which he had failed to look over carefully, and advance cautiously toward the shed door, halting when they were twenty feet or more away. had he been there he would have recognized one of these as jip collins, and most probably suspected that the other two were the boys from brooklyn spoken of by the amateur detective. he would also have heard the conversation which followed; but he did not because he was asleep, and the lad who was willing to commit a crime in order to compass his revenge found no impediment in the way. "they're snorin' by this time, that's certain," jip said to his comrades, "an' even if they wasn't we might talk here for an hour without their hearin', 'cause seth's room is in the farther end of the shed, and there's a whole pile of lumber between him an' the door. he don't believe in going out much after he's got inside the yard, for fear the carpenter will see him, so we can make up our minds that there's nothin' to stop us." "where do you count on starting the fire?" "right close by the shed door, of course. i know where to get a lot of shavings." "but it won't do to set it so near, because the fellers might be burned to death, an' that would be a pretty piece of business, jip collins." "gettin' scared, eh?" "you don't want to talk to me 'bout gettin' scared, a feller who'd let another only half his size back him down same's you did last night." [illustration: jip collins and the boys from brooklyn. _page_ .] "if you ain't scared, what are you makin' a row 'bout now? we 'greed to put a fire here so's to singe seth an' dan a little." "yes, i agreed to that much; but i don't count on killing 'em." "neither do i." "but how can you help it if you build the fire right close to the door, when there's no other way for 'em to get out?" "don't you s'pose they've got sense enough to wake up before the thing gets too far along?" "i've heard of folks bein' smothered to death while they was asleep, an' i ain't in this game if that's the way you're goin' to work it." "then back out if you're scared, an' i'll do it." without paying any further attention to his companions, jip made his way to the rear of the carpenter's shop, where he knew would be found an ample supply of light wood and shavings, and when he returned, his arms filled with the inflammable material, neither of his friends from brooklyn could be seen. chapter iii. jip's revenge. if jip collins had not accused the brooklyn boys of being afraid, it is doubtful if he would have dared to set fire to the shed. now it seemed to him as if he must carry out the proposed crime, or set himself down as a coward, and because of being deficient in bravery his one fear was lest such fact should be generally known. he was on the spot; the materials for kindling a blaze were in his arms, and it appeared at that moment to him as if it was absolutely necessary he should perform what he had so often threatened without really intending to do. the shavings and light wood were laid at the door of the shed. jip was careful not to place them in such a manner as would be best calculated to produce the fiercest blaze; but dropped them without heed, as if saying to himself that chance should decide whether the building caught fire or not. he drew several matches from his pocket, and looked around apprehensively, hearing in every noise the footsteps of an officer coming to drag him to prison. after thus hesitating several moments he understood beyond a peradventure that he was alone--that nothing save his own conscience prevented him from carrying into effect his plan of revenge. it should be said that at this moment jip failed to realize what might be the consequences of such an act. one of the brooklyn boys had suggested the possibility that those in the shed might be burned to death if the fire was started near the door; but to this jip had given little heed. he could not believe that two active lads like seth and dan would be overpowered by a little smoke, and felt assured the firemen would arrive so soon after the blaze had been kindled that very little damage could ensue. after this brief time of hesitation he turned toward the pile of wood and shavings once more, with a gesture as if impatient with himself for delaying. then he lighted a match, protecting the tiny flame with both hands until it was a sturdy blaze, after which, instead of holding it to the shavings, he threw it away. for one instant his conscience had triumphed; but it was only for an instant. he lighted another match, hurriedly this time, as if fearing he might not have the courage to apply it, and when it was fully on fire muttered to himself: "i'll drop it an' take the chances. if she burns, it's a go, an' if she don't, i've done as much as i've threatened." he suited the action to the words, and not daring to wait for the result, ran hurriedly into the deserted street. it was his intention to continue on, halting only when having arrived at his home; but now that the mischief might have been done he was so thoroughly alarmed that it seemed impossible he could leave the vicinity. partially concealing himself in a doorway he waited almost breathlessly, hoping fervently the match had been extinguished when it fell, and as the seconds passed, each one seeming a full minute, a great hope came into his heart, for he believed chance had decreed that the fire should not be kindled. then a stifled cry of fear burst from his lips, for he had suddenly seen a bright tongue of flame leap up, and he knew the crime had been committed in fact as well as spirit. at this moment he remembered the words of his friends from brooklyn as distinctly as if they had but just been spoken, and like a flash came the realization that perhaps he had done that which would result in the loss of human life. the flames increased until they were reflected on the wall of brick in the rear, and it seemed to jip as if the shed must already be in a blaze. "why don't somebody send in an alarm?" he said, speaking aloud in his anxiety, although there was no one at hand to hear him. "seth an' dan will be burned to death if the engines don't get here mighty soon!" then came the thought, for he believed the fire was already beyond control, that it would be impossible to rescue the boys--that he was indeed a murderer, for it seemed to him as if an exceedingly long time had elapsed since he first saw the tiny ray of light. now his one desire was that an alarm might be sent in, yet no one could be seen or heard in either direction. each moment of delay increased the peril, and when he had waited in most painful suspense for ten seconds it was impossible to remain inactive any longer. far down the street a red light could be seen, denoting the location of a fire-alarm station, and he ran toward it as he had never run before, so nervous when he would have opened the outer door of the box that for two or three seconds it was impossible to turn the handle. when he did so the sound of the warning gong, intended to notify the policeman on that beat that the box was being opened, caused him to start back in alarm, for he fancied the officers of justice were already on his trail. jip had many times seen a call rung in, and in the merest fraction of time he recovered from his fears as he understood the cause of this sudden noise. then he opened the outer door and pulled down the lever once; and from that instant until the first engine appeared, which was ninety-four, it seemed to him as if an hour had passed, although in fact the company of which seth considered himself in a certain degree a member, had responded to the call in less than three minutes. jip was standing by the signal-box when a rumble and roar in the distance told of the coming of ninety-four, and he watched as if fascinated the fountain of sparks which went up from the smoke-stack; listened to the sharp clicking of the horses' shoes on the pavement; to the din of the gongs, and the cries of startled pedestrians in the rear--hearing everything, seeing everything, but yet all the while as if in a dream. nearer and nearer came the puffing engine drawn by three plunging horses as if it had been no more than a toy, and then, his brain still in a whirl, jip heard as if from afar off, the question: "where's the fire?" "in baxter's carpenter shop!" the engine was some distance beyond him by the time he had answered the question, and from the opposite direction he heard the rush of a second on-coming machine; then here and there the rumble of wheels and hoof-beats of horses driven at their utmost speed, until it seemed as if by that one pull on the lever of the signal-box he had aroused the entire city. now seth and dan would be saved if they were yet alive. at that moment there was no hope in jip's mind that they could still be living. it was as if he had lighted that match an hour ago, so slowly had the seconds passed, and with the thought of them as dead--burned to death through his act--came wildest terror. he fancied every fireman on ninety-four had recognized him as they rode past in such mad haste, and knew him to be the one who had committed the crime. there was no place in his mind for any thought save that of his own danger, and instantly he started at full speed down the street, never daring to so much as glance behind him, although no man pursued. when the "joker," which is the name given by firemen to the combination-bell, in ninety-four's house rang out the number of the call sent in by jip, and as the horses, released by the mechanical trip moved by the joker, dashed out of their stalls, 'lish davis believed he knew beyond a question to what particular building they were summoned. instantly that which seth had told him came into his mind, and with it the painful thought that perhaps by his own neglect he had contributed to what might be a fatal disaster. "and i never so much as warned the policeman on this beat!" he said to himself as he leaped to his seat on the engine, snapped into place the belt that would hold him there, and with a quick jerk on the reins released the harness-catch. ninety-four had seldom left the house more quickly, and certainly the horses were never urged to a higher rate of speed than now, when 'lish davis charged himself with criminal neglect. during the minute and a half which intervened before they reached the station from which the alarm had been sent, the driver of ninety-four conceived an absolute affection for the boy who had so persistently followed up his idea of becoming a fireman, and, prompted by the prickings of his own conscience, perhaps, he muttered to himself: "the kid shall go into the department if i can put him there, providing it so be we find----" he did not finish the sentence, for at that instant it was to 'lish davis as if he must in a certain degree take upon himself the results of this night's work. when they dashed past the station he needed not jip's reply to tell him whence came the glow of light which could now be seen reflected on the taller buildings, and ninety-four got water a full two minutes before any other engine. "that little bootblack, seth bartlett, sleeps in the shed behind the shop," 'lish called hoarsely as the men ran swiftly through the lumber-yard, and, hearing the words even above the tooting of whistles, the sounding of gongs from the on-coming engines, and the puffing of steam, jerry walters cried: "i'll look out for him, 'lish!" every man heard the driver's cry, and knew that the amateur fireman was in danger. they also knew where he slept, having been given by the boy himself a description of his home, and with the first crash of jerry's axe as he burst in the door of the shed, the men set up a shout which sounded like music in 'lish's ears. it was jip collins who had started the fire, and he also was the means of saving the lives of seth and dan after the mischief had been wrought, for the firemen gained the box-like apartment not one moment too soon. all unconscious of the danger which threatened, the boys had slept on until the noisome vapor overcame without awakening them, and when jerry carried the two out into the street through the piles of lumber which were already beginning to blaze, he said to joe black as the latter advanced to help him take the apparently lifeless bodies to one of the patrol-wagons drawn up near at hand: "i'm afraid the amateur has got more of a dose than he can well stand." ten minutes later, when seth woke to consciousness, dan was lying by his side in the bottom of the wagon, and 'lish davis bent over him. "it must be that jip collins did what he threatened," he said, speaking with difficulty because of the parched, burning sensation in his throat. "ay, lad, that's what he did, and this town won't be big enough to hold him after daylight to-morrow morning." "but why are you here, mr. davis? what about the team?" "ben dunton is on hand, and i'm off duty for the time being till i can make sure whether you're alive or not." seth knew that ben dunton was 'lish's "relief," therefore the driver was not neglecting his duty by thus staying with him. "is it a bad fire?" he asked. "the shop and about half the lumber-yard will go. it's nothing to speak of, lad, save for the fact of its having been kindled that murder might be done." "i don't believe jip collins really meant to kill us. he most likely thought we would get out before it was very bad. is dan all right?" "there's nothing much the matter with me," master roberts replied in what he intended should be a cheery tone. "i've been awake quite a spell, an' thought you'd never open your eyes." "sure you're all right?" 'lish asked, shaking seth gently as if doubting whether the boy was fully conscious. "of course i am, an' now we're inside the lines there's a good chance for me to look 'round after points. i'm going into the yard to see what ninety-four's men are doin'." "i reckon you'll lay where you are for a spell," 'lish said with a grim smile, speaking half to himself, and in such a low tone that neither of the boys heard the words. seth attempted to rise; but had no more than gotten up on one elbow when a most violent nausea assailed him, and he fell back on the rubber blankets which had served as pillow, feeling much as he looked--desperately ill. "don't feel like wiggling 'round to any great extent, eh?" 'lish asked, understanding full well the boy's sensations, and so relieved at knowing his life had been saved that the temporary sickness seemed as nothing. "i don't see what makes me feel so bad," and seth did his best to speak in a careless tone. "if it so be you ever get into the department, lad, this ain't the first dose you'll take, nor the heaviest. it's the smoke which came nigh to strangling you, and there ain't a man that answers to ninety-four's roll-call who can't tell exactly how you feel." "i've got to brace up pretty soon, or dan an' me will have to walk 'round the streets the balance of the night, now our housekeepin' is broken up." "don't worry about that, lad. i reckon the captain will give you a shelter till daylight, and after that we'll see what can be done." then 'lish, understanding that he could render no assistance, left the two boys to join his comrades, who were fighting the fire as gallantly in the lumber-yard as they would have done at a palatial residence. "so jip collins had sand enough to try an' burn us out, didn't he?" dan said interrogatively. "i'll run across that duffer one of these days, and when i get through with him he won't set anybody else's shed on fire!" "the police will most likely get hold of him, 'cause mr. davis knows all about what he threatened, an' even if sam barney didn't let out the whole story, the driver will." having said this seth relapsed into silence, for his bodily condition was such that it seemed a severe exertion to so much as speak. the fire was subdued, but not extinguished, when the patrol-wagon was driven away with ben dunton on the front seat, and dan asked in a tone of awe: "do you s'pose they're goin' to carry us up to the engine-house?" "it seemed as though that was what mr. davis meant; but yet i'm afraid we're bound for the hospital." "well, say, you don't catch me inside of one! i ain't goin' to flock in with a lot of dyin' folks jest 'cause i've got a little smoke down my throat," and dan, who was not suffering as much as his partner, attempted to scramble to his feet, whereat ben dunton shouted gruffly: "lay still there, you two kids, or i'll come down and know the reason why!" "we ain't goin' to no hospital!" dan cried angrily. "who asked you to? you don't allow we're running an ambulance for such kids as you, eh?" "where are we goin'?" "lay still and you'll find out." seth had learned enough regarding a fireman's life to know that the first engine at the scene of a conflagration must be the last to leave, therefore wherever ben dunton might be taking them, there was little chance of seeing 'lish davis until the following morning. to the great delight of both the boys the patrol-wagon was drawn up in front of ninety-four's house, and dunton asked: "can you lads get out alone, or shall i lend a hand?" "are we goin' to stay here all night?" dan asked suspiciously. "of course you are. it's the captain's orders, and you're to have 'lish davis's bed." this was sufficient to cause a decided change in seth's condition. the fact that he was to sleep in the engine-house as if he had been a member of the department was so great an honor that for the time being his illness was banished. the boys alighted from the vehicle without assistance and followed ben dunton into the building, where a report was made to the house-watchman regarding the guests, who were then conducted to the floor above. "there's where you're to sleep," the fireman said, pointing to the driver's bed. "and you want to get in some precious big licks, for it ain't often 'lish davis puts himself out in this fashion for anybody, especially when he's likely to be on duty six or eight hours. no skylarking, now, but get between the sheets as quick as you know how." no second bidding was necessary, and five minutes later the two boys were enjoying a greater degree of comfort than they had ever fancied would be possible, seth refusing to join in the conversation which his partner would have started, in order to give himself wholly up to building air-castles, all based on the fire department with himself rising from the grade of recruit to that of battalion-chief. slumber closed their eyelids in due time, however, and they journeyed so far into the recesses of dreamland that neither heard the home-coming of ninety-four, nor the bustle consequent upon cleaning up and making ready for duty once more. it was seven o'clock in the morning when seth awakened, and for the first time since having been told he was to sleep in 'lish's bed, he realized how much inconvenience and possible discomfort he might have caused the driver. "say, dan, we did a mighty mean thing to sleep here, an' perhaps mr. davis had to set up all night. hustle your clothes on as quick as you know how, so's we can get down-stairs an' tell him we're ashamed of it." neither of the boys was feeling any the worse for the painful experience of the previous night, and in a remarkably short space of time they were ready to descend, but not by the stairs. for the first time in his life seth enjoyed the pleasure of sliding down the pole to the floor below, and this method of descending served to strengthen certain portions of the air-castles he had built just before falling asleep. the driver was found grooming one of the horses, and greeted the boys before either could speak, by saying cheerily: "well, how are you getting along after your dose of last night?" "first-rate, sir. we're as well as ever; but feelin' mighty mean to think we used your bed an' kept you up all night." "you didn't do anything of the kind, lad. we got back about four o'clock, and i found plenty of spare beds for the short nap i wanted. i reckon you lost everything you owned, eh?" "yes, sir; but that wasn't very much. my box, brushes, and what we had brought home for breakfast." "how will you get another outfit?" "i guess i've got money enough for a second-hand box and brushes; but if i haven't some of the fellers will lend me what's needed, an' i'm goin' now to pick up the things, so's to get back in time to do the shinin' here." "there are brushes and blacking belonging to the house, and you can use them this morning, which will give you a little extra towards buying a new outfit. haven't been to breakfast yet, have you?" "that don't count, even if we haven't, 'cause we can get something later," and seth, knowing where to find the tools of his trade, set about his customary morning's work, while dan lounged here and there, feeling that he was a very fortunate lad in thus being a guest of ninety-four's men. half an hour later, in company with dan, seth, richer by thirty cents, set out in search of a second-hand box and brushes. save in the way of questioning him concerning the boy who was believed to have started the fire in the lumber-yard, none of the men treated the bootblack other than in their customary manner, and seth departed with the fear in his mind that they were glad to be rid of him. no sooner had he gone, however, than 'lish davis addressed three or four of his comrades who were near at hand, saying emphatically: "look here, that boy seth is bent on getting into the department, and i tell you when a lad sticks to one thing as he's stuck to that for the last year, some one ought to lend him a hand." "you ain't thinking of getting him taken on here, are you, 'lish?" walters asked with a laugh. "i've got a plan in my head, and allow that the rest of you can help me through with it. if all hands of us turn to we can get the boy a job at headquarters, and he ain't the lad i've taken him to be if he don't put himself in the way of being received as a recruit when he's grown stouter and a little older. now, such a lift as that won't be much for us, and it may be the making of him." "do you allow it's a good idea, 'lish davis, to help a boy into the department when he might learn a trade which wouldn't be that of risking his life two or three times every day?" "would you turn tinker, or tailor, or candlestick-maker, jerry walters, in order to avoid risking your life two or three times a day?" "it's different with me, 'lish. i've been here so long i couldn't give it up." "and it would be almost as hard for that lad to give up his idea. i tried to frighten it out of him when he first came around here; but he didn't scare worth a cent, and i tell you again that he'll make a cracking good man for some company one of these days." "if there's anything i can do to help the thing along, you may count me in," walters replied, and the other members of the company who heard the remark pledged themselves to the same thing. "we'll let him hoe his own row till everything is ready, 'cause it may do harm if he gets to thinking somebody is trying to give him a lift." "what's to be done with the kid who started the fire?" "i repeated to the captain all the "amateur" told me, so i reckon he'll be attended to. is ben dunton in the house?" "upstairs asleep." "then i'm going out for a bit. i want to see the battalion-chief." "going to strike for seth while the iron's hot, eh?" "that's what i'm thinking of, jerry," and while seth bartlett was making ready to continue his business of blacking boots, 'lish davis began in his behalf the efforts which he believed would result favorably, so far as the boy's ambition was concerned. chapter iv. sam the detective. the sidewalk merchants in the vicinity of the post-office were well informed of seth bartlett's loss by the time he arrived in that section of the city. those who had not heard the story from dan roberts read an account of the destruction of baxter brothers' carpenter-shop in the morning papers during the early part of the day before the business rush began, and thus it was seth found himself the centre of a sympathizing crowd of acquaintances as soon as he crossed city hall park. master barney had but just returned from a journey supposed to have been taken in search of the boy who had robbed him, and he immediately cast aside his own business troubles in order to "work the case against jip collins," as he expressed it. sam was among the throng gathered to meet the homeless bootblack, and when others would have asked for further particulars regarding the conflagration, even though dan had given all the information in his possession, the amateur detective checked the curious ones by saying sharply: "this ain't any time to talk foolishness, 'cause if i'm goin' to take up this case i must get right down to it before jip has a chance to run very far." "what do you mean by takin' up the case?" seth asked in surprise, and dan roberts replied quickly: "sam says he's willin' to go after jip collins, an' will stick at it till he catches him." "that's what i've 'greed to, an' i'm in dead earnest, seth. of course you can't afford to pay a reg'lar detective a whole lot of money jest to find jip for you; but i can do the work as well, an' you needn't put out a cent more'n i'm called on to spend for expenses." "what do _you_ want of jip?" seth asked in surprise. "to have him 'rested for settin' fire to your shed, of course." "_i_ don't want anythin' of the kind. i reckon he's sorry enough for what he did without my tryin' to make more trouble for him." "do you mean to say you're willin' he should burn the shed an' come pretty nigh killin' you?" "course i ain't willin'; but now it's been done there's no need for me to try to put him in jail, 'cause it won't do any good, an' i'd feel bad to think any feller i knew was up to sing sing doin' time." it was evident that but few of the sidewalk merchants agreed with seth in the view he took of the matter. the majority of them believed jip should be pursued until captured, and then punished to the full extent of the law. some were inclined to the opinion that sam barney might possibly succeed in running down the culprit, but these credulous ones were the most intimate friends of the amateur detective, and by far the larger number of the throng thought a formal complaint should be lodged with the officers of the law against the boy who had so nearly caused the death of seth and dan. sam barney was literally astounded at the forgiving spirit which the would-be fireman displayed, and this first burst of astonishment soon gave way to something like anger. he said in what was intended to be a fine tone of irony: "well, you're too good, seth bartlett, that's what's the matter with you! here's dan been tellin' that you were jest about the same as dead when ninety-four's men got in there. the snuggest house in town burned, an' you thrown out of a home! after all that you've got the nerve to say there's no reason why we should catch jip collins! i ain't certain as you've got anythin' to do with it. s'posen the cops find out what was done--an' most likely ninety-four's driver that you claim is a chum of yours will tell 'em--how are you goin' to help it if they try to find him?" "i can't, an' that's a fact; but i haven't got to start the thing myself." "what would you do if you should meet him right here this very minute?" "i'm 'fraid i'd thump him." "'fraid!" sam repeated sarcastically. "why, you ought'er pound his head off, an' then have him jugged." "you see, it's jest like this, fellers," seth said in an apologetic tone as he looked around at his friends and acquaintances, understanding full well that they disapproved of his leniency. "it's jest like this: if a feller gets to fightin' on the street he's likely to be pulled in for it, an' then perhaps he has to go down to the island for ten days or so. now you all know i'm tryin' to work into the department, an' what kind of show would i stand if there was a record like that against me? fellers who get up a name for fightin' don't 'mount to very much, 'cordin' to what i've seen, an' that's why i said i was 'fraid i might thump jip. you see, what's done now will stand against me when i'm old enough to be a fireman, an' i've got to look out mighty careful for that. now, so far's puttin' jip in jail goes, i don't want anythin' to do with it." "i can't see how that's goin' to give you a bad name," some one of the throng cried. "i reckon it couldn't; but it might stand against jip when he grows up, an' if i should let sam take the case i'd be hurtin' jip more'n he did me, so it wouldn't be fair." "but you don't allow folks can go 'round settin' fire to houses an' tryin' to burn other people up without havin' to pay for it?" "course i don't, an' jip ought'er get it hot for what he's done; but i won't be the one to send him up the river." "if that's the way seth feels 'bout it we haven't got any right to kick," dan suggested, and sam barney cried sharply: "i say we have! jest 'cause seth is gettin' so awful good on account of wantin' to go into the department, there's no reason why we should let jip collins sneak away after what's been done, an' i'll take up the case on my own hook rather than see him wiggle out of it." "have you got the feller yet what stole your money?" dan asked in a meaning tone, whereat the remainder of the company set up a loud shout of derision, much to the amateur detective's discomfort. "if i haven't that's no sign i can't. i reckon i know enough 'bout the business to handle two cases at the same time, if i want to, an' you'll see if i don't pull jip collins over the coals before i'm a week older." then sam stalked away with the bearing of one who feels that he has been injured, and the remainder of the party discussed the events of the previous night without further reference to the arrest of the evil-doer. when the subject had been exhausted seth made inquiries concerning any bootblack's outfit which might be for sale, and half an hour later he was once more the owner of a box and brushes. "the fire has cost me seventy cents, besides the breakfast we lost when the place was burned," he said to dan, and the latter replied mournfully: "i'd have been willin' to give a good deal more'n that right out of my own pocket, poor as trade has been, than to lose the snuggest lodgin'-place in this town. we'll never find anythin' that will come up with that shed." "cryin' won't help out on it. what we've got to do is to hunt up another shanty where we can bunk in without givin' up too much money, for after havin' to buy a new outfit i can't afford to fool away good dollars payin' for a bed at a reg'lar lodgin'-house." "you'll never get anythin' that will come up to the shanty jip collins set on fire," dan replied sadly, and as the realization of their loss came to him with redoubled force now that the time had arrived when they must search for new lodgings, he gave way to anger against the boy who had wrought them so much mischief, as if believing this would mend matters. seth waited patiently until his partner had indulged in such outburst several moments, after which he said sagely: "now, look here, dan, scoldin' won't fix things the least little bit, an' there's no sense in keepin' on tellin 'bout how big a villain jip collins is. what we've got to do is to hustle, an' in the long run we'll find that will pay better'n ravin'. do you know of any place where we can stop for a night or two till i've had time to look 'round more?" "if i did i'd taken it long ago, instead of payin' you fifteen cents a week for half of your quarters." "well, we've got to find one; that's all there is to it. now, s'posen, instead of tryin' to do any more business to-day, we mosey right along about it." "where you goin'?" "i don't exactly know. we'll kind-er loaf 'round; that's the way i found the carpenter-shop, an' if it turns out we don't see a place, why, it'll be a case of puttin' up the stuff for one night's lodgin's." "i ain't sure as i've got money enough left to pay for a reg'lar bed." "i reckon i can squeeze out what'll pay the bills if you're broke. now, come on." unconsciously seth led the way toward ninety-four's house, not really being aware he was proceeding in that direction, and after walking several blocks in silence dan asked almost sharply: "are you countin' on their lettin' us hang 'round the engine-house?" "course not. the firemen can't do anythin' like that, you know. we was mighty lucky to get a bed there last night, an' wouldn't had it except that we'd been burned out." "then what are you goin' up this way for?" "there's jest as much chance 'round here as anywhere, an' of course i'd sooner live near ninety-four, 'cause i do a good deal of shinin' for the men. then ag'in, i don't want to lose run of 'em, for perhaps some day 'lish davis'll give me a lift into the department." "there's no use lookin' here, 'cause we'd known if there was any place that would suit us." "i ain't so sure of that. you see, we wasn't lookin' for one, an' now if we go along with our eyes open there's no tellin' but what we may run----" seth ceased speaking very suddenly, for at that instant the clanging of gongs could be heard far up the street, and dan exclaimed: "that sounds like ninety-four." "course it is. i'd know her if she was in the middle of a hundred, an' all of 'em comin' straight for me." there was no longer a thought in the mind of either of the boys regarding the necessity of finding a home that night. under no ordinary circumstances would seth have allowed himself to be prevented from getting possible "points," and although dan did not share in the aspirations of his friend, he was equally excited by the prospect of "going to a fire." the two waited breathlessly an instant, expecting ninety-four would continue straight on toward them, when from the opposite direction came the clatter of wheels and the booming notes of the gongs telling of the coming of a second engine, and they knew that at some point midway the two engines would be turned at right angles with their present course. "come this way! it looks to me as though ninety-four was slackenin' up!" master bartlett cried as he darted forward, and dan readily followed the advice, for while he did not approve of his friend's devotion to the fire department, he understood full well that seth was thoroughly conversant with all such matters as might be learned by an outsider. "there she goes, an' i wouldn't wonder if the alarm came from some of them big storage warehouses, for ninety-four is headin' straight toward them." the first engine had swung sharply around to the left, and the driver of the second was urging his horses forward at yet greater speed, in the hope, perhaps, of getting first water, when the two boys dashed up the street at their best pace, for to seth at least there was but one engine and one point of attraction at any conflagration, however extensive. while it is probable he could have "picked up as many points" from other companies, it did not so appear to him, and in his mind it was only from the crew of ninety-four he could gather such information as was most desired. before they neared the station from which the alarm had been sent the throng on the sidewalks, added to from nearly every house, had so increased that it was only by taking to the street regardless of the danger to be apprehended from hose-carts, hook-and-ladder trucks, patrol-wagons, or water-towers, that the boys could make any satisfactory headway, and because of their being thus hampered in their movements ninety-four's men had already begun their work when seth and dan arrived at a point outside the fire lines where they could see the machine. here a single policeman kept the crowd in check, and seth whispered excitedly to his partner: "now's our time! if we're anyways smart we'll get in before that copper can catch us. wait till somebody tries to pass, an' then scoot. don't stop if he yells, 'cause he won't dare leave here to chase us." "i thought 'lish davis said he'd have his eye out so's you couldn't get into the fire lines?" "that's what he said." "ain't you 'fraid he'll be mad if he finds you in there?" "he knows i've got to do this thing, else i'll never get posted on the business; but of course if we should sneak in an' he told us to march straight out ag'in, i'd feel as though i ought'er go. we won't stand very near ninety-four, an' then there'll be less chance of his knowin' we're around." the opportunity which seth desired came a few seconds later. two gentlemen who were curious to see the workings of the fire department nearer at hand than was possible while they remained outside the lines, approached the officer on duty with the idea that it was only necessary to bluster or threaten a little in order to pass him without difficulty, and while they were alternately entreating and threatening seth gave the signal. stooping until their heads were beneath the rope, the two boys darted up the street, which was covered with a veritable network of hose, and before the officer was fully aware of their intentions they were lost to his view amid the panting, quivering monsters of steel and iron whose mission is to save, rather than destroy. "there's 'lish davis on the engine!" dan said, speaking indistinctly because of his breath, which came thick and fast. "it looks to me as if he has seen us." "we'll keep over this way a bit where there's no danger of his comin'. watch our men try to get up that stairway! ain't they the dandies!" the fire was, as seth had first surmised, in a storage warehouse, and it appeared from the outside as if the entire second floor of the building was in a blaze. the men had battered in the doors only to be met by a mass of flames which seemed to roll in huge columns down the staircase to the new outlet which had thus been made, and just as the boys arrived the brave fellows were momentarily beaten back by the scorching element until they stood on the first landing in plain sight of seth and dan. jerry walters and joe black were at the nozzle, with ben dunton close in the rear, and at the moment seth called his partner's attention to the scene the captain of ninety-four shouted encouragingly: "now, hit it up, boys! get in there! get in! get in!" then it was the flames retreated momentarily, and those who were doing such gallant battle advanced step by step up the stairs seemingly into the very midst of the fiery cloud, until they were entirely hidden by the downpour of black smoke which came from the open doorway in volume sufficient to drive back even those on the sidewalk. while this desperate fight was in progress other men had raised a ladder and were prying open one of the iron shutters on the second floor in order to use more hose, and, yet trembling with apprehension for the safety of those friends who had last been seen in the very midst of the fiery element, seth involuntarily glanced toward the remainder of the company on the outside, while dan looked back to make certain 'lish davis was not preparing to drive them from their place of vantage. that which he saw reassured him so far as any immediate danger of such kind was to be feared, for the driver of ninety-four was unhitching his horses, knowing from the general appearance of the blazing building that the company had a long task before them. at that instant a crashing, rending noise as of an explosion sounded high above the din, and one of the iron shutters which the men had been trying to force open was hurled from its fastenings and thrown outward into the street, falling within half a dozen feet of where davis was busy with his horses. following it was a mighty rush of flame as if the interior was a seething mass of fire; loud shouts of command rang out, and then came even above all the din the clatter of a horse's iron-shod hoofs as he dashed madly away in affright. involuntarily seth had followed with his eyes the flight of the shutter, and, unconscious of even having made a movement, he sprang toward ninety-four as if in the time of danger that was his post of duty. he saw the heavy mass of metal as it struck the pavement, and instantly afterward was aware of what very few gave heed to because of the fact that all eyes were fixed upon the building, from whence might naturally be expected another explosion. the nigh horse of the team, one that had been in service only a few weeks, leaped forward in frantic terror, and by some strange mishap was dragging his driver behind him. at the moment seth had no thought of possible danger to himself. his mind was upon 'lish davis's peril to the exclusion of everything else, and almost involuntarily he sprang toward the maddened animal, dan close at his heels. it was by accident rather than good judgment that he succeeded in gaining a hold of the bridle just above the bit, swinging himself outward by aid of his elbow to avoid being struck by the beast's forefeet. his weight was not sufficient to bring the frightened animal to a standstill instantly; but he succeeded in checking his speed so far that the engineer of ninety-four had time to come to his assistance, and between the two the runaway was stopped. a buckle on davis's coat had caught in one of the rings of the harness, and this it was which held him prisoner after having been thrown from his feet by the animal's sudden plunge. "are you hurt?" seth asked anxiously, still retaining his hold of the bridle, and the driver replied grimly as he scrambled to his feet: "a man is bound to get a few knocks after such a course of treatment; but i reckon that all the harm which has been done is a little skin broken here and there. do you know, lad, it's a mighty dangerous thing to jump for a horse in that fashion?" [illustration: seth catches the horse. _page_ .] "i caught him all right, sir." "yes, that i know, else i wouldn't be standing on my feet this minute; but suppose you had missed your hold? he would have had you under his feet in a jiffy." "but he didn't, so i can't see as that counts very much; but all the same, i was willin' to take the chances." 'lish davis, having assured himself that he had spoken correctly so far as personal injuries were concerned, took charge of the horse; the engineer went back to his post, and seth, fearing lest he should be driven outside the line, was making his way toward the building once more with dan by his side when the driver shouted: "come back here, you young rattle-brain! how did you get inside the lines?" "crept under the rope when the copper wasn't lookin'. it ain't any very hard job to do that." "don't you know you're liable to be arrested for doing anything of that sort?" "well, we had to take the chances, you see, 'cause it wouldn't do to miss a fire like this," seth replied, half apologetically, and dan cried in his shrill tone: "it's mighty lucky for you, mr. davis, that he did sneak inside this once." "i ain't likely to forget that, you rapscallion; but it has got nothing to do with you lads being where you don't belong, and that's right about here." "please don't send us away!" seth cried imploringly. "we'll keep out of sight so the chief won't see us, an' nobody will know where we are." "i'll take precious good care you can't get into more mischief. come over here, both of you, an' stick right by ninety-four till i give the word to leave. don't you dare to so much as move till the engine does, an' if there's any more mishaps, steer clear of them instead of doing your level best to run into trouble. are you hearing what i'm saying?" "yes, sir," seth replied meekly, and then the boys obeyed readily, for mr. davis had stationed them in the very place above all others where they could see everything which occurred, and dan said in a tone of satisfaction: "it was a mighty good thing, your stoppin' that horse. you never had a better chance to see a fire than this is, an' we'd better hold on to it precious close." "that's a fact; but i ain't gettin' so many points as i might if we walked 'round." "you'd better be satisfied with what's a soft snap, even if you don't get points," master roberts replied grimly, and then he gave himself up to the pleasure of watching the battle between the firemen and the elements, for a third alarm had been rung in, and the number of men at work round about was more than either he or seth had ever seen engaged at any one time before. the hours passed to these two small but decidedly interested spectators as if they were composed of no more than one quarter the usual number of minutes, and when night came the conflagration was subdued but not extinguished. ninety-four had gotten first water, and, consequently, would be the last to leave the scene. here and there the companies dismissed from this particular duty were taking up their hose, or already driving away in order to be ready for the next alarm. the throng of spectators just outside the lines had diminished in number until no more than an hundred remained, and 'lish davis came up with the appearance of one who has already done his full duty. "hello, amateur! still here, eh?" "you told us to stay, sir." "i didn't allow that you'd hold on to go out with us. we're like to be here till well towards morning, an' if you lads have got the price of a bed about your clothes you'd better be leaving. if you haven't, i'll ante up something to hire one." "we've got the money, sir," seth replied; "but seein' 's we belong to ninety-four jest now, why can't we stay till she pulls out?" "please yourself, amateur, please yourself," was the grim reply, and as the driver turned away he muttered, "if that bloomin' little duffer don't get into the department it won't be 'lish davis's fault, an' that goes for a fact." chapter v. tardy repentance. seth was as happy and proud as a boy well could be. never before had he dared to remain very long near any particular engine lest some of the firemen should take it upon themselves to send him outside the lines, consequently all his "points" had been gathered as he moved from place to place. now, however, he was in a certain sense attached to ninety-four, and each member of the company had some kindly word with which to greet him, for it had become known to all that if the amateur did not actually save 'lish davis's life, he had assisted in preventing that gentleman from receiving severe injury. dan was enjoying the advantages thus arising from his partner's popularity, which was quite sufficient for him, since, not aspiring to become a fireman, he thought only of the present moment, and the privilege of remaining by the engine as if he were really a member of the department was some thing of which he could boast in the future among his comrades. it is true there was little of interest to be seen after the fire was apparently extinguished, when the men had nothing more to do than remain on the lookout for any smoldering embers which might be fanned into a blaze; but seth's interest was almost as great as when the flames were fiercest. shortly after sunset hot coffee and sandwiches were served to the weary firemen, and master bartlett believed he had taken a long stride toward the goal he had set himself, when the captain shouted: "come here, you two kids, and get your rations. while doing duty with ninety-four you're entitled to all that's going." dan ran forward eagerly, intent only on getting his share of the food, for he was very hungry; but seth walked slowly in order to prolong the pleasure of obeying the captain's command, and could almost fancy he was wearing the city's uniform. he stood by 'lish davis's side when the lunch was passed around, and that gentleman said grimly as seth blew on the steaming coffee to cool it: "you mustn't do that if you ever count on being a fireman, amateur." "why not?" and seth looked up in surprise. "because you must get used to hot things. supposing you could drink that while it was boiling? don't you reckon you'd stand the heat from a blaze better and longer than them who need to have it mighty nigh cold?" this seemed reasonable to seth, and without stopping to further consider the matter he instantly raised the cup to his lips, drinking the hot liquid until the pain was so great as to bring tears to his eyes. then he lowered the cup slowly, striving manfully to repress any sign of suffering, and the driver gazed at him admiringly. "that kid has got sand, eh?" davis said half interrogatively as he turned toward jerry walters, and the latter replied: "he showed it when he jumped for the horse. i believe if you should tell him to roll over on the embers in that 'ere cellar, he'd do it." "i guess you're right, jerry. here, amateur, don't try to drink any more of that coffee till it cools a bit! i was only stuffing you when i said you'd stand a better show of being a fireman if you could scald your throat without feeling it." this evidence of solicitude for his welfare was sufficient reward for all seth had suffered, and he glanced at dan as if to make certain that young gentleman was fully aware of the great honor which was being bestowed upon his partner. dan had no eyes except for the rapidly decreasing store of sandwiches, and no thought save as to how he might get his full share without appearing absolutely greedy, therefore all this by-play had passed while he remained in ignorance of it. once his hunger was appeased dan curled himself up on a bale of half-burned merchandise near at hand, and immediately fell asleep. for him this association with ninety-four's men was nothing of more importance than the gaining of a meal and so much of a night's lodging as might be possible; but to seth it was as if the gates guarding the approach to his desires had been left ajar, permitting him to obtain a glimpse of that goal he so ardently longed to reach, and he patrolled the ruins of the building as if upon his shoulders rested all the responsibility of making certain the fire had been wholly extinguished. not until fully an hour after midnight was the welcome word given for ninety-four to pull out, and seth awakened his partner lest he should be in the way of the tired men. "get a move on you!" he shouted in dan's ear as he shook him roughly. "there's nothin' more to be done here, an' we don't want to act like as if we was hangin' 'round, when the machine goes into her quarters." "why don't you kind er loaf here till they have hitched up, an' perhaps we'll get another chance to stay in the engine-house?" dan asked sleepily. "because i'd be ashamed to do anythin' like that. get up so's we can be off before they pull out." jerry walters had overheard this brief conversation, although neither of the boys was aware of the fact, and he asked as the two were making their way out through and over the debris into the darkness: "where are you kids going?" "i reckon it's time we was home," seth replied, giving his partner a warning shake lest he should say that which would seem to indicate that they were sadly in need of a bed. "what do you call home now the carpenter-shop has gone up in smoke?" "we haven't hired any house yet; but we've got our eye on one up in fifth avenoo, an' if the price ain't more'n we've got in our pockets, i reckon we'll take it." "where are you counting on sleeping to-night?" "most anywhere; it don't go hard with dan an' me to find a place," seth replied with an assumption of carelessness, and again shaking his partner to remind him that there must be no approach to begging. "look here, amateur, i don't reckon you know where you're going to sleep!" "we'll turn in somewhere; that part of it will be all right. so long!" "hold on here, you kid!" and jerry walters spoke in a tone which sounded unusually stern. "have you been with ninety-four's crew at this 'ere fire, or not?" "i reckon we have," seth replied, with a laugh. "then we'll take care you have a roof over your heads for the balance of this night. wait till 'lish davis shows up, and see what he has to say about letting the kid who pulled him out of a big hole go off to bunk in the streets. come back, i say, till the driver gets here." "we ain't begging for a bed, mr. walters," seth said decidedly, as he obeyed the command, "an' if we turn anybody out as we did last night----" "if you _was_ begging a bed i reckon you wouldn't get it from me; but since you're so mighty independent i'm just contrary enough to see that you have one. i reckon it won't strain the rules very hard if you sleep on the straw, an' that's about the best you'll get up at the house to-night, unless another alarm is sent in." at this moment 'lish davis returned with the horses, and jerry walters held a short, whispered conversation with him, at the conclusion of which the latter said gruffly: "amateur, go on with your partner up to the house--there's no need of your riding--an' wait there till i come. we ain't going to have any sulking jest because we've taken it into our heads to see that you get some sleep 'twixt now and morning." "we ain't sulkin', mr. davis," seth made haste to say, "an' we'll go wherever you say; but i don't want you to think we can't find a lodgin'-place." "get on with you!" the driver roared as if in a fury of passion, and when the boys obeyed he said in a low tone to jerry walters: "the amateur has got a good bit of spirit in him, and that's what i like to see. he shall come into the department, eh?" "i'd like to see him there, for sure, and hope you'll be able to work it." "i don't know as a fireman's life counts much to the city; but if it does something ought'er be done for the amateur, 'cause if it hadn't been for him there'd be one driver short in the department by this time." dan was in high glee at the prospect of spending another night in the engine-house, and said in a tone of satisfaction as the two made their way rapidly up the street: "this is great luck, eh?" "yes, though i almost wish we was to shirk for ourselves." "what's makin' you so foolish all of a sudden? don't you think a bed on the straw in ninety-four's house is better'n bunkin' in anywhere, or perhaps walkin' the streets for the rest of the night?" "of course it is; but i'm 'fraid the men will think we hung 'round for jest such a chance." "after your stoppin' that hoss in time to save 'lish davis from gettin' all mashed up, i don't reckon they can accuse you of coaxin' for a bed." seth made no reply to this remark. he appreciated the invitation which had been given, even more highly than did dan, yet feared it might appear to some of the company as if he should have gone away when the fire was gotten under control, and that by waiting when there was really nothing to be seen he had laid himself open to the possible charge of "hangin' 'round." if dan roberts expected seth would be petted and praised because of having rendered such a signal service to the driver of ninety-four, he was disappointed. the two boys arrived at the house a few moments in advance of the engine, and seth at once set about trying to make himself useful in the work of "cleaning up," with the result that he rendered no slight assistance to the weary men; but yet not one of them commented upon the fact, or even so much as thanked him. after the horses were cared for 'lish davis went to where seth was at work and said gruffly, as if offended: "i've shaken some straw out for you kids, an' when you're through with that job, turn in. don't get to skylarkin', but keep quiet." then the driver went upstairs. dan, who was not in favor of working save when it might be absolutely necessary, crept slyly to the straw and lay down; but seth continued at his self-imposed task, and gained much pleasure thereby, for the men treated the matter as if it was proper he should perform his share of the labor, which made it seem very much as if he was in fact a member of the company. not until fully an hour after the engine had arrived at quarters did seth "turn in," and then he was so weary that his eyes closed in slumber almost as soon as he was stretched at full length on the straw. the last thought in his mind was a pleasing one; none of the company had thanked him for assisting in the work, and this was exactly as he would have had it. it seemed to the boys as if they had no more than fallen asleep, although as a matter of fact they had both been in dreamland fully two hours, when the clanging of the gong, the thud of horses' feet on the floor, and the rapid movements of the men aroused them. seth had longed for and dreamed of just such an opportunity as this. to go out with ninety-four from quarters was very near to being a member of the department, and he made all haste to station himself by the big doors ready to follow the engine. "get out of there, amateur!" mr. davis shouted as he swung himself into the driver's seat. "one fire in a night is enough for you. lay down an' sleep; then you'll be in better trim to help with the clean-up when we get back." under no circumstances would seth have ventured to remonstrate against any order 'lish davis might give, and even had he been disposed to do so, there was not time. the driver had hardly ceased speaking before the doors were swung open, and ninety-four was drawn out with a rush and a clatter that sounded like sweetest music in seth's ears. "'lish kind er took the wind out of your sails that time, amateur," the house-watchman said with a smile as he closed the heavy doors. "ain't one fire in twenty-four hours enough for you?" "i did _so_ want to go out once with ninety-four, an' it seems too bad to miss this chance for i'm not likely to get another." "why not?" "'cause i can't expect to sleep here very often, an' there's no show of my happenin' 'round at the very minute an alarm comes in." "don't be so certain about that. you'll go out with them yet, or i'm mightily mistaken. you'd better take pattern by your partner, and get what sleep you can. that's a rule we in the department have, and it comes handy at times." dan had leaped from the straw when the alarm first sounded; but instead of making any attempt to follow the engine, crept back again with a smile of content. it is not probable he would have deprived himself of sleep even if permission had been given for him to ride on the engine. seth lay down by dan's side, and despite his disappointment was soon slumbering peacefully; but only for half an hour, because at the end of that time he was awakened once more by the noisy return of ninety-four. the alarm had been sent in for a small blaze in one room of an apartment house, and was extinguished almost immediately by the company whose quarters were nearest the signal station, therefore ninety-four's men had no labor to perform. however, it became necessary to wash down, make ready for a new fire in the furnace of the engine, roll ninety-four and her tender to their respective places on the floor, adjust the harness, start the clock once more (for it had been stopped by the weight set free when the first stroke of the alarm rang out), and replace the weight which fastened the horses in their stalls. in a portion of this work seth assisted while dan remained apparently asleep on the straw, and when the captain had sent in to headquarters the three-fours, followed by ninety-four's number, thus telling that she was again ready for duty, 'lish davis said to the amateur: "you didn't miss much that time, eh?" "i missed going out with the company, sir." "i don't allow that cuts any very great figger, for there'll be many another chance when you're in better trim than you were this night." "anyway, i've helped wash up twice, an' that counts for something, 'cause i'm just so much ahead on points." "take care you don't stick your nose too near a fire some time, and get one point too many," the driver said with a smile as he ascended the stairs wearily, and seth called after him: "i'd rather it would be that way, mr. davis, than never know anythin' about the business." "you'll do, amateur, you'll do, if you're driven with a tight curb, an' that's what i count on seein' that you have." then seth lay down on the straw once more, and slept soundly during the two hours which followed. it was seven o'clock in the morning when he finally arose, and although he would have been pleased to remain there a while longer, the boy knew it was time to begin his day's work. dan grumbled not a little because seth insisted he should "turn out," declaring he had hardly slept a wink; but, understanding he would not be permitted to remain there very many moments longer now the men were already astir, he arose to his feet and lounged lazily around until seth had polished the boots of those members of the company who called upon him for such service. 'lish davis came down-stairs just as seth, his labor finished, was on the point of leaving the building, and he stopped the boy by asking in a friendly tone: "where are you off to now, amateur?" "out chasin' nickels. it's time we hustled if we expect to find lodgin's between now an' night." "flash up here about three o'clock this afternoon, and if i ain't in, wait for me." "all right, sir." then seth went out of doors followed by dan, and when they were on the sidewalk master roberts asked curiously: "what do you s'pose he's got on hand for you at three o'clock?" "most likely he don't want his boots shined till then." "it must be somethin' more'n that," dan replied, sagely. "of course it ain't. what else could he want of me?" "perhaps he's goin' to give you somethin' for what you did last night." "i'll feel awful bad if he does." "i'd like to know why?" "'cause then it would seem all the more as if i was really an outsider; he wouldn't give jerry walters anythin' for helpin' him out of a scrape." "i don't see as--jimminey! but there's jip collins! ain't he got the nerve to be snoopin' 'round here? say, we can nab him easy as a wink if you say the word!" "i don't want to have him arrested. anything like that wouldn't bring back our lodgin's." to the great surprise of the boys jip collins appeared relieved rather than frightened at seeing them, and instead of running away advanced rapidly, almost eagerly. "look here, seth, i'm mighty sorry i set fire to your place the other night, an' if there's any way to square it i'll hump myself the best i know how," he cried while yet some distance away. "it's a big pity you wasn't took in this style before you touched her off, for then seth and me wouldn't be huntin' a place to sleep," dan said sternly before his partner could speak. "i know that," jip wailed, and seth fancied there was a ring of real sorrow in his tones. "i must have been crazy to do it, an' after the match was dropped in the shavings i hoped they wouldn't catch fire. then i sent in the alarm, 'cause the light kept growin' brighter, an' nobody else saw it." "but you touched her off all the same," and it could readily be seen that dan's anger was getting the best of him. "yes, i did, an' of course you can have me sent up the river for it; but what good will that do you? say, seth, won't you let me square it somehow?" "it's all over now, jip, an' the only way to fix things is by keepin' mighty straight after this. _i_ don't want to send you up the river, nor i won't; but if the cops get to know who did it i'm afraid they'll run you in without tryin' to see whether i want it done or not." "i know all that, seth; but i don't believe i'll get jugged if sam barney keeps quiet. he says he's taken up the case, an' is goin' to push it straight through so's to show how good a detective he can be when there's a chance to spread hisself." "how do you know that?" dan asked suspiciously. "bill dean told me so. i met him up to the erie basin, where i've been hidin'." "why didn't you stay there?" "i did till i was 'most starved, an' had to come out to earn some money so's to buy grub. bill was round there last night lookin' for a feller what runs on a canal-boat, an' jest the same as tumbled over me." "you'd stood as good a show of earnin' money over in brooklyn or jersey city as here, an' then there wouldn't be so much danger of runnin' across anybody who knew you." "i'm goin' to williamsburg; but wanted to talk with you fellers first, so come up here where i could see if you was in ninety-four's house." "what are you countin' on doin' right now?" seth asked in a friendly tone. "find joe carter an' try to get the ten cents he owes me, so's i'll have somethin' to buy the first lot of papers with." "joe's gone to baltimore to live; went off last night," dan said promptly, and an expression of disappointment came over jip's face. "is he the only feller who owes you anythin'?" seth asked. "yes, an' i reckon he's the only one who would try to give me a lift after what i've done. he was----" "where's them swell brooklyn chums of yours?" dan interrupted. "they went dead back on me after i started the fire, an' bill dean says they told sam barney all about it. if sam would only let up on me i'd show that i could be as square as any of the fellers." "i don't reckon you'll ever do that," dan cried angrily, and seth added soothingly: "i'll see sam to-day, an' do all i can to make him drop the case, 'cause it don't seem to me he's got any right to take it up unless i say the word. now, i'm goin' to lend you fifteen cents, jip, an' you needn't worry 'bout payin' it back for quite a spell. there's plenty of places to sell papers in where the fellers don't know you, an' after a while you can come 'round city hall again." "you're goin' to lend me money after what i did?" jip cried in astonishment not unmixed with fear, for he failed to understand why the boy he had tried to injure should be so generous. "i counted on your thumpin' me, an' i'd stood still to let you do it----" "if seth bartlett has gone crazy there's no reason why i shouldn't serve you out, jip collins!" and dan advanced threateningly. "_i_ ain't sich a chump as to pay a feller for tryin' to burn me to death, an' i'm goin' to knock your two eyes into one, 'stead of throwin' away good money on a duffer like you!" jip made no effort to defend himself, and dan had raised his hand to strike the first blow when seth stepped in front of him. "don't do anythin' like that, dan! jip is sorry, an' there's nothin' more he can do or say." "there's a good deal more i can do!" and by this time master roberts had worked himself into a towering passion. "go away, jip!" seth cried, clasping dan by the body in such a manner as to pin the boy's arms to his side. "clear out, an' after he gets over his mad a little he'll come 'round all right." "it would only be servin' me in decent shape if he should jest about knock my head off," jip replied penitently, making no move toward seeking safety in flight. "i won't have dan fightin' in the streets, an' there's no reason now why you should be thumped," seth cried, speaking indistinctly because of his efforts to hold master roberts in check. "get away as quick as you can!" "i'll go if you say the word, though i ain't certain but he'd better do what he's tryin' for. you're a jim dandy, seth bartlett, an' i'll square everythin' with you some day. i'm sleepin' in a boat up at the erie basin, an' i wish you'd come there to see me; i'd like to let you know how sorry i am for what i did." dan was making the most strenuous efforts to free himself from seth's grasp, and the latter held him captive only by the greatest exertion. "don't hang 'round here any longer, jip! get away quick, an' i'll see you again some time." "will you come up to the basin?" "yes, yes," seth replied hurriedly, hardly understanding the promise he made because of his anxiety to prevent a fight, and jip started off rapidly, crying as he ran: "you're a dandy, seth bartlett, an' i'll pay you off for this as true as i live!" not until jip was two blocks or more away did seth release his hold and turn to face dan in his wrath. chapter vi. an obstinate detective. dan was in a fine temper when seth finally released his hold, and after understanding that it would be useless to pursue the fugitive he turned upon his partner savagely. "a nice kind of a chump you are! let a feller burn your house down, an' then pay him fifteen cents for doin' it! after that, when i make up my mind to give him the dose he needs, you turn against me to help him! i s'pose that's what you call bein' a chum of mine?" "that's exactly what it is, dan," seth replied soothingly. "after you've cooled off a bit you'll be glad i didn't let you pitch into a feller who wouldn't raise his hands." "he didn't 'cause he don't dare." "if a feller had any spunk about him he would dare to do all he could while somebody else was thumpin' him. jip feels bad for what he did to us, an' would stand still to let you pound him; but it couldn't have done you any good, dan. you don't want to get the name of bein' a bruiser." "i'd be willin' to take 'most any kind of a name rather'n let jip collins off without so much as turnin' a hair on his head!" "that's the way you feel jest now 'cause you're off your base; but wait a couple of hours, an' then you'll talk different." "i won't if i live to be twice as gray-headed as ever methuselah was, for it's a downright shame to let him go with money in his pockets after tryin' to kill us." "he was hungry." "it would do him solid good to starve to death." "he turned in the alarm, an' if he hadn't done that we'd been burned to death." "i notice he didn't do it till the fire got a mighty good start, an' then i reckon it was only 'cause he grew scared. if you're so 'fraid of gettin' your name up for fightin', you might er stood still and let me have a whack at him. i don't see how that could have hindered your slippin' into the department. i wouldn't be quite so mad if you hadn't given him the money." "he was hungry, dan, an' i'd do that much for the biggest duffer in the town." dan made no reply to this remark; but with his hands plunged deep in his pockets walked swiftly away in the direction of city hall as if his one desire was to be free from his partner. seth was not minded to let him go while in a temper, but at the same time he knew full well that it would be useless to attempt to stop him with words, therefore he followed without further remark, biding his time until the proper moment should come when the "soft answer" could be given. without looking to the right or the left dan continued on, much as if bent on running away from his partner, until ten minutes had elapsed, when he halted suddenly, wheeled about and addressed seth with his usual friendly manner: "there's sam barney over by that alley!" glancing in the direction indicated by dan's outstretched finger, seth saw the would-be detective moving cautiously along, looking stealthily around, and otherwise behaving as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses. "do you s'pose he's countin' on findin' jip collins in that fool way?" "i reckon he thinks he's doin' the detective act in great shape," dan replied with a laugh, all traces of ill-humor having vanished. "he says a feller in his line of business has to keep his eyes open every minute, an' sneakin' along in that style is what he 'most likely calls bein' wide awake." sam had arrived at the corner of the alley, and instead of walking boldly in to make a search, was standing where he might be partially screened by the building, craning his head forward for a single glance, and then drawing it back suddenly, repeating these movements about every thirty seconds with great regularity. dan gave full rein to his mirth, for this method of playing the detective seemed to him very comical; but seth checked him whenever his laughter became boisterous. "if he sees us pokin' fun at him we won't be able to make any kind of a trade, an' i don't want to stir the feller up till things are fixed." "what things?" "i want him to promise that he won't go prowlin' 'round the town after jip collins." "see here, seth, are you countin' on keepin' that racket up?" "if you mean am i goin' to give jip a lift by tryin' to keep that imitation detective quiet, i'll say 'yes.' we both have got good reason to be mighty ugly because he burned us out; but it's all over now, an' he's sorry. let's give him one more show--you an' i--an' if he goes wrong after this i won't say a word against your doin' whatever you like." the lines on dan's face hardened as if he was determined nothing should turn him from his purpose of punishing jip in such manner as he believed the latter's misdemeanors warranted; but after one glance at his partner the anger vanished. "go ahead, seth, an' fix it up to suit you; i'll do what i can this time, even if it does rub against the grain. it ain't because i'm feelin' sorry for jip; but jest to please you." "so long as you do what i ask it don't make very much difference whether it's for jip or me, an' you won't be sorry, old man. now we'll tackle sam, an' see if we can make him behave himself for a spell." "i reckon you'll find that a mighty hard job. he's stuck on the detective business as bad as you are on gettin' into the department, an' this is the kind of a case he don't get a whack at very often. i s'pose he thinks that catchin' jip would put him way up on the top notch." seth did not spend any time arguing the matter with his partner; but called loudly to the would-be detective: "hi! sam! come over here a minute!" master barney pretended not to have heard the summons, although the words rang out clear and distinct above the noises of the street; but continued his grotesque manner of reconnoitering the alley, and again seth shouted: "come over here, sam! there's no need of your bobbin' 'round in that style, 'cause nobody is in the alley except a couple of little kids, who wouldn't be very much frightened if you walked right up on 'em." this time sam turned, affected to be greatly surprised at seeing these acquaintances, and then crossed the street, apparently in an ill-temper. "don't you know any better'n to break up what a feller's fixin'?" he asked angrily as he stood before seth and dan. "i was doin' some mighty fine work, an' you've spoiled it all by yellin' so loud. now the folks in there know i'm 'round, an' won't so much as show theirselves." "do you reckon they believe you're a detective?" dan asked, trying in vain to check his mirth. "of course i do!" sam replied hotly. "folks have heard of me before this, an' it stands me in hand to keep out of sight all i can." "who did you think was in the alley?" seth asked. "i'm lookin' for more'n one in this town, an' counted on finishin' up two or three little jobs in the detective line before i lighted out to nab jip collins." "do you know where he is?" and seth appeared disturbed. "what kind of a detective do you allow i am if i don't know that? i've got it all figgered out, an' most likely i'll take a spin over to philadelphy to-night. if i do, you'll see him in court to-morrow mornin'." "oh, has he gone over there?" dan asked with a great show of interest, pursing his mouth into shape for whistling to prevent an outburst of laughter. "that's about the size of it; but he needn't think he can run away from me." "look here, sam," and now seth spoke in a serious tone; "jip didn't try to hurt anybody but dan an' me, an' we don't want you to bother him. we're willin' to give him a fair show, 'cause he'll take a big turn after this." "i can't help what you want," the detective replied obstinately. "when i know that a feller has been burnin' up houses it's my business to run him in, an' i'm goin' to do it." "what is it to you, so long as we're satisfied?" dan asked sharply. "see here, ain't i a detective?" "i ain't so certain of that," master roberts cried promptly. "i guess other people know it if you don't, 'cause i've had more'n one case in this town. now, so long as that is my business i'm bound to take up anythin' i hear about, an'----" "other detectives don't do that; they wait till the chief sends 'em out, or somebody hires 'em." dan's reply staggered sam for an instant; but he soon bethought himself of what seemed to be the proper answer, and replied: "that would be all right if i was on the force; but so long as i ain't it stands me in hand to work my way along, same's seth's tryin' to do in the fire department. if i can catch jip collins and send him up the river, it'll be a big feather in my cap." "would you be willin' to send a feller to jail so's you might get ahead in the business?" seth asked reproachfully. "course i would." "ain't there anythin' we can do to stop you from tryin' to run jip down?" "you might talk till you was black in the face, an' then i wouldn't let up." understanding that it was useless to hold any further converse with this obstinate detective in the hope of turning him from his purpose, seth motioned to dan, and set off down-town without a word to sam by way of adieu. "i'll be in philadelphy to-night, an' to-morrow mornin' jip collins will be in the lock-up!" master barney shouted vindictively, and, glancing back, dan saw him approaching the alley once more with cautious steps, as if it were beneath his dignity as an officer of the law to move in any other fashion. "it'll be all right if he goes to philadelphy," dan said sagely; "but i'm mightily afraid he won't get money enough to buy a ticket on the cars." "i don't believe he ever thought of goin' there till we talked with him, an' then only said it to let us believe he knew where jip was. sam ain't any kind of a detective; but he can make a lot of trouble for jip." seth was disturbed in mind because of the possibilities that master barney would work mischief for jip collins, and dan shared in such forebodings, although in a much less degree. the two were walking on in silence, each trying to devise some plan whereby it would be possible to divert the amateur detective from his purpose, when they suddenly came face to face with bill dean. "hello, where are you fellers goin'?" "to work." "kind-er late this mornin', eh?" "yes; but we'll make up for it by pluggin' in all the harder after we begin." bill hesitated an instant as if hardly daring to say that which was in his mind, and then asked in a meaning tone: "seen anybody in partic'lar this mornin'?" "yes, we saw jip, an' then run across sam barney," seth replied. "i suppose sam still holds to it that he'll pull jip in?" "yes, an' he counted on findin' him in philadelphy, 'cordin' to his talk." "look here, seth, you've got good reason to make it hot for jip after all he's----" "i wouldn't do a thing to hurt him, an' stand ready to give him a lift if he needs it." "you're straight as a die, seth bartlett, an' i'll bet you won't be sorry for lettin' up on him, for i'm thinkin' jip will run different after this." "i hope so; but he ain't out of the woods till somebody sets down on sam barney. we've been tryin' to make him stop; but he won't, 'cause he thinks it'll give him a big name if he arrests jip. he's up by sweeney's alley bobbin' round like a jumpin'-jack." "say!" dan cried, as a sudden and what seemed like a happy thought came into his mind. "sam says jip is in philadelphy; now, s'posen all hands chipped in enough to buy a ticket for him to go there? he'd never get back, 'cause he don't earn a dollar in a month, an' jip wouldn't be bothered." this plan appealed strongly to both seth and dan, and the latter asked as to the probable cost of such a scheme. this was a question neither of the boys could answer, and after some thought master dean agreed to make the necessary inquiries without delay. "dan an' me will ante up a nickel apiece to get rid of him, an' in case you don't have to pay too much, the other fellers who wouldn't want to see jip sent to jail ought'er put in the balance." master dean was quite as eager to aid jip as was seth, and without waiting to discuss the matter further started off on his errand of mercy. then the partners were at liberty to set about the work of the day; but it was now so late that they could not expect to earn very much money. "we'll come out mighty slim for supper, i'm thinkin'," dan said grimly. "you've got to knock off in time to meet 'lish davis at three o'clock, an' the trade in evenin' papers won't be much more'n begun by then." "you needn't go up with me if you don't want to--i can meet you after the day's work is over." "but i do want to go; i wouldn't miss knowin' what the driver has got to say, not if i went without supper an' breakfast too." "i could tell you all about it." "yes; but i want to hear for myself," dan replied decidedly, and thus the matter was concluded. seth worked industriously once he was in that section of the city where certain rights he claimed were respected by his brother artisans, and although the majority of the fraternity were fully occupied in discussing the question of what sam barney might succeed in doing, he refused to spend any idle time, however much interest he felt in the matter. dan also attended strictly to business, regardless of the many temptations to remain idle, and at two o'clock in the afternoon the partners had earned as much as would suffice to provide them with food during at least two days; but the question of lodgings yet remained to be settled. "we'll go up now to see what mr. davis wants, an' then we must hustle for lodgin's. there'll be no more hangin' 'round ninety-four's house after dark, 'cause it looks too much as if we was beggin'," seth said as he met dan, who reported that it wouldn't pay to buy another stock of papers that day. master roberts made no reply to this remark. he secretly hoped that it might be possible for them to sleep in the engine-house one more night at least, and believed seth was foolishly sensitive about the matter. according to his views on the subject, there was no good reason why they should not go even so far as to ask the firemen for a shelter, more particularly since they appeared to be so well disposed toward seth. the two boys arrived in the vicinity of the engine-house ten minutes before the time set, and seth insisted that they should not present themselves until the hour named, consequently both lounged around near by until the clock struck three, when they marched boldly up to the open door. the driver was on the lower floor as if awaiting their arrival, and greeted seth in a manner both familiar and kind: "so you've come, have you, amateur? i was beginning to think you'd struck a business rush, and i shouldn't see you before to-morrow." "you said we was to come at three o'clock, so i waited 'round till then." "afraid to get here ahead of time, eh?" "i thought it was best to do as you told us, though we've been loafin' outside for ten minutes." mr. davis chuckled audibly, as if in the statement was something very comical, and not until after several seconds had elapsed did he speak, when it was to ask: "well, what have you two kids done about finding a place where you can sleep?" "we're goin' to hustle lively after we leave here. we had to earn a little money first, an' it was pretty late when we got down-town, so we couldn't do any huntin'; but you can make certain some place will flash up before dark." "i wouldn't wonder if it did, amateur, i wouldn't wonder if it did. what made you late in getting down-town? i thought you left here earlier than usual." "so we did, sir; but we met jip collins, an'----" "the kid who started the fire in the lumber-yard?" "yes, sir, an' he's mighty sorry for what he did." then seth repeated what had been said by the repentant boy, and gave a detailed account of the interview with sam barney, all of which appeared wonderfully amusing, not only to 'lish davis, but to all the men on the floor. "and are you allowing to adopt this 'ere kid who is setting himself up as a firebug?" the driver asked when seth had concluded the story. "i'd like to give him one more show, for i don't believe he'll go wrong again, an' if we can get sam barney so far away that he can't come back, it may be done." "but what about us? we're bound to give up all such information as we may happen to run across, and it's a serious matter to keep a close tongue on anything of that kind." "have you _got_ to get jip arrested?" seth asked in alarm. "it's our duty, and i ain't so certain that he's reformed." "but you never can know till he's been given a chance, an' it would be mighty tough if he had to have it put down against him when he grows up, that he's been in jail." "i grant you all that, amateur, yet the law says man or boy must pay the penalty for arson, and it wouldn't be fair to make an exception in his case." "what do you mean by arson?" "that's the name given to the crime of setting fires, and when the trick is played in the night, in a building where people are living, it costs the criminal a good many years of his life." 'lish davis was speaking very seriously now, and seth literally trembled with apprehension for jip. "ain't there anything i can do to help the poor feller out of the scrape?" he asked in a tone which told that the tears were very near his eyelids. "that's what i can't say right on the spur of the minute; but i'll think the matter over, and it may be we'll see a way out if you're dead sure he won't try any more such games." "i don't believe he will, 'cause he's feelin' mighty bad, an' promises to be straight after this." "i've thought all along that he ought'er be sent up for startin' the fire," dan said with an air of exceeding wisdom; "but seth has been makin' such a row about givin' him another chance that i had to hold my tongue." "i wouldn't be surprised if the amateur was nearer in the right than you are, daniel, though the officers of the law may look at the matter in a different light. however, the young reprobate hasn't been caught yet, even if that keen-eyed detective of yours is on his track, and we'll drop the subject for a spell. what i wanted to see the amateur about was lodgings." dan's eyes sparkled, for he felt certain they were to be given quarters in the engine-house, and seth looked really distressed. "what's the matter?" 'lish davis asked in surprise as he noted the expression on the boy's face. "it don't seem to strike you right because i'm thinking of where you'll find a shelter." "i'm 'fraid it'll seem like as if dan an' i were beggin' for a bed. we can find one after a spell, an' it wouldn't be any new thing if we knocked around the streets a few nights." "now, don't distress yourself on the score of begging," the driver said with a hearty laugh. "i've come to know how thin-skinned you are on that point, and ain't counting on giving either of you the value of a pin. but it so happens that a friend of mine lives in the next block, and he's got a room in his attic that he's just dying to let. i was telling him about you kids, and he'll make what i call a fair trade." "do you mean that we're to hire a reg'lar room?" seth asked in surprise. "why not, if it comes cheap enough? now, this 'ere place i'm speaking of ain't very swell, and i don't allow he could let it to any but boys like you. he'll give a lease of it, with bed and such furniture thrown in as his wife can scare up, for fifty cents a week. by blacking ben dunton's and my boots five mornings a week you'll have the price earned, and it'll pay a heap better than skinning 'round the streets, likely to be moved on by a policeman a dozen times 'twixt sunset and sunrise." seth looked suspiciously at 'lish davis. the possibility of hiring a "reg'lar room" at such a low price had never before entered his mind, and he feared there might be something in regard to the transaction which was being kept a secret from him. "now, then, amateur, what are you staring at? do you think i'd give you any fairy story about the place? you'd better have a look at it before thinking it's a very big bargain," and the driver leaned back in his chair laughing heartily, although seth could not understand what had so excited his mirth. "we'll be mighty glad to get lodgin's at that price," dan said promptly, and mr. davis handed him a card, on the back of which was written an address, saying as he did so: "go to that place, and ask to see the room 'lish davis was talking about. if it suits you, take it, and if it don't there's been no great harm done." "you're mighty good to think of us in this way," seth said, feeling almost ashamed because of his previous mistrust. "yes, i reckon i am; but we'll hope it don't spoil me," and again the driver gave way to his mirth. chapter vii. new lodgings. dan was so eager to see the new lodgings that he could not wait with any degree of patience until seth had fully satisfied himself regarding certain matters connected with the leasing of them, but insisted on setting out at once, and his partner felt obliged to accompany him. arriving at the address given them by 'lish davis, they found affairs exactly as he had stated. the room which had been offered at such a low rental was in the attic of an old-fashioned, pitch-roof house, and although it was not such an apartment as could readily have been let to adults, to the boys it appeared as the acme of comfort and even luxury. mrs. hanson, the mistress of the dwelling, had provided a fairly good bed for the lodgers, and the clothing on it looked so rest-inviting that dan declared that it was hard to resist the temptation to "turn in" at once. there were two chairs, a rude stand on which were a water-pitcher and a basin, a small mirror, and an old table. the window boasted of a curtain; but the floor was carpetless, save for two well-worn rugs. dan, fearing lest seth might refuse to hire this very swell apartment because of the suspicion that some of ninety-four's men had agreed to pay a certain portion of the rental in order that it might be offered at an exceedingly low price, promptly announced his willingness to take the room, and when this had been done it seemed to master bartlett as if he was in duty bound to ratify the bargain. "we'll pay in advance," he said, as he counted out the required amount, thereby reducing his cash account to an exceedingly small margin. "there's no need of your doing anything like that," mrs. hanson replied kindly. "mr. davis says he'll guarantee that the rent is paid promptly, and that should be enough for me, without taking money before it is due." "mr. davis is mighty good, but there's no reason why he should back a couple of boys who are able to pay their own way. the rent is so cheap i was 'fraid he'd been puttin' up money on our account, so's we could afford to hire it." "he said you were mighty independent, and i guess he's right; but you needn't be afraid of getting any more than you pay for. this room couldn't be let to many people, and those who would be willing to live in such a place we would not want in the house, except in a case like yours, where a friend of ours says everything is as it should be. mr. davis is a very nice man." "you can jest bet he is," seth replied emphatically. "he's been mighty good to me." then, having counted the money and promised to give a receipt in due form for the same, mrs. hanson left her new lodgers, and dan cried when they were alone: "say, seth, this kind-er knocks the spots out er baxter's shed, eh? it ain't costin' me but ten cents a week more'n the other place did, an' that bed is worth three times them figgers. talk 'bout fifteen-cent lodgin's! why, the best i ever saw wasn't a marker alongside of this!" "it's fine, an' no mistake; but we've got to put up twenty-five cents every week for it." "that'll be all right. i owe you a quarter for this week's rent, an' i'll pay it to-morrow or next day; i've got enough in my pocket now, but kind-er reckoned on havin' a swell lay-out to-night for a celebration. hold on here, an' i'll go after some grub." "do you s'pose we ought'er thank mr. davis now for findin' the room for us?" "it'll do jest as well in the mornin', an' you're so 'fraid of hangin' 'round the engine-house that it don't seem as if you'd better go there for nothin' else but to tell him what we think of the place." seth would have been pleased could he have told ninety-four's driver what he thought of the new quarters, but dan's suggestion as to "hangin' 'round" was sufficient to prevent him from venturing out. then he tried to dissuade dan from squandering his money on a feast, arguing that it would be wiser to keep what he had lest there should be a sudden lull in business; but master roberts refused to listen. "unless you're 'fraid to trust me for my share of the rent, i'm goin' to spread myself to-night. it's too bad we hadn't known 'bout this before we come up-town, for then we might er knocked the eyes out er some of the fellers by showin' it to 'em." "i don't believe we'd better have too much company, or miss hanson will make a kick. it ain't likely she's willin' to have a crowd of fellers rushin' in and out for fifty cents a week." "i s'pose that's so; but all the same i'd like to have the gang see how we're fixed." then master roberts went out to make the purchases, and seth was left alone to familiarize himself with his seemingly luxurious surroundings. fully half an hour elapsed before dan returned, and then he was accompanied by master dean. "i found bill hangin' 'round ninety-four's house lookin' for you, an' thought the best thing i could do was to bring him right up here," dan said as he ostentatiously placed half a dozen small packages on the table. "ain't you fellers slingin' a terrible lot of style?" bill asked, as he gazed around him. "it strikes me that business must be boomin' if you can afford all this." "it'll only cost twenty-five cents a week for each one of us," seth replied, as if thinking something in the way of an apology was necessary. "what?" and master dean was so thoroughly astonished as to be unable to speak for several seconds. then he cried eagerly: "say, you don't want to take another feller in, i s'pose? i'd like to get sich a snap as this!" "i don't know as miss hanson would want to take another lodger. you might ask her, though, after we've been here a spell." "why not have it settled now?" "it seems to me as if you'd better hold off for a while till she sees how we flash up. 'cordin' to what she said, i don't believe we'd got in here if it hadn't been for mr. davis." "i'd like to come mighty well," bill said longingly, and then his attention was attracted to dan's movements. master roberts was busily engaged displaying his purchases on the table in such a manner as to make the greatest possible show, and there was no question but that he had succeeded in "layin' himself out in great shape." fully a pound of bologna sausage cut in thick slices, four large crullers, two smoked herrings, two ham sandwiches, a pint of peanuts, and four apples caused the shaky table to look as if literally laden with dainties. dan pushed it toward the bed, that one of the party might sit there, placed the two chairs at either end, and invited his companions to join in the feast. "pitch in an' fill yourselves way up full! this is the first swell house i ever lived in, an' i'm willin' to pay for style. after this i reckon seth an' me will skin along for grub same's we've allers done, but i'm goin' to have one blow-out if it takes every cent i've got." no second invitation was needed, and not until a goodly portion of the eatables had disappeared did either speak. then it was bill dean who broke the partial silence. "say, i've raised money enough to send sam barney to philadelphy, if you fellers come up with the nickels you promised." "how much will it cost?" and dan began searching his pockets for the contribution which had been promised in his name. "i can get the duffer over there for seventy-five cents, by sendin' him with the emigrants. i gave him a big stiff this afternoon 'bout how we fellers would give him a chance to show how much of a detective he is, an' he puffed 'way up, allowin' there wasn't many men on the force in this town who could beat him. he believes it's a great snap to go off huntin' after jip, an' hasn't got head enough to think of how he'll get back." "here's my nickel," and seth produced the money, dan following his partner's example. "i'll be glad if we can get rid of sam; but i'm 'fraid that won't settle things for jip." then he repeated all 'lish davis had said regarding the matter, and when he concluded master dean was looking remarkably serious. "if the firemen are goin' to run jip down, there ain't much show we can keep him out er trouble. don't you s'pose the driver would kind-er help somehow?" "from what he said this afternoon it didn't seem as if he would, but perhaps he'll change his mind after a while," dan replied, not minded to cloud this first merry-making in the new home by disagreeable thoughts, and attempted to change the subject of the conversation by speculating as to what sort of a welcome sam barney was most likely to receive from the philadelphia boys. "they'll think he's a mighty good feller till he lets out strong on what he can do in the detective business, an' then they'll tumble to him," bill dean replied with the air of one who has closed an argument finally. "so long as he leaves town we needn't bother our heads about him; it's jip i'm thinkin' of, an' it seems to me as if we ought'er see him mighty soon." "why?" dan asked in surprise. "because he must know what 'lish davis says, else he's likely to knock 'round ninety-four's house 'most any time." "why don't you hunt him up?" "it's too late to tackle the job to-night; but what's to stop all three of us from goin' to the erie basin after sam barney leaves town? of course you're countin' on seein' him off?" "i ought'er 'tend right out on business," seth replied thoughtfully; "but perhaps i can waste time enough for that." "course you can. if you don't get through with the shinin' at the engine-house as early as usual, i'll hold him over till the next train. then we can skip up to the basin, an' be back in time to start in with the last editions of the evenin' papers." after some reflection and many misgivings as to whether he was warranted in devoting so much of his time to others, seth decided to do as bill had suggested, and a place of meeting was agreed on. then master dean took his departure, after congratulating the partners on having found such pleasant quarters, and reminding them for at least the tenth time that they had promised to ask mrs. hanson if she would take another lodger. when they were alone once more seth set about clearing away the remnants of the feast, and while he was thus employed dan paced to and fro, admiring himself in the mirror as he passed and repassed it in such attitudes as he believed befitted a boy who was the lessee of such a swell apartment. seth was not in a mood for conversation. the question in his mind was as to whether he was bettering or weakening his chances for admission into the department by thus occupying regular lodgings. the argument was very equally balanced. in the first place, he had followed 'lish davis's advice, and by so doing it hardly seemed as if he could go astray; but as opposed to this was the fact that he was not as likely to be awakened by ninety-four when she responded to an alarm, and, consequently, his opportunities for getting points would scarcely be as good. however, he settled the matter with himself finally by reflecting that he had already taken the step, and could not well back out now after having agreed to occupy the apartment, therefore it was unwise to indulge in misgivings. there was no trouble in dan's mind; he was thoroughly well satisfied with the situation, and instead of discussing any possibilities, he congratulated seth and himself very heartily. "all this swellin' will cost us twenty-five cents a week, an' it stands us in hand to scoop the biggest good time out of it we can. i'm goin' to turn in, for what's the use of payin' for a bed if you only get into it for the sake of sleepin'? i want 'er lay awake a spell so's to know what a great racket i'm havin'." he had made his preparations for retiring while seth yet stood at the window looking out thoughtfully, and once beneath the clothing cried excitedly: "say, hurry up an' get in here! this is the greatest snap i ever struck! it's twice as soft as what we slept in over to ninety-four's house, an' when trade is dull i'll come up here an' snooze all the time." "you'll stand a good chance of goin' broke if you do," seth replied with a laugh, and then he joined his partner. dan was not able to remain awake very long for the purpose of realizing what a "great racket" he was having, for slumber closed his eyes shortly after he lay down, and the day had fully dawned before he was again aware of his surroundings. but for seth, master roberts might have slept until noon, and even when he was aroused the desire to linger in that rest-inviting bed was so great that he proposed to neglect work in order to remain there. "you go over to the engine-house, an' i'll stay here till you've finished your job there. i don't b'lieve papers will sell very well to-day." "see here, dan, if you're goin' to loaf in bed half the time it'll be best for us to stop swellin', else we shan't earn enough to pay the rent. you must come down to business, an' might as well begin now, for it won't be any easier to get up to-morrow." dan was disposed to grumble a little at thus being forced to arise; but once he had plunged his face into a basin of cold water his indolence vanished. the boys made a hearty breakfast from the remains of the previous night's feast, and then dan hurried away to purchase his stock of papers while seth went to the engine-house. "well, how did you sleep last night?" the driver asked as he entered. "great! that place is away up in g; but the only trouble is that i shan't know when ninety-four goes out." "it won't hurt if you don't. i've about made up my mind that such business must be stopped." seth looked at 'lish in pained surprise, and there was an ominous quivering of his lip as he asked: "what's the reason i can't turn out at the fires? i'll never get ahead if i don't pick up points." "that isn't the best way to do it, my boy," the driver said in a kindly tone. "i've been thinking about your plan of getting into the department, and come to the conclusion that, seeing's you're so set on it, we'd better lend a hand." the expression of sorrow on seth's face changed very suddenly as the driver ceased speaking an instant, and in its place came a flush of joy so great as to seemingly prevent him from speaking. "yes, amateur, all of us have taken up the idea that you're to be a fireman, though i don't say as it's the kind of a life a boy should hanker for, and we've been working to get you into a place where you can learn the business." "do you really mean that?" seth cried, fearing lest he had misunderstood the words. "i shouldn't be saying it if i didn't, amateur," davis continued, gravely. "of course you can't expect any promise of a place in the department till you've got more years on your head; but we've struck a plan which will work all right if you're the lad i've always taken you to be." seth was literally breathless now. it would have been impossible for him to speak, and seeing how great was the suspense mr. davis added quickly: "we've got a job for you up at headquarters. you'll be called on to sweep floors, wash windows, build fires, and do odd jobs generally; but at the same time you'll be in what's called the general school of instruction--where the men who want to get into the department are put on probation, so to speak. it's been promised us who run with ninety-four, that if you behave yourself you shall have a chance to learn the drill, and once that has been done, amateur, you'll be in shape to join us as soon's you've got size to your body." big tears of delight stood in seth's eyes as he stammered and hesitated in trying to give words to his gratitude, and understanding what was in his mind, 'lish davis added: "never mind about trying to say anything, amateur. we don't want thanks now, because we'll get them when you show yourself the kind of a boy we've claimed you are. it's a case of your picking up points all the time; but you'll have plenty of hard work, and mighty poor pay. you'll get two dollars a week and your grub. later i'm reckoning you can sleep in the building; but at the start it's a case of having a home elsewhere, and mrs. hanson's house about fills the bill." "two dollars every week is big money," seth managed to say. "not so much as it seems just now, because you'll need to come out a bit stronger in the way of clothes. we can't afford to have you go there togged out the way you are, because we've said you were a kid that belonged to us. all hands here have chipped in to buy a full suit like our own, with the exception of the brass buttons, and you must take it as a present from us. there'll be no squirming on account of accepting the present, otherwise you don't go on the new job. we'll have the togs ready in a couple of days, and from this out you'll do no more shining 'round the town. spend to-day and to-morrow in settling up your business, and then we'll launch you into the berth from which you'll come out a fireman, if it so be you 'tend right close to work. we've cracked you up mighty high, amateur, and if you don't toe the mark it'll be the same as proving us liars." again seth tried to speak, and again he failed, whereupon 'lish davis said gruffly: "i reckon you want time to think it over, amateur. take a spin 'round town closing out your boot-blacking business, and flash up here this evening. remember, there's to be no more running to fires except you get a straight invitation from some of ninety-four's men." "of course i'll black boots here same as i've allers done?" seth said in a tremulous voice. "it won't look well, amateur, it won't look well." "but i'd a good deal rather, mr. davis. you an' all hands here have been mighty good to me, an' there's no other way i can show how i feel about it." "you can keep your eyes wide open up to headquarters, and that'll do us more good than if you kept our boots in a regular patent-leather polish all the time." "please let me do somethin' for you, mr. davis. i'll get on up at headquarters as fast as any feller can; but i want to keep my job here so's to show how i feel on account of what you're doin' for me." all the members of the company who were on the lower floor had listened to this conversation, and now, when 'lish davis hesitated to give the desired permission, ben dunton cried: "let amateur manoeuvre as he likes, 'lish. i don't wonder he wants to do what he can, an' so long as he doesn't black boots anywhere except here, i can't see that it'll work any harm." "all right, amateur," mr. davis said after a brief hesitation; "you shall do as ben thinks is right, though there must be no more of that business outside of this house, 'cause you've just the same as begun to hatch into a fireman, and we can't afford to have it said we couldn't ante up enough to keep you going." seth was delighted at receiving such permission, for by thus being allowed to work for ninety-four's men it was as if he occupied a definite place among them; whereas if this had been denied it would have seemed almost as if he had been cast out. he blacked every pair of boots he could find, and at first refused to take pay for the labor; but 'lish davis prevented such gratuitous work by saying sternly: "take your pay like a man, amateur, and look pleasant about it. there'll be no chance for you to handle the city's money until after being at headquarters a month, and in the meantime you've got to pay your bills. i did count on lending you enough to pull through on; but perhaps this will be the best way. what about that firebug of yours? has the imitation detective caught him yet?" seth told of bill dean's plan to prevent sam from working mischief, and the story caused the men to laugh heartily. "that boy bill must have quite a head on his shoulders," 'lish davis said when his mirth had so far subsided that it was possible for him to speak. "you can tell the firebug that he'd better give this section of the city a wide berth for a spell, and if he walks a chalk-line it may be he won't be troubled about that crime of his. if he should get funny in that way again, however, we'll bring this case up in a jiffy, and he'll get a long taste of prison life." "then you will keep the officers from arrestin' him?" seth asked eagerly. "i didn't say that, amateur. it may happen that he won't be troubled while he does what is right; but there's been no promises made." when seth had finally finished the work of blacking boots to his satisfaction, he put the box and brushes away upstairs, and approaching 'lish davis, said in a whisper: "you've been awful good to me, an' i promise you shan't be sorry for it." "i believe you, amateur, i believe you, else i wouldn't have turned a hand in the business, even though you did do me a precious good turn the other night. you're now in a fair way to get into the department; but from this out it all depends upon yourself. keep moving as you've been doing since i first saw you, and it'll come out all right in the long run." then seth left the building on his way down-town, and it is safe to say that in all the city of new york there was not another as happy as he, for it seemed just then as if the goal he had set himself was very near at hand. chapter viii. jip collins's retreat. so excited was seth by this sudden and unexpected change in his fortunes that he could not bring himself to walk demurely down-town as he was in the custom of doing; but ran swiftly more than half the distance, repeating to himself over and over again: "i'm really goin' into the department after all!" he was so highly elated when he met dan that the latter instantly understood something of the utmost importance had transpired, and asked eagerly: "what's flashed up on you, seth? got a big job?" "indeed i have! i'm goin' into the department!" "wha--wha--what?" "i'm goin' into the department. mr. davis an' the rest of ninety-four's men have got me a job up at headquarters where i'll have a chance to learn all the business, an' then when i'm big enough, if my record is all right, i'll slip in for a fireman as easy as winkin'." "look here, seth, what kind of a stiff are you tryin' to give me?" dan asked sharply. "it's a straight tip, old man. mr. davis jest told me all about it, an' says i mustn't black boots any more except for ninety-four's men. he didn't even want me to do that; but i hung on till mr. dunton backed me up, an' he finally gave in. say, do you know they've bought a uniform for me jest like they wear, only there's no brass buttons on it." "oh, go 'way, seth. you've slipped your trolley." "no, it's all straight goods, dan. what kept me up there so long this mornin' was talkin' 'bout it. i'm to go to-night and get the clothes. the only thing that worries me is i can't pay for them myself." "anybody'd think to hear you talk that was hard luck. look here, seth, if what you've been givin' me is straight, you've struck a terrible snap, an' a feller who'd kick 'cause somebody gives him a suit of clothes, ought'er go bare-backed." "it would look a good deal better, dan, if i had the money to buy the things, rather than let them give 'em to me." "i ain't so certain 'bout that. the biggest part of it is gettin' 'em, an' if they're willin' to put up i'd say let 'em buy anythin' they wanted. look here, i can't quite get it through my head that things is the way you tell, 'cause it don't seem likely a boy could get in at headquarters." seth repeated to his partner all that 'lish davis had said, and when the story was concluded master roberts commented on it in this fashion: "you'll be out er sight, seth; that's all there is to it!" then, realizing how his brother news-venders might be surprised, he added, "come on quick, an' let's tell as many fellers as we can before we go to see bill dean ship sam barney to philadelphy!" seth was by no means averse to making known his good fortune, and very shortly afterward the two were surrounded by a throng of incredulous news-venders and bootblacks, the majority of whom insisted that "they wouldn't be stuffed with any such yarns, 'cause of course a feller as small as seth bartlett couldn't get a job in the department, even if it was only to sweep floors, wash windows, an' that sort of thing. besides, if he was taken on at headquarters, nobody would give him a show of learnin' the drill." bill dean called dan aside, and after first persuading him to cross his throat with his fingers in order that he should be put on oath, as it were, asked regarding the truth of the statements made. "it's jest as i said, an' he's goin' to have a reg'lar uniform, all but the buttons, to-night." "did you hear any of ninety-four's men say so?" "i wasn't there, of course; but you know seth bartlett don't go 'round shootin' his mouth off the way some of the fellers do, an' you can hang up to everythin' he says; so i'm certain it's true." "it must be," bill replied in a tone of conviction, and then approaching seth gravely he extended his hand, saying as the amateur fireman grasped it: "i'm mighty glad you've struck it so rich, old man, an' that's a fact. all of us know you've been runnin' to fires pretty reg'lar; but we never b'lieved you'd really get into the department." "i ain't there yet," seth replied modestly; "but mr. davis says it'll be my own fault if i don't get in, so you can make up your mind i'll keep my eyes open mighty wide." one by one seth's business acquaintances followed bill's example in the matter of giving credence to the wonderful story, until it was a generally accepted fact that no more than the truth had been told. there were some doubters, however; but they were so few in number that it seemed as if there was no longer any question regarding the matter, and during the half-hour which followed seth was kept busy answering the questions of the curious and, perhaps, envious ones. the astounding news brought by seth and dan had caused sam barney's friends and acquaintances to forget for the time being that this promising detective was about to depart from new york; but bill dean, who had taken it upon himself to thus aid jip collins, soon bethought himself of the business in hand, and reminded the others of their duty by saying: "look here, fellers, we mustn't hang 'round here much longer, else there won't be a chance of gettin' sam away to-day. he's got to go on the emigrant train, an' the railroad folks will look for him jest as i said, 'cause i made a good deal of talk 'bout his bein' a detective. you see i thought they'd be glad to have him go on their cars if we could make 'em b'lieve half as much as sam tells 'bout himself." thus reminded of their duty the young merchants set out in a body for the cortlandt street ferry, much to the annoyance of those pedestrians against whom they jostled and tumbled in their eagerness to make way through the crowded thoroughfare. the amateur detective was found at the corner of west street, where he had promised to await bill dean's coming, and one glance at the throng which had gathered to do him honor, as he believed, filled his heart with pride. "they're beginnin' to find out that i'm no slouch of a detective after all, hey?" he said in a confidential whisper to bill, and the latter replied in a matter-of-fact tone: "i ain't certain you'd have seen so many of 'em, sam, if it hadn't been that they was all in a bunch listenin' to the news 'bout seth bartlett, an' after hearin' it was in good trim for anythin'." "what's the news 'bout seth?" sam asked with mild curiosity. "why, he's goin' into the department." "who? seth bartlett?" "yep. that is, it's jest 'bout the same thing. ninety-four's men have found him a job up to headquarters where he'll have a chance to learn the business, 'cause there's what you might call a school for firemen up there." sam remained silent fully an instant gazing at his friend in open-mouthed astonishment, and then he said emphatically if not a trifle viciously: "i don't b'lieve a word of it; that's one of seth bartlett's yarns!" "he ain't the kind of feller that goes 'round lyin', an' it would be a chump trick for him to begin it now, 'cause if he don't flash up in that uniform by to-morrow night we'll know he's been stuffin' us." "well, maybe there's _somethin'_ in it," sam replied grudgingly, after a brief hesitation; "but it seems to me the fire department must be pretty hard up when they'll take in a feller like seth." "i don't know why he wouldn't make as good a fireman as you will a detective. he's been runnin' with ninety-four for more'n a year." "what does that 'mount to? he's never done anythin' same's i have, to show that he had the stuff in him." "they say he come pretty nigh savin' 'lish davis's life the other night when them storage warehouses burned." "oh, that's all in your eye. dan roberts told the yarn so's to make hisself solid with seth." there was no further opportunity for sam to cast discredit upon seth's story, because the time was near at hand when he should take his departure, and those who had contributed to this important event were eager to hear in what way he proposed to distinguish himself. "i'll catch jip collins an' send him up the river for five or ten years," he said in reply to the questions of his friends, "an' then i reckon people will find out whether i 'mount to anything as a detective, or not." "are you sure he's over in philadelphy?" one of the boys asked of sam. "course i am." "how did you find it out?" "it wouldn't be any use for me to try to tell, 'cause you couldn't understand it; but that's where the detective business comes in. i've figgered it all out, an' in less than half an hour from the time the train strikes the town i'll have him 'rested." some of those who were in the secret smiled; but bill dean and his friends refrained from any display of mirth, lest sam, grown suspicious of his own wisdom, should at the last moment refuse to leave the city. the would-be detective had desired to purchase his own ticket, but to this proposition those who had the matter in charge would not consent, and bill dean, in response to the suggestion made by several of the party, proceeded, as he expressed it, to "ship off sam." that he had spoken the truth when he told of having had a conversation with the railroad officials regarding master barney's departure, was proven when he approached the ticket-office, for the clerk recognized him at once, and when the money was placed on the ledge in front of him, immediately passed out that form of a ticket which would give to jip's pursuer a passage to philadelphia. master barney's companions were eager to see him on board the cars; but after learning that such pleasure must be purchased by paying for a passage across to jersey city and back, the majority of them decided the price was altogether too high. "it'll cost pretty nigh a dollar for this whole gang to go over," dan roberts said after making a hurried calculation, "an' sam ain't worth it. i'd like to see how he swings hisself in the cars; but don't count on puttin' out my good money for it." there were very many of dan's opinion in the party, and after some discussion it was decided that bill dean and seth bartlett should accompany the detective during this first stage of the journey, and these two were instructed to "remember all sam said, an' how he looked, so's to tell it to the rest of the crowd when they got back." the would-be detective gravely shook hands with his followers, and, after cautioning those who were to accompany him to remain at a respectable distance lest they interfere with his plans, stole on board the ferry-boat in a manner well calculated to attract the attention and excite the mirth of every one who saw him. "he thinks reg'lar detectives go snoopin' 'round in that style," bill said in a whisper to seth, "an' jest as long as he keeps up such a fool idea he'll never 'mount to anythin'. i ain't sayin' but what he might turn out to be quite a feller if he would only act decent." sam appeared to think it necessary that he remain by himself during the short voyage, and when the boat arrived at the jersey city slip refused to go on shore until after having satisfied himself, in his own grotesque fashion, that there were no enemies in the vicinity. he entered the depot much in the same manner, and peered into the car fully five minutes before venturing to take a seat, after which he said in a tone of satisfaction to his companions: "i reckon i've done this thing pretty nigh right so far, an' if i don't bring jip collins back with me it'll be 'cause some of them philadelphy people spoil my game." "are you reckonin' on stayin' there till you catch him?" bill asked with a wink at seth, and master barney replied confidently: "i can put my hands on him within an hour; but it may be we'll stay overnight so's i can bring him into town in the mornin'." "how are you countin' on gettin' your ticket to come back?" seth asked. "oh, i've got that figgered out. you see, jest as soon as i've nabbed jip i'll go to police headquarters an' tell 'em who he is, an' of course they'll see that i get back." bill had considerable difficulty in keeping his face straight during this portion of the conversation, and, fearing lest he might inadvertently betray the secret, made short work of the leave-taking. [illustration: sam going to philadelphia. _page_ .] sam was in the car with the ticket in his hand, and it was hardly probable he would do other than proceed to his destination as had been agreed upon, therefore bill said in an exceedingly friendly tone: "well, we'd better be goin', old man. i'll see you when you get back." until this moment seth had not realized that by supplying master barney with the means of transportation to philadelphia, they were virtually exiling him from his home, and his heart misgave him as such phase of the case suddenly presented itself. "look here, sam, s'posen it turns out that you don't find jip, how'll you get home?" he asked, and there was in his mind the thought that he would divide his scanty store of money with the alleged detective; but the latter soon made it plain that he was, or believed he was, able to take care of himself. "don't bother your head 'bout me, 'cause even if you have got a show of gettin' into the fire department, you ain't very well posted on the detective business. i'll get back without any of your help, an' i'll bring jip with me." all seth's sympathy fled, and without further attempt at leave-taking the two walked out of the car, glancing back from the door an instant at the alleged detective, who was looking as important and satisfied as a boy well could look. it was decided between bill and seth during the voyage across the river, that after having made a report to those who awaited their coming they would visit jip collins in his retreat at the erie basin. "there's only a few of us knows where he is, an' of course we've got to keep it a secret for a spell, so you, an' dan, an' i must give the other fellers the slip if we can." seth agreed to this after having been assured that there would be no difficulty in getting back to the engine-house as mr. davis had commanded, and once they were on the new york shore bill fulfilled his duty to his friends by giving a detailed account of all sam had said and done. some members of the party--and there were a few who considered master barney one of the most promising young detectives in the city--were fully satisfied with the manner in which he was reported to have borne himself when he set out to bring to a successful close this his first important case; but those who believed that sam's ability existed only in his own mind were inclined to ridicule his fantastic behavior, and one of the company was applauded loudly as he said: "if sam cavorts 'round philadelphy the same way he went on board the ferry-boat, they'll run him in for a lunatic, an' we'll never see him again till he turns over a mighty big leaf." then the would-be detective's acquaintances separated, each intent on his own business or pleasure, and there was nothing to prevent the three who were bent upon aiding jip collins, from proceeding on their errand of mercy. now that sam barney's departure was an accomplished fact, seth began to reproach himself with having aided in sending the boy so far from home that it might be many weeks before he could return, and while walking toward hoboken ferry gave words to these thoughts. bill dean, however, was not troubled with any pangs of conscience because he had in a certain degree deceived master barney. "it ain't us who sent him over there. he spouted up and told how jip was in philadelphy, an' we hadn't any call to tell him it wasn't so." "but how'll he get back?" "well, if i was in that town, or any other where the railroad folks only charge seventy-five cents to fetch me home, you can bet i wouldn't hang 'round the streets very long cryin' baby; i'd hustle an' earn money. that's the way sam can get back, an' the more you feel bad 'bout him the bigger fool you're makin' of yourself. i ain't stickin' up for jip collins, 'cause when he set fire to baxter's lumber-yard he knew he was doin' what would send him to jail; but at the same time 'twixt him an' sam i ain't certain but i'd rather give jip a boost." then bill discussed the affair in its different phases, laying great stress upon what was apparently to him a fact, that by giving sam barney an opportunity of learning that he was not really a detective, they were conferring a benefit upon him. as master dean presented the case, there had been no deception practised, because they could only have convinced sam of his error by betraying jip, who had placed himself in the hands of his friends, and master barney never once asked for information, but, instead, asserted that he knew where the fugitive was concealed. in this wise was the time spent during what was a reasonably long journey, and bill had hardly more than come to the end of his arguments when they arrived at the erie basin. "there's where jip is hidin'," master dean said as he pointed to a dilapidated boat lying at the opposite side of the basin, and at that moment dan and seth saw what at first sight appeared to be a dark-colored ball placed in the combing of the companionway hatch. when it suddenly disappeared, and a certain portion of it came again into view, they understood it was the head of the young gentleman they had journeyed thus far to visit, and dan shouted loudly: "hi! it's only us! don't get scared!" not until he had assured himself by actual survey that there were none other than these three friends in the vicinity, did the disconsolate-looking firebug venture to show himself, and then he came out on the deck with a certain humility that was in marked contrast with his former swagger. "is sam barney still on my trail?" he asked piteously, and that he might not be kept in suspense, bill gave a detailed account of the afternoon's proceedings so far as the detective was concerned. a long-drawn sigh of relief escaped from the fugitive's lips as he said: "i was terrible 'fraid he'd find me out up here, cause whether he's a detective or not, sam has a way of snoopin' 'round an' gettin' at things that other fellers don't want him to know. do you reckon i can show myself down-town now?" seth was forced to repeat what 'lish davis had told him, and again a gloom gathered on the firebug's face, but it was lightened somewhat when the amateur fireman added: "there's no reason, jip, why you can't come out an' earn your livin' so long's you walk straight, for i don't b'lieve anybody will try to 'rest you, now sam is away from the city; but remember what mr. davis said, that if you should do anythin' more crooked, this would all come up against you." "look here, seth, i know i did a mighty mean thing when i set fire to the shed in baxter's yard, an' whether you believe it or not, i was terrible sorry the minute the shavin's caught fire; but don't think i ain't been served out. it's awful to stay all night on this boat; i hear all kinds of noises an' it seems to me as if the place was reg'larly ha'nted. i'd almost rather go to jail than stay here any longer." "but you've got to live somehow, jip." "it won't be here. i've been thinkin' if i could get rid of sam barney i'd go over by the thirty-fourth street ferry. nobody knows me there an' it ought to be a good place for sellin' papers." bill dean thought this a wise plan, providing jip could find lodgings round about that locality, and then came the question as to how it would be possible for him to start in business again, for he confessed that all his money had been spent in the purchase of food. "what with helpin' sam barney off, layin' out for a spread last night, an' gettin' money together to pay the room-rent, this is kind of a tough week for me," dan said thoughtfully; "but i'll be willin' to chip in a nickel toward helpin' you along, jip." bill and seth made the same generous proposition, and when the money had been handed to the fugitive it was as if he found it difficult to swallow a certain lump which had arisen in his throat. "you fellers have been terrible good to me after i come pretty near killin' you, an' i want you to b'lieve i'm goin' to be straight. i'll try to show that i can be decent." "of course you can, jip," seth said soothingly, "and there's no need of your tellin' us 'bout it. jest plug right ahead an' do the best you know how; then things will come out all right, i'm certain. by the time sam gets back we'll take care he don't meddle with the case, an' i reckon mr. davis will fix the balance. when you goin' to leave here?" "jest as soon as i can. i made up my mind this noon that i'd let sam barney lug me off to jail rather than stay any longer." "then come with us, an' there'll be time for you to get in some of the evenin' trade if we hurry. bill an' dan will go over with you an' see if there's any fellers 'round the thirty-fourth street ferry that might make trouble, an' most likely i'll see you again to-morrow." at this point dan would have told the firebug of seth's good fortune, but that the latter checked him, believing at such a time the information had best be withheld, and the three good samaritans with their penitent friend set out for new york. chapter ix. the uniform. when jip collins and those who had befriended him arrived at the point nearest ninety-four's house, on their way to the thirty-fourth street ferry, seth halted to take leave of his companions, and knowing what he was about to do, dan urged that he be allowed to accompany him. "you're goin' down to get your uniform on, an' i want to see it the very first thing." "so you shall, dan; but i'd rather you wouldn't come with me now, 'cause there was nothin' said about my bringin' anybody. keep on with bill an' jip, an' i'll go over to our room jest as soon as i get through at the engine-house." this did not please master roberts; but bill dean urged that seth was in the right, and was very emphatic in the assertion that it would "be 'way off color to shove in" at such a time. therefore dan ceased to insist, although it was with a very ill grace that he accepted the situation. as a matter of course, once such a conversation was started, it became necessary to explain to jip what important business called seth away, and he said with a sigh: "i'm glad you're playin' in such luck, seth, for you're mighty square. i s'posed after what i'd done nobody would let me come 'round their houses, an' as for my gettin' into any department, why there never'll be a show of such a thing as that." "now don't you get down in the dumps, jip, 'cause you'll soon pull up where you was before. all that's needed is to go on straight from this out, an' show people you're sorry for meddlin' in such crooked business." after this attempt at consolation seth parted with his companions, and ten minutes later was standing before 'lish davis on the lower floor of ninety-four's house. "well, what have you done with your firebug?" the driver asked, and such of the men as were idle gathered around to hear the conversation. "we've shipped sam barney, an' jip's gone down thirty-fourth street way sellin' papers." "do you allow he'll run straight after this?" "i'm almost certain of it, mr. davis. he feels terrible bad, an' if sam gives him the chance he'll show that he can be a decent feller." "i hope so, because i hate to see a boy go wrong. do you know, amateur, that what's done while you're young hangs on after you get to be a man. then, when you're getting along swimmingly, up comes somebody and tells of the mean trick you played when you was a kid. it always counts against a man. now, i ain't saying that your firebug won't pull out of this, but he's taking the chances that it'll be thrown up in his face a hundred times 'twixt now and the next ten years, however straight he walks. if a boy would only bear that in mind i allow he'd be a heap more careful about what he did. howsomever, you ain't here for a lecture of that kind, and what's more you don't need one. i allow you're counting on that suit of clothes?" "i s'posed that was what you wanted me to come for, sir." "well, it was, amateur, it was; and if you'll go upstairs and look on my bed you'll find the togs laid out there. put 'em on, and come down to show us how you look." "are they new clothes, sir?" "of course they are. you don't allow that when this 'ere company takes it into their heads to fit out a kid they're going to do it on second-hand rigging, do you?" "i only asked the question 'cause i thought perhaps if they was all new i'd better wash my face an' hands first." "that's right, amateur; fix yourself out the best you know how. we want to see what kind of a looking kid we've taken on our hands." instead of immediately acting upon his own suggestion seth hesitated, and after a moment the driver asked: "what are you hanging in the wind now for? got anything on your mind?" "i'd like to know, sir, if i'm to be allowed to pay for these clothes when i get so i can earn money enough?" "bless your heart, amateur, when you're regularly in the department you shall come up and square the bills with ninety-four if it so be you're inclined; if not, why, what we do comes free as air, and we're glad to give you a boost. all the payment we want is that you'll do us credit. i'd like to have the boys up at headquarters, when they look at you, say to themselves, 'that kid belongs to ninety-four,' and in the saying of it i'd have 'em think you was way up--something out of the ordinary run of kids, don't you understand, amateur?" "if i can do anything to make you feel proud of me, mr. davis, i'll be mighty glad; but i promise you shan't be ashamed of having sent me there." "i ain't counting on the possibility of that, amateur, 'cause i believe i know you better. now, get along and put yourself into condition, 'cause there's no knowing how soon we may get a call." before looking at the new clothing seth washed his face and hands with scrupulous care, used the comb and brush again and again until positive each single hair was in its proper place, and then went to the floor above. he expected to see garments which somewhat resembled those worn by the firemen; but was unprepared for that which met his gaze. 'lish davis, if indeed it was he who ordered the uniform, had seen to it that each article was a facsimile, both as to texture and style, of what he himself wore, the one difference being that the buttons were plain black instead of gilt with raised letters. during several moments seth stood as if spell-bound, gazing at this, to him, first real evidence that he was in a certain degree, however remote, connected with the department, and perhaps never again will he feel the same honest pride which was his at that moment, for he knew without being told that he had gotten this far toward the goal he had set himself by straightforward dealing and careful attention to all the duties which might be expected of him. he did not say in so many words that he had earned them; but there was in his mind a sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that they would not have been presented unless he had shown himself to be in some degree deserving. after a long survey of the garments, he put them on, and never was transformation more complete than when he was thus changed from a ragged boy of the street, to what, in the mirror at least, looked almost like a young gentleman. "they're mighty fine," he said to himself as he examined first one coat-sleeve and then the other. "they're mighty fine, an' it'll be a terrible big tumble for me if i can't satisfy 'em up to headquarters." then came the fear that now, having reached the threshold of the department, as it were, he might fail in his purpose, and seth literally trembled with apprehension until 'lish davis's voice was heard from below ordering him to "hurry up." "i won't go back on ninety-four's men," the boy said to himself resolutely. "it's jest as the driver says, all depends on me, an' knowin' what's to be gained i'm a chump if i can't pull through." then, acting on an impulse, he slid down one of the poles, instead of going by the way of the stairs, and suddenly stood before the entire company, who were awaiting his appearance. "well done, amateur, well done," 'lish davis cried in a tone of approbation. "i declare i wouldn't have known who it was if i'd met you sudden-like on the street. why, you're a corker, amateur, a regular corker!" "i do look pretty nice, an' that's a fact," seth replied complacently, whereat the men laughed heartily. then each member of the company in turn came forward and shook him by the hand, congratulating him upon his first appearance as a member of the department, at the same time that they wished him success in the effort to gain a permanent foothold among them. "you're a credit to us, amateur, and that much i must say. the money we spent on the toggery ain't been thrown away even if you do get fired out of headquarters after a spell. from this time forth you're much the same as a probationary fireman, and the bootblack part of it has disappeared, except when you're 'round here where there's no one to know what you're doing. though, mark you, lad, i'm not saying anything against a boy's shining boots for a living. if you hadn't done it well, and taken some pride in your calling, seth bartlett wouldn't be standing in that 'ere suit of blue this minute. now that we've launched you, as it were, amateur, i, and i'm speaking for my mates as well, want you to understand that it's a hard row ahead. you've got to work early and late; put up with a good many disagreeable things and look pleasant all the while; do considerable more'n your duty, and be always on the jump. keep up as we've known you, amateur, my boy, and you'll win." when this speech--for it could be called by no other name--was concluded, the driver's comrades applauded loudly, and then 'lish stepped back a few paces as if expecting seth to respond. the "probationary" fireman understood the movement; but the words in his mind would not come; instead of making what he considered a worthy reply, he said, and to him it sounded lame and poor: "i'll do my best so's you won't be ashamed of me." "that's all we're asking for, amateur, and to-morrow noon at twelve o'clock i've got leave of absence to take you up to headquarters. you're your own boss till then, and you'd better make the most of the holiday, 'cause it'll be a long spell before you get another." "there's only one thing i'd like to say, sir, an' that i s'pose i mustn't think of." "do you mean you're hankering to run to a fire with them good clothes on?" "i'd like to shift 'em an' go, sir, for----" at that instant the click caused by the opening of the electric circuit in the alarm was heard, followed by the striking of the joker. the weight fell--the lever flew up--the horses were released, and before seth could have spoken, even if he had had anything to say, the animals were under the swinging harness, while every man stood at his station. "get on, amateur; get on alongside the engineer. this may be the last time you'll run with ninety-four for quite a spell, and i'm minded to give you the advantage of it," the captain cried as 'lish davis sprang to his seat, snapped into place the catch on his belt, and released the harness. almost before the last word was spoken seth had leaped to the side of the engineer, and never a boy in new york city was more proud than he, when the ponderous engine, drawn by the plunging horses, left the building with a rattle and roar which could have been heard blocks away. in a uniform hardly to be distinguished from the members of the company the amateur was riding to his first fire in what seemed to him like an official capacity. one portion of his dream was being realized, and he said to himself as he clung to the rail, swung to and fro by the swaying of the ponderous machine, that when the time came for him to be regularly enrolled in the department he would use every effort toward being assigned to ninety-four. "you are our mascot, amateur," jerry walters, who stood next to seth, shouted at the full strength of his lungs in order that the words might be heard above the clanging of the gong and rattle of wheels, "and if you're to bring us good luck we shall get first water to-night." [illustration: the fire-engine going out. _page_ .] seth's heart sank. for the moment he believed walters was in earnest, and knew full well, having the location of each signal station in mind, that there were two engines whose houses were nearer the call than was ninety-four's. to get first water under such circumstances seemed impossible, and timidly seth reminded walters of the fact. "i know it, amateur, and am not counting that we'll win; but if we should, and if there be such things as mascots, then i'm free to admit you'll be a lucky one for us." perhaps 'lish davis had in his mind some idea similar to that expressed by walters, for although seth had seen him urge his horses to their utmost speed time and again, never before had he known him to press them so hard. the mass of steel and iron was drawn over the pavement as if it had been but a feather's weight, and 'lish davis guided the horses, without checking their speed in the slightest, around a sharp corner so suddenly that seth was nearly overthrown, while the clanging of gongs in the distance told of the approach of a second engine. "it's fifty-three!" jerry walters shouted in the boy's ear. "it's fifty-three, and we've got thirty seconds the start of her. how about getting first water now, amateur?" seth pointed straight ahead where could be seen a cloud of sparks arising from the stack of a third engine which was coming directly toward them. "yes, amateur, it's her or ninety-four; fifty-three is distanced, and i'll hold that you're bringing good luck to us if we do no more than beat one of 'em out." every man of that company, however eager he had previously been to be first at the scene of conflict, seemed now to outdo himself in activity. a cloud of black smoke issuing from the second floor of a dwelling located the fire, and ninety-four's tender was making a run for the nearest hydrant, passing the engine just as 'lish davis slackened speed. joe black had gained the desired spot in advance of his rival, and as ninety-four's tender dashed by, fifteen or twenty feet of the hose had been run off of the reel. then it was that jerry walters and 'lish davis gave vent to a loud cry of triumph, for joe black had made the connection. ninety-four's tender was stretching in just as the other company reached the hydrant, beaten by no more than ten seconds. "we've got first water, amateur, we've got first water!" jerry walters shouted as if having taken leave of his senses. "it ain't that we've never done such a thing; but this time it didn't belong to us, and we took it on your first run! if that ain't being a mascot for ninety-four i don't know what you will call it." then there was no time for congratulations or further discussion regarding the matter, for the men had work to do which could not be delayed, and seth was about to follow joe black when 'lish davis shouted: "come back here, amateur! come back! this is no time for you to be gettin' points when you're wearing the first decent suit of clothes you ever owned. get alongside and behave yourself. i didn't allow you was to do any work when the captain let you in on this trick." under other circumstances seth would have been grievously disappointed at being thus commanded to remain where he could see little or nothing of what was being done; but now he was so elated at the victory won that all else seemed but slight by comparison. "i s'pose you'd have gone in there if you was wearing the finest coat ever made, eh?" the driver asked gravely, and seth replied with another question: "wouldn't you, sir?" "what i'd do don't cut any figger, amateur. it's my business to go in there, but not yours yet a while. when the time comes that you're bound to step up with the foremost, i'm expecting to see you there, and wouldn't say a word that might hold you back. now you're playing the gentleman, and you'll stay with me; besides, it ain't going to turn out anything after all. a curtain or some such flummery is blazing. it can't be much more." in this surmise 'lish davis was correct. within ten minutes after ninety-four was ready for work word came to "shut off," and the men set about disconnecting the hose. so slight had been the fire that only two members of the company were detailed to do the overhauling--that, is to thoroughly go through the building from top to bottom to make certain no spark had been left which might be fanned into a flame--and the remainder of the men were ordered back to the house. "it's what we may call a howling success, this first run of yours, amateur," 'lish davis said as he drove leisurely homeward. "we've beat 'em all out, had little work to do, and it wasn't much more than good practice, with a precious fine record at the bottom of it. but don't you get puffed up thinking everything is going your way just 'cause you've started in easy and slick." "there's no reason why i should be puffed up, mr. davis, except that i've had a chance to do what i've been longin' for--and that is to go out with ninety-four as if i belonged to her." "_as if_ you belonged to her! that's what we allow you do, amateur. from this out, unless it so be you turn about wonderfully and go crooked, you're one of us--an honorary member, so to speak." "put down on the roll as the official mascot," jerry walters cried, whereat the remainder of the company laughed heartily, and in this jovial mood was ninety-four returned to her quarters; but seth was not allowed to take part in the washing-up lest he should soil his fine feathers. "i'm counting on your striking in at headquarters lookin' just as fine as silk, which you couldn't do if we let you hang 'round here helping with the dirty work," 'lish davis said when seth would have claimed it as his right to be allowed to assist in the labor. "you're to toddle straight home now, for you've hung 'round this house long enough; stay there till morning, come over here for a bit about your usual time, and then take a spell at swelling down-town until nigh on to twelve o'clock, when i'll be ready to go with you. well, why don't you start?" "i wanted to thank you for lettin' me run with ninety-four the first night i had my uniform on." "you needn't do anything of the kind. the captain happened to be soft just as the alarm struck, else you wouldn't have got away with us. now clear out, and take care you don't get into mischief." as seth went toward his lodgings he wondered whether the people whom he met in the street were not surprised at seeing him thus clad like a fireman, and so intent was he on walking erect with his shoulders thrown well back, that he might the better look the part he hoped one day to play, that he failed to observe dan roberts until the latter, suddenly recognizing his partner, shouted shrilly: "hi! seth! do you mean that's really you?" "don't make such a row on the street, dan, 'cause folks will wonder what's the matter. but say, i do look pretty fine, eh?" "fine? why, that's no name for it, old man. you're out of sight! where did you get 'em?" "this is the uniform i was tellin' you 'bout. mr. davis gave it to me when i was over to the engine-house, an' do you know i hadn't more'n got into it when there was an alarm, an' i rode to the fire on ninety-four jest as if i belonged to her." "no!" "i did for a fact." "well, if they let you do that there ain't much question 'bout your gettin' into the department." "mr. davis says it all depends on me now, an' you can bet i'll work mighty hard, dan roberts." "if you don't you're a bloomin' idjut! why, i wouldn't ever knowed you if i'd been goin' fast! i was kind-er loafin' along wonderin' when you'd be home, an' thinkin' of jip, so had time to look 'round. first off i couldn't make up my mind to holler, you looked so bloomin' swell. now, i don't see why i shouldn't go in for somethin' same's you did, an' flash up in sich style; but no, i'll stick to sellin' papers, that'll be the way with me, an' think i'm playin' in great luck if i get to own a stand on some corner." "you talk as if i was already in the department, instead of havin' to work my way up to it." "i only wish i was as near there. by the time you're captain of a company i'll jest about get so i can pay my own way, with never two cents ahead." "now, don't begin to jump on yourself 'cause it seems as if i was gettin' along pretty fast; but wait an' see how i pan out, an' as for doin' nothin' but sellin' papers, why, that's 'cordin' to the way you want it. there ain't any need of stickin' to sich business unless you hanker for it." "yes there is, except i'm willin' to starve," dan replied mournfully, and to raise him from the depths of despondency into which he had been plunged by a sight of the uniform, seth began to ask him questions concerning jip. "we left him down at the ferry. bill dean struck a feller there who promised to give jip a lift now an' then. i don't reckon he'll have any trouble, 'cause them as are sellin' papers down that way don't seem to have much sand to 'em. he's goin' to sleep with bill's friend, an' take it all in all i think he's gettin' along mighty well, considerin' it ain't a week since he burned us out. say, goin' into the house now, or do you count on swellin' 'round a spell first?" "we'll go home, dan, an' in the mornin', after i've shined for ninety-four's men, i'll meet you down-town." "what? you goin' to do any more shinin'?" "i am for them in that house, an' i'll keep it up till i get to be reg'larly in the department. they've done so much for me, dan, that if i should spend half my time as long as i live blackin' their boots, i wouldn't square things." "if i counted on bein' a fireman i'd be one; i wouldn't black boots for anybody." "neither will i when i'm really in the department; but i'm a long ways from there yet a while. come home, an' to-night i'll stand a spread so's to celebrate wearin' the new uniform." chapter x. at headquarters. when he first saw seth in his new uniform a certain feeling of envy came into dan roberts's heart; but he was not a fellow who could give himself up to this kind of thoughts very long, and within a few moments all that had passed away, leaving in its stead rejoicings that his partner had taken such rapid strides toward the desired end. before they had gained the seclusion of their own room dan was his old self once more, and from that moment it is safe to say he was never again envious of seth's good fortune, but sufficiently wise to profit by his partner's example. when they entered the house, mrs. hanson, who must have been informed by 'lish davis of the expected change in seth's condition, came to the door to see the boy in his uniform, and when she ceased her words of praise his cheeks were glowing red. "you'll cut a terrible swath down-town to-morrow morning," dan said sagely when they were alone. "here's a woman that never saw either of us till yesterday, an' she goes pretty nigh crazy over the way you look. i reckon sam barney would have a reg'lar fit if he should run up against you now." to seth's mind there was nothing wrong in admiring himself, or listening to words of praise from others, and he enjoyed to the utmost these speculations of his partner until master roberts, wearied of gazing at the amateur fireman, hinted broadly that if there was to be a spread set out in honor of the uniform, now was the time to "start her goin'." "how much did that lay-out cost you last night?" "twenty-three cents." "that's pretty stiff to pay for one supper; but it ain't every day i get a uniform, an' i guess i can stand it this once. we shan't spread ourselves in the same way ag'in, though," seth said thoughtfully, speaking half to himself, and then taking some coins from his pocket, he added, "you go out and buy the stuff. i'll wait here." "why don't you come with me?" "i'm 'fraid if ninety-four's men should see me they'd think i was runnin' 'round swellin'." "well, s'posen they should? haven't you got the right? wouldn't most any feller who's got as near into the department as you have?" "mr. davis said i was to go down-town to-morrow mornin', an' perhaps that's all he thought i ought'er do, so i'll hang on here instead of goin' out ag'in." dan was not averse to making the purchases, and so deeply occupied was seth with pleasant thoughts that it seemed to him master roberts had no more than left the room before he returned laden with packages. as on the previous night he was accompanied by bill dean, who exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction as he entered the room: "it seems like as if i'm allers 'round when you fellers are puttin' up swell lay-outs, don't it?" then getting a full view of seth for the first time he cried in an accent of unquestionable admiration, "well, i'll be jiggered! dan said you was lookin' mighty fine; but i never thought you could flash up like this! why, you're a reg'lar fireman already." "you wouldn't think that if you could hear what ninety-four's men say, an', besides, there's no brass buttons on this uniform, you know." "i ain't certain but it looks better without 'em. anyhow, you're way up in g." "he ought'er know it by this time," dan added with a laugh. "everybody has been tellin' him so, an' he come mighty near paralyzin' miss hanson. she jest threw up both hands when we opened the door." "well, i don't wonder; but say, i didn't come round to sponge off you fellers, 'cause i never thought of your havin' two such lay-outs one right after the other. i didn't know but you'd like to hear how we'd left jip, an' then agin i wanted to talk 'bout bunkin' in here with you fellers." "this is seth's spread; but you'll hold on an' get your share of it now you're here," and dan began to arrange the food on the table in the most tempting manner possible. "of course you'll stop," seth added, "an' even if you'd known we was goin' to kind of celebrate, what would be the harm in comin' 'round an' gettin' some?" "well, i don't want you to think i'm playin' it on you, that's all; but it struck me a little while ago that if we could make a trade with the woman what runs this house, it would come easier on all hands. now, that bed is plenty big enough for three, an' it ain't likely you'll be here much of the time, except to sleep, so why wouldn't it be a good idea to see how much extra she'll charge to let me in with you fellers?" seth knew of no good reason why bill should not be allowed to share their palatial quarters, providing mrs. hanson did not object. he knew master dean to be an industrious, well-intentioned boy, whose company, now that he was to be absent from home so much, might be desirable to dan, and at once signified his willingness that the landlady should be consulted. "i reckon dan will be lonesome here when i'm gone so much, an' perhaps it would be a good plan. s'pose you two fellers go down an' see what she's got to say." "why don't you tackle her?" master roberts suggested. "she'll be so busy lookin' at your uniform that perhaps you could make a better trade." seth hesitated only an instant, and then went down-stairs. when he returned his companions knew from the expression on his face, before he made a report, that the mission had been successful. "she says if we keep quiet an' don't have a crowd hangin' round, or too many visitors, that we needn't pay any more for three than we do for two. i didn't think that would be jest the square thing, an' besides, we couldn't divide half a dollar up in three parts, so i told her we'd call it sixty cents, an' that will make the lodgin' come mighty cheap for all hands of us." "when are you willin' i should come?" bill dean asked eagerly. "whenever you want to." "then i'll start right in to-night an' pay the same as you fellers do, for you've only got one day ahead of me." and thus the matter was settled to the manifest delight of the new lodger. the feast was an unusually satisfactory one on this particular evening. seth was as happy as a boy well could be because of the good fortune which had come to him through ninety-four's men; bill believed himself unusually lucky in having secured such desirable lodgings at an exceedingly low price; and master roberts had suddenly conceived an idea which seemed to him a remarkably happy one. not until his hunger had been appeased did dan give words to his new train of thoughts, and then he announced with the air of one who has made a great discovery: "if seth hadn't laid himself right out to get into the department, an' stuck to it whether the fellers were makin' fun of him or not, he wouldn't be wearin' that uniform now, would he? course not. if i keep on sellin' papers an' don't try to do anything else, i'll never get some other kind of a job, will i? course not. now, i've made up my mind to own a store on third avenoo where i'll sell papers, an' books, an' sich truck, an' keep a lot of kids to do the outside work." "an' you can do it, too, dan, if you stick right at it," seth replied confidently. "well, she goes from this out! i shan't spend any more money buyin' swell grub same's this is, an' if i don't get down-town every mornin' by daylight it'll be 'cause i'm broke up so bad i can't move." then the feasters discussed this new idea of dan's, approaching it from every point of view, until the third avenue store was to master roberts an accomplished fact; nothing stood between it and him save hard work and a strict adherence to his purpose. after this subject was exhausted a certain amount of their attention was given to jip collins's affairs. they speculated briefly as to what sam barney might be doing at that particular moment, or regarding matters connected with his departure, and it was not yet nine o'clock when all three were lying comfortably in bed, sleeping peacefully. dan awakened shortly after daybreak, and, strong in his purpose of one day owning a third avenue store, lost no time in making ready for business. he and bill dean started down-town before sunrise, and seth made his way to ninety-four's house, where he busied himself in doing such work as came to his hand. before seven o'clock he had blackened the boots of all the men, swept the floors, and groomed one of the horses. 'lish davis came down just as this last task was performed, and observing what had been done said gravely: "look here, amateur, we don't count on your doing up all the odd jobs 'round this place, else the rest of us will rust out for lack of exercise." "i got 'round pretty early, sir, an' 'd rather be at work than layin' still." "after this noon you won't complain of having too much spare time on your hands. been to breakfast?" "yes, sir." "then clear out an' go down-town, 'cause this is likely to be your last day off for quite a spell. i'll look after the other horses." seth would have been better pleased to remain in the engine-house two or three hours longer, but 'lish davis's injunctions, although given as a permission rather than a command, were not to be disobeyed, and without protesting he left the building. it is hardly necessary to attempt to describe the reception accorded the amateur fireman, when he arrived at printing house square. every bootblack or newsboy in that section of the city had heard from bill or dan the fullest possible particulars regarding the new uniform, and all were expecting to see a great change in seth's appearance, but not prepared for such a decided transformation. during at least two hours business was practically suspended, and seth was literally forced to remain on exhibition because of the throng which surrounded him. many times did the policemen in the vicinity disperse the gathering; but the admiring ones reassembled immediately afterward, regardless of the threats of the officers, and thus the society for the admiration of seth bartlett was virtually in continuous session. those who had laughed the loudest because of his ambition were now the most extravagant in their praises, and there was not a boy on printing house square who did not realize as never before how much might be accomplished by persistent effort. until eleven o'clock seth "visited" with his friends and acquaintances, and then made his way up to keep the appointment with 'lish davis. the driver, clad in his best uniform, was awaiting the boy's arrival, and cried good-naturedly when the latter appeared: "well, amateur, you've spread yourself, eh? been swelling all the morning till your head is so big that you need to borrow a new cap?" "there's no danger of that yet a while, mr. davis. i'll wait till i see how i get along at headquarters before puffin' myself out very much." "that's a good idea, amateur, though at the same time i believe you'll pull through in great shape, providing you hang on as you've done since i knew you. now, if it so be you've tended to all your business and are ready to duf into the work, we'll mosey along toward sixty-seventh street." "the sooner i get to work the quicker we'll know whether the folks up there are goin' to let me stay," seth replied, and with words expressive of kindly cheer and friendly wishes ringing in his ears, the amateur set out on this his first real step toward a position in the department. "i don't want them as you'll meet at headquarters to think you're a dummy, amateur, and it's in my mind to give you a little outline, so to speak, of this 'ere school, after which there'll be no need of your showing ignorance by asking questions. in the first place it ain't counted on that this 'ere branch of the service is to educate anybody and everybody that may come along. it's for such men as are admitted to the department on trial, 'probationary firemen' chiefly; but the old hands have had a deal of good out of it. "this plan was started long about ' for no other reason than to show the men who were then in the service how to use the scaling ladder which had just been introduced, and the idea seemed to work so well that it gradually grew, kind of swelled out, so to speak, till it became a reg'lar school. first off, before the new headquarters was built, the city hired an old sugar warehouse on one hundred and fifty-eighth street and north river, where the men were shown how to use scaling ladders and a life net, and i've been there when one class counted up sixty scholars, all of us old hands at the business. remember this, amateur, you'll never be too old to go to school, leastways that's what i've found. "after the new headquarters building was opened in ' the sugar warehouse was given up, and we firemen had what you might almost call a college. there's a yard at the back of the building nigh on to a hundred feet square, which is put up in such shape that water can be used the same as you would at a fire, and here drills go on like this, for instance: an alarm is sent out for a certain company when they least expect it, and the men find themselves called into headquarters to show what they can do. all that you're going to see, lad, and talking about getting points, why, you can learn more there in one exhibition drill than you could at forty fires, 'cause you're understanding just how the thing is going to be done. "you'll find when one of these unexpected drills comes off that the engine is run into the yard, hose coupled on to the hydrant, dragged up to the top of the building, water started and shut off, ladders used, and in fact the whole business gone through the same as if a hundred lives were in danger." "do the men really work as hard there as they do at a fire?" seth asked. "do they, amateur? well, now, you can be mighty certain they do, 'cause it's owing to what they show at such times that gives them their rating. now, for instance, ninety-four's company is in the first grade; eighty-six, that we bucked up against on that storage warehouse, is in the second grade; and there ain't a great many third grade nowadays, 'cause the men are drilled too well. and here's a point i want you to understand, amateur: in case some man comes along and tries to tell you that the department in this city or that is better than what we've got here, stick straight up for the fact that the new york fire department heads the world, and you won't be a grain away from the truth. taking it all in all i'm free to say, open and above board, that you can't find a department anywhere that can beat this, and i'm reckoning pretty strong that you wouldn't find one to equal us, taking all things into consideration. "now, we'll suppose you was old enough, and stout enough, and plucky enough, and knew enough to pass a civil-service and a physical examination for admission to the department. you wouldn't be put into regular service, but sent up to headquarters, where we're going now, and drilled in the yard, raising ladders, tossing 'em 'round, setting 'em up, and keeping at that kind of work till you could handle one the same's you might a knife or fork. now, considering the fact that the lightest of 'em weighs twenty and the heaviest sixty-five pounds, with a length of from fourteen to twenty feet, you can see that you've got to be pretty nimble before getting through the first lesson, eh? "then we'll allow you've satisfied them as are giving the lesson. you'll be set at climbing up to the first window to start with; after you can do that, to the second, and so on till you've got to the top of the building by aid of the scaling ladders. it ain't such a mighty easy thing when you come to do it yourself as it looks while you're watching somebody else; about the time you're half-way up the hair on your head will come pretty nigh to standing on end; but bless you, amateur, a man soon gets over that, till shinning outside of a building don't seem more'n child's play. "then there's the drill of building a chain--making a line of ladders from the roof to the street--and getting from the upper window out over the cornice. straddling sills is another lesson you'll have to learn, till you can get astride of one, and by holding on with your knees, work as handy as on the ground. standing on sills; working the life-line; climbing crosswise so's to step from one window and go to the next story on a slant, instead of straight up; using the life net by jumping down, or holding it for others to leap into--and if it so chances that you are ever set to holding one, amateur, my boy, you'll find it ain't child's play. i've heard it said that when a man weighing one hundred and fifty pounds jumps from the sixth floor of a building, he strikes the net with a force of nigh on to eighteen hundred pounds, and i tell you them as are holding it have to keep scratching." "do you reckon i'll be allowed to practise with the men, mr. davis?" seth asked as the driver paused an instant. "i'm counting on it, lad; but don't make up your mind it'll be right away. we of ninety-four's company believe we know what kind of a boy you are, because we've tried you, so to speak; but up here where we're going they've got only our word for it, and won't count very much on that till they've found it out for themselves. it may take a long time, and then again it mayn't; but every boy, whatever business he goes into, is bound to prove himself before he's thought to be of much account. it'll be the same at headquarters. turn to, amateur, the same as you've done since we knew you, and before a year goes by i reckon on seeing you in the drill." "are the men always practising?" "not every minute of the time, you know, because it comes precious nigh being hard work; but you can count on their doing all a man ought to do in the twelve hours. when it's storming, or too cold to work in the yard, you'll find them 'ere grown-up scholars in the gymnasium on the fifth floor, at work coupling or uncoupling hose; learning how to fight cellar fires, or practising with the tin-cutters for opening roofs. they're told about battering-rams, axes, hooks, and, finally, everything that we use, until the man who graduates up at headquarters is fit to handle a company all by himself, save, of course, that he lacks experience. now, if it so happens that one don't learn quick enough, or shows he hasn't got a good head for the business, he's switched right off, and that ends his chance of getting into the department. of course kids are never taken on, and it ain't held out to you that you're going there on probation. we've got a job for you as a boy in the building, that's all, but with what little influence ninety-four's men can use, and some thrown in from the other companies that we're friendly with, the idea is to slip you through on the sly, so to speak. if you please them at headquarters there'll be no voice raised agin your practising now and again with the others, and then is the time that everything depends on you. "you've run to fires for the sake of getting points; but never had a chance to see whether you could carry them out or not. now the opportunity is coming; if it's in you to do the work, why, when you're sizable we shan't have any trouble in getting you taken on probation, providing, of course, you can pass both examinations, and about that we've got to talk later. i don't want you to think a fireman is a regular idiot when it comes to book-learning. the older hands of us may be 'way off on such things; but them as goes through the civil-service examination have got to be pretty well posted, an' i'm counting on your working into some night-school." seth had listened attentively to the old driver's words; but there was a cloud on his face when mention was made of the fact that a fireman must have a certain amount of book-learning. "i don't know hardly anythin' at all, mr. davis," he said in a mournful tone. "you can read, can't you?" "yes, if the words ain't too long." "and write?" "well, i wouldn't like to say i really could, 'cause it's just puttin' down letters same as they're printed." "didn't you ever go to school, amateur?" "no, sir." "why not?" "'cause i've allers had to hustle for my livin,' an' it never seemed as though i had the time; but now since you've begun to talk i know i might have done it evenings, instead of hangin' 'round with the fellers, or sleepin'. if i'd known folks had to go to school before they could be firemen, i'd been studyin' these last two years." "i believe you, my boy, and if you had put into the work at books anywhere near as hard as you have on what you call 'picking up points,' you'd have been pretty well along by this time. howsomever, we can remedy that, though we can't call back lost time. jerry walters and i'll figger up what's to be done, and explain further as soon as we've settled matters, 'cause you see, amateur, you belong to ninety-four, an' we ain't of the mind to have you fail in what you set out after." "shall i have any chance to see you?" "bless you, lad, yes. you'll be through between six and seven o'clock, and we'll be glad to have you drop in any evening till you set about studying; then i allow we'll fix up some place so's you can be away from your partner and his friends. we won't have any soft talk after we get inside, so i'll say it all now. keep your upper lip stiff, amateur; don't get down at the heel if them as are in charge seem to bear on a little too hard; remember that all hands of ninety-four's company are counting on you to make good their words, and be a man. unless we get a call you'll see us to-night, so there ain't need of saying very much more just now." by this time they had arrived at headquarters, and 'lish davis entered the building with the air of one who has no especial interest in whoever may be following him. chapter xi. sam's return. it was nearly eight o'clock on the evening of the day seth paid his first visit to headquarters and he was greeted warmly by such of the men as were on the lower floor. "where's mr. davis?" he asked. "he had twenty-four hours' leave an' ain't likely to flash up before to-morrow noon," jerry walters replied. "how did you get along at headquarters?" "that i ain't quite so certain of," seth replied doubtfully. "why not? anything gone wrong?" "no; but it don't seem as though the men up there had very much to say to me." "found you plenty of work, eh?" "oh, yes; there was enough of that." "a little too much, i reckon, if it kept you till this hour." "i was told that i should knock off at six o'clock, but then i hadn't finished the job i was workin' on, an' so stayed till it was done." "how did 'lish davis swell 'round?" "i didn't see anythin' of him after we got inside. he told a man there who i was, an' two or three of 'em hunted 'round to find work for me." "well, how do you like it so far's you've gone?" jerry walters asked with a smile, and the remainder of the company gathered around to hear the reply. "i'd like anythin' that was givin' me a show of gettin' into the department. of course it ain't so pleasant in the house doin' all kinds of work as it is out of doors layin' still when you want to, or talkin' with the fellers." "then you don't feel like backin' out yet?" "no sir-ee! i'll never feel like that. look here, i've got to be up at seven o'clock to-morrow mornin', an' why couldn't i shine your boots to-night?" "'cause then is the time for you to rest, amateur. don't bother your head about our boots being shined, for we'll tend to that part of it. i reckon there'll be as much work at headquarters as you can comfortably do, so there's no need to come 'round here except to make a friendly call. of course we're expectin' to see you pretty nigh every evenin' so's to have a report of how things are goin'; but so far's your blackin' our boots, that's all nonsense, and if 'lish davis was here this minute he'd tell you the same." "but i want to do it, an' mr. davis promised me i should, 'cause it'll make it seem as if i was tryin' to square up for what all of you have done for me." jerry walters tried to persuade seth that he had better not attempt to do so much, particularly at the outset; but it could readily be told from the expression on the boy's face that he was not convinced, and mr. walters refrained from making further efforts in that line. after answering a few more questions and promising to visit the engine-house on the following evening, seth, feeling even more tired than he looked, set out for home, and mr. walters said to his comrades: "that kid will work himself down to skin an' bones for the sake of tryin' to show he's thankful for the lift we've given him, and as for making his way into the department, why, there ain't a ghost of a show that he'll fail." and every member of the company appeared to share jerry's opinion regarding the matter. when seth arrived at mrs. hanson's he found bill dean and dan making ready to retire, and the latter cried in a joyful tone: "i'm mighty glad you've come, seth. bill an' me was jest figgerin' that they'd fixed it up to have you sleep there nights." "there wasn't anythin' said about that, and i reckon they don't want boys 'round," the amateur fireman replied gloomily, and bill asked in surprise: "why, what's the matter, old man? ain't gettin' discouraged so soon, are you?" "i reckon it'll be all right after a spell, an' i wouldn't want any of ninety-four's men to know that i wasn't jest as chipper as a sparrer; but things are different up there from what they are down here. they jest set you to work an' let you keep hummin' without sayin' a word. i don't believe a single one of 'em has spoke to me since mr. davis went away." "what you been doin'?" "cleanin' windows; an' i tell you they're so big that one of 'em makes considerable work. i hung on to it till i'd finished all on that floor, even though they told me to go home at six o'clock." "what are you goin' to do to-morrow?" "i don't know. anythin' that comes up, i s'pose." "didn't they give you any lessons in the school?" "i haven't even seen it yet. there might have been a hundred men 'round there practisin' for all i'd know, 'cause i was in the front of the buildin'." "why, i thought you'd go right to work learnin' to be a fireman," dan said in surprise. "mr. davis never allowed anythin' like that. he said after a spell, when i'd showed 'em i could 'tend to business, i might get a show; but you see, it ain't anyways certain that they'll do what ninety-four's men have been countin' on. i've got to take the chances, you know, and work my way in." both dan and bill were disappointed by this report. they had fancied certain tasks might be required of seth; but firmly believed he would be given instructions at once. in fact, dan had told his roommate several times during the day that he expected to see seth an enrolled member of the department within a few months, adding in support of such belief: "when that feller tackles anythin' he goes right through with it, an' if he ain't big enough now he's got the nerve in him to grow terribly. it seems like he does everythin' he starts for." now that seth appeared despondent his comrades believed it their duty to cheer him, and during half an hour or more they set about such task in earnest. it seemed to them as if he was already growing more cheerful when the shrill whistling of a peculiar note was heard several times repeated, apparently on the sidewalk in front of the dwelling. "that's teddy bowser!" bill dean exclaimed as he leaped to his feet. "he wanted to come up here to-night, but i told him he mustn't, 'cause if the fellers hung 'round i'd lose my show for a tony lodgin'." "go down and see what he wants," dan suggested. "i don't believe we'd better let him come in, for there are three of us here now, an' miss hanson might think she was havin' too many fellers 'round for sixty cents a week." bill descended the stairs swiftly but noiselessly, returning in less than five minutes with a look of consternation upon his face. "say, sam barney's got back!" "got back!" seth cried in astonishment and dismay. "why, how'd he raise the money?" "that's what teddy didn't know. he said sam flashed up 'bout an hour ago lookin' as chipper as you please, an' with cash in his pocket. he's tumbled to our racket, an' is promenadin' 'round town sayin' he'll catch jip collins before to-morrow night." the three boys gazed at each other in perplexity, and fully a moment elapsed before the almost painful silence was broken. then seth said interrogatively: "of course teddy knew what he was talkin' 'bout?" "oh yes, he hasn't made any mistake, 'cause he saw sam and heard him blow 'bout what a swell time he had in philadelphy." "he couldn't have been there very long." "i don't understand it," and bill plunged his hands deep in his pocket as he looked gloomily around. "i thought when we shipped him off that we'd settled the detective business, an' now it ain't any dead certain thing he won't run right across jip collins, 'cause the poor feller thinks sam's so far away there's no danger of meetin' him." "where's teddy?" dan asked. "down on the sidewalk." "what's he waitin' for?" "i told him he'd better hold on a spell, 'cause we've got to do _somethin'_, fellers, an' perhaps he can help us." "but if sam's here with money in his pocket, how shall we stop him from workin' up the case?" dan asked helplessly. "first off we must tell jip," seth replied promptly. "to-morrow mornin' you an' bill will have to see what can be done with sam. it won't do to let him keep on the way he was goin' before we sent him off." "i reckon you can't stop him if he's set on doin' it, an' he likely will be now he finds you're in the department, 'cause he said he was goin' to be an out-an'-out detective long before you ever dreamed of gettin' a fireman's job." "if he only knew how little of a fireman i am he wouldn't feel very bad 'bout it," seth said with a sigh, and then added more cheerily, "come on, fellers, we must find jip, an' not stay out too late either, else miss hanson will raise a row." the three went down the stairs softly, crept out on the sidewalk as if their own lives might be in jeopardy if the slightest noise was made, and there met teddy bowser. "oh yes, i saw him," teddy said in reply to seth's question. "he's been swingin' himself 'round grand street big as life for more'n an hour; says he had a great time in philadelphy, an' ain't certain but he'll go over there to live after he gets jip in jail. sam must have struck some mighty soft snap, 'cause when he left this town he had only sixteen cents to his name." "do you s'pose he could find any one chump enough to lend him money?" dan asked musingly, and seth said almost sharply: "it won't pay for us to stand here tryin' to figger how he's fixed things, 'cause we must be back mighty soon, and it may take quite a spell to find jip." "i reckon it will," teddy added emphatically. "i hunted all 'round the ferry for him." "why, how did you know where he was?" "the fellers told me. i didn't think it was a secret." "it ought to have been," and seth looked more distressed than before. "if all hands know, it won't take sam barney a great while to find out." "he was talkin' 'bout it when i left; said there was no need of goin' to the ferry till mornin', 'cause he could put his hands on him when he wanted to. some of jip's chums must have gone back on him, an' i wouldn't wonder if i knew who. you see, denny macey was tellin' 'round that if jip didn't ante up the dime he borrowed two weeks ago, he'd make trouble for him." "don't let's stand here any longer," and seth led the way at a rapid pace toward the ferry. beyond speculating as to how the would-be detective had been enabled to return from philadelphia, those who were seeking to do jip collins an additional favor indulged in little conversation during the hurried journey across the city. as they neared the ferry each kept a sharp watch in the hope of meeting the boy whom he sought, but when they stood at the very entrance of the slip no sign of jip had been seen, and then the difficulty of the search began to be apparent. master collins was a stranger in this section of the city, and they might question a dozen boys without finding one who had so much as heard of him, therefore the quest was likely to be a long if not a vain one. "it'll soon be too late to do anything if we don't hustle," seth said when he realized all the possibilities against success. "let each feller start out alone, and there'll be jest so many more chances of runnin' across him. we'll meet here by the ferry slip in half an hour." this plan was acted upon without delay, and each member of the searching party did his best to bring the labor to a speedy and final conclusion; but when at the expiration of the time set the four met once more, nothing had been discovered. "he's turned in," bill dean said in a tone of conviction. "if it's with that chum of yourn it ought'er be easy to find him." "he wasn't a chum of mine, an' i don't so much as know his name. it's a feller i've run across two or three times down-town, that's all." "then i can't see but what we must call it a bad job, for there's no kind of use in foolin' 'round here any longer." "but if we don't find him now all sam barney's got to do is to walk over here in the mornin'," dan said mournfully, and bill dean cried emphatically: "i'll get ahead of that bloomin' detective if i have to set up all night! you can count on my bein' right here at daylight, an' that's the best anybody can do. you ought to get to bed, seth, 'cause you've got to turn out pretty early in the mornin'." that it was useless to remain in that vicinity any longer with the hope of meeting jip by chance, all understood, and mournfully they turned their faces homeward, teddy bowser suggesting that he might be able to do the repentant firebug a friendly turn by delaying sam a certain length of time next morning. "i'll ask him to tell me about his detective work, an' you can bet he won't lose such a chance, 'cause there's nothin' in this world he likes to talk about as well as himself." "all right, you do that, teddy, an' i'll snoop over here," bill added. "of course seth can't take a hand in this work, on account of havin' to go to headquarters, but dan will kind-er lay 'round anywhere, either to head sam off, or find jip." then teddy bowser took his departure for the night, and mrs. hanson's three lodgers returned to their room thoroughly distressed in mind. the greater portion of the night might have been spent by them in discussing this new phase of affairs but for seth, who said when his comrades began to hold forth on the subject: "you fellers can't do any good talkin'. i've got to get some sleep if i count on bein' up early enough in the mornin' to do the work over to the engine-house an' get to my job at seven o'clock, so s'pose you quiet down and give me a chance?" this was no more than a reasonable request, and soon mrs. hanson's lodgers were enjoying their needed repose, despite the troubles which had come upon them. seth, whose last thought had been that he must waken early, opened his eyes just as the day was dawning, and aroused his comrades. "you fellers must turn out if you count on helpin' jip this mornin', an' i'm goin' to get right off. seems to me it would be a good idea if bill was at the ferry right soon." "i'll start now," master dean replied, and, since their plans had been fully arranged the night previous, there was nothing to prevent seth from going at once to ninety-four's house. the watchman on duty admitted him with a reproof for trying to crowd too much work into one day; but made no further objection when the amateur fireman declared that he should "feel better if he did the shinin' the same's ever." not a man was awake save the one on duty, when, his work finished, seth hurried toward headquarters. when he arrived it lacked twenty minutes of the time set for him to begin work, and the first person he met inside the building was a gray-haired man wearing such a uniform as did jerry walters, the driver of ninety-four, and all seth's particular friends. "what are you doing here?" the official asked in a not very friendly tone. "i began to work 'round this place yesterday noon," seth replied in an apologetic manner. "oh, you did, eh? you must be the kid 'lish davis made so much talk about." "i am the boy he got the job for, sir." "well, what are you doing here so early? seven o'clock is the hour." "yes, sir; but i don't s'pose it can make much difference if i'm here a little before time, 'cause then i'll get more done, don't you see?" "and you were figuring on that same thing when you stayed here until eight o'clock last night, eh?" "no, sir; i stayed 'cause i wasn't through washin' all the windows on the second floor, an' didn't want to leave the job half done." "well, in the future you'd better go home when the clock strikes six, the same as others do. what task have they set for you this morning?" "nothing as yet, sir." "that's because you did your work too well yesterday. i suppose they allowed you had enough to last through the balance of this day." "it would be a pretty poor kind of a boy who couldn't do more'n wash that many windows in a day an' a half," seth replied laughingly, fancying that this man's gruff manner was no indication of bad temper, but rather the reverse. "they tell me you're counting on being a fireman one of these days?" "yes, sir," seth replied promptly and decisively. "you seem to be pretty certain of it." "so i am, sir, 'cause i'll get there after a time if i work hard." "you will for a fact, my son, if you believe it as firmly as you seem to. how much have you seen of the building so far?" "i've only been in the room where i was workin' yesterday." "come up into the gymnasium with me. i'm running things in that quarter, an' it might be we can work you in with better profit there, than at window-washing." it was as if seth's heart gave a great bound just then, for in the gymnasium was begun the first of the fireman's lessons, and if he should be so fortunate as to be set at work there it seemed that advancement must necessarily be rapid. even though he had had less reason of wishing to be occupied in this portion of the building, he could not but have been delighted when he entered the well-appointed place, and he gazed around in what was very like an ecstasy of joy until suddenly aroused by the voice of this new acquaintance. "do you think you could keep things in proper shape here? there's plenty of work to be done, and at present we are getting none of the best." "i'd like to have a chance to try, sir." "very well; i'll see to the red tape of the business down-stairs and in the meanwhile do you set about doing whatever you think is necessary. if 'lish davis wasn't mistaken, i'll see to it you get all the instruction in this portion of the building that you can stagger under, and it may be we'll put a little more muscle into you 'twixt now and the next few months." then, without having specified what it was he wished seth to busy himself with, the gray-haired man turned to leave the gymnasium, when he suddenly stopped and asked sharply: "have you been to breakfast?" "no, sir; i was told that i'd get my grub here." "then why didn't you 'tend to it when you first came in?" "'cause i met you, sir." "i suppose you hadn't thought you might be needing something to eat?" "it would have been no great matter, sir. i've got along until noon a good many days without anythin', an' can do it again." "there's no need of that here, my son. remember to get your meals on time, for regularity of habits,--although that will become a luxury if you are ever made a fireman,--regularity of habits is quite as necessary for the strength and building up of your body as any exercise you can take here. so far as possible eat at the same hour each day; go to bed early, get up early, and at all times see to it that your body is properly cared for. when did you have a bath last?" "it's been quite a spell since i went in swimmin', sir." "well, you can begin the day with that. use plenty of cold water, and i reckon the towels are coarse enough. then get your breakfast, come up here, and go to work." "at anything special, sir?" "whatever you see that's needed to be done." then this employer, who had given him such good advice, walked quietly away, and seth was left to find the bathroom as best he might. during this day master bartlett worked as industriously as ever; but with better heart than while employed about the first task set him at headquarters, for he had reason to believe there was at least one in the building who would lend him a helping hand, and the future seemed much brighter than it had twenty-four hours previous. this new friend, who was spoken of as "josh" by those who seemed to be best acquainted with him, and by others as "mr. fernald," apparently gave no heed to the boy, and seth did whatever seemed to him most necessary, although there were many times when he was tempted to stop in order to watch the men at their exercises, until half-past five in the afternoon, when the man whom he was beginning to look upon as a friend said sharply: "get your supper, now, seth bartlett, and to-morrow morning see to it that you have breakfast before coming up here." seth wanted to say good-night to mr. fernald; but doubtful as to how such familiarity might be received, he departed in silence, turning around as soon as he was in the corridor where none could see him, to wave his hand in adieu. supper had been eaten, and he was on the sidewalk outside of headquarters just as the whistles were blowing for the hour of six. "i'll have a chance to stop a good while in ninety-four's house to-night, an' there may another alarm come so's i can go out with her again," he said to himself, and at that instant teddy bowser appeared from around the corner of the building and cried excitedly: "dan roberts an' bill dean sent me up here to tell you that sam barney's had jip collins 'rested this afternoon 'bout three o'clock." chapter xii. the prisoner. it was several moments before seth could bring himself to believe that dan and bill dean had utterly failed in their efforts to save jip collins from the would-be detective. during the day he had given the matter comparatively little thought, believing that, having set out on their mission of mercy at such an early hour, his roommates would succeed in their efforts. sam barney was known to all his acquaintances as a boy opposed to rising very early, or working very hard, and it had been no more than reasonable to suppose jip would be warned in time. teddy bowser could give very little information, and that which he did impart only served to heighten the mystery. he stated that he met sam at about seven o'clock that morning, and talked with him concerning his visit to philadelphia with the purpose, as previously agreed upon, of delaying him until nearly nine o'clock. that then the alleged detective had gone toward fulton market with the avowed intention of meeting a friend, and teddy was positive jip had not been arrested until late in the afternoon. "where was dan an' bill when they sent you to tell me?" "over by jefferson market; that's where jip's been jugged." "were they to wait there for me?" "that's what they reckoned on, except you thought them firemen of yourn could help out." "if jip's really been 'rested i don't believe ninety-four's men could do anything, 'cordin' to the way mr. davis talks. we'll go right down to the market." during the long journey, for neither seth nor teddy could afford to pay ten cents for car-fare, the latter told as nearly as he could remember sam barney's version of his visit to "philadelphy." "he says the way he figgered it out at first, jip collins ought'er been over there; but he'd found out his mistake soon enough if you fellers hadn't hurried him off." "he didn't go for most a day after he acted 'bout crazy to get away." "that's one of his excuses, of course; i'm jest givin' you the fairy story he flashed up to me. he says he wasn't any sooner in the train than he began to work the plan over in his mind, same's all the detectives do, an' it didn't take him a great while to figger how it was. at the jump he thought it was mighty queer that bill dean should go 'round raisin' money to send him away, an' after he was in the cars he tumbled to himself, don't you see? to hear him tell it you'd believe all he had to do was to set down an' think over things to find out jest what was what." "it's a big pity he couldn't think who stole his money," seth interrupted. "'cordin' to his story he's been after the thief ever since." "he says he would have caught him if this case of jip's hadn't turned up, an' seein's it was so much bigger he dropped everything else. well, after he made up his mind that the fellers what chipped in the money was tryin' to run him out of town, the train started, so of course he had to keep on; but he'd fixed it with himself that he was bound to come straight back soon's he could. i reckon he swelled himself 'round the depot over in philadelphy, blew in the sixteen cents he had, an' give some of the fellers a terrible stiff 'bout bein' a detective, till he borrowed money of 'em to come back. the way he tells it is that jest as soon as he got there people knew who he was, an' give him a great reception. he makes out that there was a slat of folks hangin' round the station tryin' to get a chance to see him; but that's all in your eye, of course." "sam barney must be a fool if he thinks anybody is goin' to believe such yarns." "he must think it, else he wouldn't tell 'em. now, 'cordin' to his story, some of them fellers was jest loaded with the stuff, and they put up the price of a railroad ticket back. i don't know what he did with himself while he was in the town, 'cause you can't make out anything by what he says." "why didn't he come back on the next train if everybody was ready to lend him money?" "he says he jest actually couldn't get away from the crowd that wanted to see him an' talk to him, so he stayed a spell to give 'em a good time by showin' himself. then when he got ready he swings on board, an' over he comes. but he's chafin' under the collar, seth, 'cause the fellers sent him off when he ought'er have stayed, an' that's why he's so down on jip collins." "he was jest as bad before bill dean ever begun to raise money to get rid of him, else it would have been different. i tried to make him promise to let jip alone, an' he wouldn't listen to any talk at all. he thinks it'll be a big thing for him in case he puts it through. if i couldn't get on in the world except it was by sendin' some feller to jail, i'd stick to sellin' papers or blackin' boots the rest of my life." "sam is pretty near green thinkin' you've got ahead so fast; but says that jest as soon as he has worked the case up against jip he'll smash your racket all to pieces." "have you seen him since he did this terrible fine piece of detective work?" "no; i hadn't heard anythin' 'bout it till dan hailed me." for some time after this seth remained silent trying to devise a plan by which he could aid the unfortunate firebug; but the more he considered the matter the less probable did it seem that either he or his comrades could in any way benefit the prisoner. "i'm 'fraid jip will go up the river," he said at length, and teddy replied mournfully: "i guess he's a goner for a fact, an' all on account of sam barney's wantin' to show hisself a detective." when the two had come to their journey's end dan and bill dean were seen solemnly pacing to and fro on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the court-room, looking sadly disheartened. "have you done anythin' yet?" seth asked in a low tone as he joined them. "there's nothin' we can do. jip's locked up, an' sam barney's struttin' 'round the streets showin' hisself off for a first-class detective," dan replied in a tone of irritation. "do you know how he happened to nab him?" "it must have been that denny macey give him away," bill dean replied, "for i saw jip this mornin' early, an' he 'greed to keep out er sight." "do you s'pose he stayed on the street after that?" "denny knew where he slept last night, and must have told sam, jest as some of the fellers say he threatened to do." "well," seth said after a brief reflection, "if you can't help him, what's the use of standin' here?" "we was waitin' for you. i thought, an' so did dan, that perhaps the driver of ninety-four might cook up some kind of a plan we could work through. anyhow, it don't seem as though it would do much harm for you to talk with him." "of course it won't; but if it wasn't that jip's likely to be sent to jail for a good many years i wouldn't bother him, 'cause it don't seem the square shake for me to keep runnin' there whenever things turn wrong." "it would be pretty tough to let jip be sent up for four or five years jest 'cause you didn't want to bother ninety-four's crew." "i know that, bill, an' i'm goin' to talk to mr. davis now. i was only sayin' i wouldn't do it if things wasn't the way they are. i'll go ahead, an' you fellers meet me up to the room after i get through, 'cause it won't do for all hands to loaf 'round in front of the engine-house." to this proposition those who were ready to sacrifice their own pleasure and interests in order to aid the penitent firebug made no demur, and seth set out at full speed, leaving the others to follow at a more leisurely pace. "hello, amateur! it seems to me you've knocked off work kind-er late to-night?" 'lish davis cried as the boy entered the engine-house. "mr. fernald, the man who runs the gymnasium, told me i was to go away every night at six o'clock----" "so josh has taken you in hand as he promised, eh?" "he's given me a chance up in the gymnasium, where i can't help seein' a good deal of the drillin' even when i'm workin', an' it seems as though it was a mighty soft snap." "josh ain't a man who'll make it very soft for any boy. you've got to toe the mark pretty straight with him, amateur; but if it so be you strike him just right things will move along in great shape. why didn't you leave headquarters as he told you?" "i did, sir; but teddy bowser was waitin' outside to tell me that sam barney has had jip collins 'rested for settin' fire to the lumber-yard." "so, so! he has, eh? i thought you shipped that bloomin' detective over to philadelphia?" "that's what we did, mr. davis; but he managed to get back, an' tumbled to the trick we played on him, so the very first thing he does is to get jip pulled." "well, whether it be boys or men who go wrong, sooner or later they've got to pay the penalty in some fashion, and perhaps it's just as well this collins chap should square matters now as at any other time." "but it seems terrible, mr. davis, to have him sent to jail for nobody knows how many years." "it'll be a good many if he's convicted on the charge of arson; that i can give you as a straight tip." "i was in hopes you'd feel kind of bad about it, mr. davis," seth said, hesitatingly. "meaning to say you counted on my trying to help pull him through after he destroyed valuable property and come pretty nigh being the death of you and your partner?" "well, you see, he's awful sorry----" "yes, most of 'em are after the crime has been committed." "but i don't b'lieve jip really meant to do anythin' like that. he'd been blowin' 'bout how he'd serve us out, an' a good many of the fellers told him he didn't dare to so much as raise his hand. that kind-er started him, an' if he goes to jail now the shame of it will allers stick to him." "then you believe he'd work 'round and be a decently square kind of a boy if he got out of this scrape?" "i'm almost certain of it." "well, look here, amateur, it ain't for a fireman to go here and there, trying to defend them as have started a blaze; but i wouldn't wonder if we could find some lawyer to take charge of his case. perhaps we can get him off on the same plea you're using now--that it would serve to make a criminal of him, rather than work the proper kind of reformation. there'll be plenty of time, lad, because you and your partner are bound to be called on as witnesses even on the preliminary examination, so until the officers find you two nothing can be done, for i don't reckon your imitation detective has any knowledge of what happened." "he's heard the rest of the fellers talk 'bout it." "that don't cut any figger; all he can testify to is what he's seen himself, or something the prisoner may have told him. i'll turn this thing over in my mind, and call on jerry walters and ben dunton for their advice. when you come 'round to-morrow night we'll be able to say what can be done. now tell me everything you did to-day; that's of more interest to us of ninety-four's company than the arrest of the firebug." seth gave a detailed account of his movements from the time he entered headquarters until the hour of leaving, and every man on the floor listened eagerly to the narration of unimportant doings, which was the best proof they could have given of the deep interest felt in the amateur fireman. "i reckon you'll pull through all right," 'lish davis said approvingly when seth brought the story to an end, "and now there's a word to be said about your behavior here this morning. you'll have plenty of work to do 'twixt a.m. and p.m. without hustling over here before daylight and blacking our boots; consequently we're going to hire another boy so's to remove the temptation from your path." "don't do it, please don't do it, mr. davis," seth cried imploringly. "it don't seem like work to me. so long as i can be here every mornin' an' do somethin' of the kind, it 'pears as if i belong to the company. s'posen you get another feller to do the shinin' an' i come 'round evenin's to tell you what's been goin' on? why, it would only look as if i was a visitor. i don't want to give up all my hold here, an' that's what will happen if somebody else does the shinin'." there could be no question but that seth was deeply in earnest, and more than one of the men nodded to the driver as if to say that the boy should be allowed to do as he pleased. jerry walters took it upon himself to say very decidedly: "i think, 'lish, amateur is right, an' you've got no call to cut him off from what he wants to do, 'specially after it's been once agreed upon. it ain't that i'm figgering to have my boots shined for nothing; but i'm feeling a good deal as he does. i'd like to have him come 'round regularly, an' we'll be certain of it if there's work to be done." "very well, very well," the driver replied. "he shall keep on for a spell, though it ain't to my liking. if amateur was a kid that spent his time kiting 'round the streets it would be different; but he's got to have some little amusement, and how is it to be had if he starts in at daylight blacking boots, works until six o'clock at headquarters, then spends his evening at the school? why, it'll come nigh to using him up." "he ain't on at headquarters sunday, is he?" "no; but that's only one day in seven, and so long as amateur is in our charge, so to speak, i ain't going to have him get an idea that he can spend the sabbath cavorting 'round as some of his chums do." "when i begin to take part in the drill at headquarters i shall have all the sport that's needed," seth interrupted, "and besides, even if i go to the night-school, i'll get an hour in here between six an' seven----" "and a heap of fun you'll have with a lot of old cronies like us," 'lish added with a laugh. "i'd rather be here than anywhere else, sir, an' if you want to give me a good time now and then, an' i happen to be 'round when there's an alarm, let me go out with ninety-four; that'll be fun enough." 'lish winked at his comrades as if this remark pleased him exceedingly, and put an end to the conversation by saying: "look in here to-morrow night, lad, and we'll see whether it's possible to help out your firebug or not. now go home and turn in, for you can't get too much sleep while you're young." seth obeyed without delay what was little less than a command, and, hastening to mrs. hanson's dwelling, repeated to his roommates and teddy bowser all the driver had said to him concerning the possibilities of aiding jip collins. the boys were sadly disappointed because there was no actual promise of assistance. they had come to believe, because they hoped it would be so, that mr. davis could immediately devise some plan whereby jip might be released from prison, and since he did not appear to be sympathetic and enthusiastic on the subject they feared he might fail to take any active part. "i am certain he will get a lawyer for him anyhow," seth said in reply to their complaint, "an' that's what we couldn't do ourselves. if it wasn't for goin' to headquarters i'd try to see the poor fellow to-morrow. of course i wouldn't be able to do anythin' for him, but it would make him feel kind of good to know we was willin' to help." "i'll go there to-morrow," dan cried, pleased at the idea of doing something, even though he could not hope to effect any change in jip's condition. "i'll tell him what we've tried to do, an' there'll be some satisfaction in that anyhow." then seth proposed that master roberts should hang around outside the department headquarters at about six o'clock in the afternoon in order to report the result of the interview, after which he would visit mr. davis again. with this programme for the coming day thus settled upon, the amateur fireman suggested that teddy bowser go home in order that he and his roommates might retire, and half an hour later mrs. hanson's lodgers were sleeping soundly. the sun had not shown his face above the eastern horizon next morning when seth was at work in ninety-four's quarters, performing such labor as came to hand, and, owing to the fact that the company had been fighting fire nearly all night, no one save the house watchman was stirring when the amateur set off for his regular duties. at fifteen minutes before the hour of seven "ninety-four's kid," as some of the clerks at headquarters had already designated seth, entered the gymnasium with a bustling air as if the hardest tasks would be no more than a pleasure. "had your breakfast?" mr. fernald asked gruffly. "yes, sir." "how long since you turned out?" "it wasn't quite light when i left the house, sir." "have you been here all that time?" "oh no, sir. you see, i go over to ninety-four's quarters to shine the company, an' it stands me in hand to be out of bed pretty early." "what do you do to the company?" mr. fernald asked, as an expression of bewilderment came over his face. "i shine for all hands--black their boots, you know." "yes, i understand now. isn't the work here enough to satisfy you, but that you must needs look around for more?" "but i belong to that company, sir, an' have to see my share of the business is done right up to the mark," seth replied proudly, and then he explained to mr. fernald why he was eager to continue his connection with those who had already done so much to assist him. "you seem precious eager to be a fireman." "so i am, sir, an' i'm hopin' to get along here so ninety-four's men won't think i'm a duffer for not pushin' ahead." fernald questioned him closely regarding his ambition to belong to the department, and without being really aware of the fact seth had soon told him all he knew concerning himself and his desires. "i don't say as you've got it in you to be a fireman," the old man said, thoughtfully; "but it strikes me you carry a good bit of sand, an' i've a mind to do even more than i promised 'lish davis. see here, my lad, supposing you could practise here two or three hours a day, would it tire you out so that the regular duties might be slighted?" "if you'll give me the chance, sir, i'll work enough later nights to make up for it all," the boy replied eagerly. "i guess davis didn't lay it on any too thick when he told me about you. now see here, you'll begin the day with a regular course of training, working until nine o'clock, after which time you'll get down to a boy's business, see?" "yes, sir," seth replied, trembling so violently with pleasure that only by the greatest exertion could he prevent his voice from quavering. "had a bath this morning?" "no, sir." "then get one, and remember to tumble into cold water the first thing after coming here." seth was off like a flash, and when he returned, glowing with the healthful exercise, josh fernald gave him the first lesson in physical training. before it was concluded "ninety-four's kid" came to understand that 'lish davis had only spoken the truth when he said the instructor was not a man who would "let up on boys to any extent," for seth was forced to exert himself as he never remembered to have done during any previous two hours of his life. then the lesson was concluded, and the amateur set about his ordinary duties, working unusually hard lest mr. fernald should decide that he could not at the same time attend to gymnastics and perform the services for which he was paid by the city. he was thoroughly tired when the hour for supper came around; but so happy at having made some slight advancement toward his goal in life that all else was as nothing. that evening he bade mr. fernald "good-night," and received in reply the caution: "don't think you'll find any snap here; it's precious hard work, an' won't grow easier." "i'll stick at it, sir, if you don't get tired showin' me how," seth cried gleefully, and as he walked sturdily toward the staircase, holding himself erect and with head thrown well back like some animal glorying in his strength, the old instructor gazed after him in almost a friendly manner. seth was so elated with the idea that he could tell ninety-four's men that he had actually begun his training, as to have nearly forgotten the appointment made with dan; but he soon remembered it when master roberts darted out from a hiding-place near at hand. "well, i've seen him," he cried before seth had time to speak. "who?" "jip collins, of course." "how'd you get in?" "i was hangin' 'round there lookin' for a chance when your 'lish davis come along with a lawyer, an' i asked 'em to let me go in with them." "mr. davis took a lawyer there?" seth repeated in astonishment. "that's what he did, an' i tell you, seth, that fireman is a jim dandy, an' no mistake!" "don't you s'pose i know that after all this time?" "yes; but yet you didn't think he'd do so much, eh?" "he's mighty good to everybody. how was jip lookin'?" "terrible down. you'd think he was expectin' to be hanged by the way he takes on. i felt awful sorry for him, even if he did burn us out." "what did he say?" "not much of anythin'; but kept cryin' 'bout all the time. sam barney must be feelin' awful good after makin' so much trouble." "have you seen _him_?" seth asked, sharply. "if i had he'd be lookin' for a doctor. i'm jest achin' to get my hands on that duffer in some side street where the perlice won't come snoopin' 'round." "see here, dan, you mustn't fight if you ever want to get that third avenoo store, for i tell you no feller gets ahead by bein' a tough. what did the lawyer say?" "i didn't hear him yip; but reckon you'll know all about it after goin' over to ninety-four's house." "that's where i'm bound for now. wait outside for me, an' i'll come to you as soon as i can." "i don't suppose i could sneak in?" "i'd rather you didn't, dan, 'cause it would look as if i was gettin' mighty fresh to bring my chums along." "all right, old man; i'll wait outside." there was so much in seth's mind that he could not indulge in conversation at that moment, and he walked so rapidly that dan had but little opportunity for speaking, however much he might have desired to say. at the engine-house he found nearly all the company on the lower floor much as if waiting for his report, and 'lish davis greeted him by asking: "well, amateur, nothing but window-washing to-day?" "no, sir-ee! mr. fernald has begun to give me lessons in the gymnasium, an' i'm to practise there two hours every day from this out--that is, so long as i do it an' keep my reg'lar work up in shape, which, 'cordin' to my way of thinkin', will be every minute i have the chance of stayin' there." "did josh really put you into physical training as quick as this?" mr. davis asked, almost incredulously. "that's what he did, an' though i didn't get many points 'bout fires, it'll help me to grow in great shape." then dan, waiting near the door on the outside, heard ninety-four's crew cheering loudly, and he was sadly at a loss to understand the meaning of such merriment when he believed they were discussing poor jip's sad situation. chapter xiii. the letter. there could be no question but that ninety-four's company were highly delighted with the news brought by seth regarding his progress. it was as if each man felt personally complimented by mr. fernald when he advanced the amateur so rapidly, and all united in declaring that "josh was a right good fellow." seth was in the highest degree excited. he had expected that his friends of ninety-four would be pleased at learning of his good fortune, but never fancied they could be so deeply interested, and now he began to understand what a gloom might be cast over the company if he should fail in this attempt to gain a foothold in the department. 'lish davis would not be content until the boy gave an exhibition of what he had learned in the way of gymnastic exercises during the morning, and when this had been brought to a close amid the applause of all present, the driver said in a tone of satisfaction: "you're getting on in great shape, amateur, and if nothing happens to give you a pull-back, ought'er be well up in the drill 'twixt now and a year from to-day. josh fernald has the name of being precious hard on them as comes under him for instruction; but i've always allowed he'd boost along mighty fast any one who struck his fancy. he must have seen that you were in earnest, young fellow, for when i talked with him the best promise i could get was that he'd look you over in the course of a month or two." "do they keep you humpin' on the odd jobs, amateur?" jerry walters asked solicitously. "there's plenty to be done; but not enough to kill anybody. after i get used to the ways of the place i reckon it'll come pretty easy." "that's the kind of talk to make, young fellow!" the driver cried approvingly. "don't allow that your job's a hard one, however tough it may be, for a kid never gets any credit when he's always whining 'bout working to death." not until ten minutes or more had been spent in answering the questions asked by each member of the company, including the captain himself, was the curiosity of the men satisfied concerning the advancement of their _protégé_, and then seth had an opportunity of inquiring as to the charge against the firebug. "dan roberts said you carried a lawyer down to see poor jip, mr. davis," the amateur began, and instantly the look of pleasurable excitement faded from 'lish davis's face. "so i did, amateur, so i did. jerry and i allowed we might do that much for the kid, even though he ain't deserving of any man's attention." "will he get out of the scrape?" "not before having a trial, amateur, and then all must depend on the judge. it seems he owned up to the whole business when they first nabbed him, and the only thing he can do now is to plead guilty. the evidence that can be given by the kids from brooklyn will be enough to convict him, even if he finds somebody to help him make a fight, which wouldn't be good sense." "then there's nothin' for the poor fellow but to go up the river?" and seth's voice was tremulous with sorrow. "that ain't altogether certain, lad. the lawyer thinks, and jerry and i have the same idee, that if he owns up to the whole thing like a little man, it may be possible to have sentence suspended during good behavior." "what do you mean by that, mr. davis?" seth asked in perplexity. "why, it's jest like this. when he's put on trial let him tell the truth. we of ninety-four can testify that it was he who sent in the alarm, showing he was sorry as soon as the deed had been done. then will come the time for the lawyer to get in his fine work. he'll do a lot of chinning 'bout the boy's being young, and that it'll most likely make a criminal of him to be sent up. in some such way as that the judge may be brought to believe that it'll be the wisest course to suspend sentence--that is to say, hold the conviction over him, but at the same time letting him go free. if he behaves himself, well and good; if not, he's brought before the court and sentenced on this same charge at some future time." "are you certain that can be done?" seth asked, growing more hopeful. "no, amateur, we ain't certain; but the chances are it can be fixed that way, and we'll do our best at it, if for no other reason than to show how good we're feeling because you're doing us so much credit up at headquarters." seth had hoped that the members of ninety-four's company would be able to effect the firebug's release, and it was a great disappointment to thus learn that nothing could be done save through the clemency of the judge; but, as he would have kept silent had it been himself who was in danger, he refrained from giving words to his sorrow. understanding what was in his mind, 'lish davis added in a kindly tone: "don't take it to heart, amateur, for we'll do all that is possible, and i'm allowing it'll all come out straight in the end. it wouldn't be well if he pulled through too easy." "if only he don't have to go to jail for two or three years!" seth cried, and then fearing he might say that which would sound like a complaint, he took his leave after promising to report next evening. "well, i begun to think you was goin' to stop there all night," master roberts cried irritably when his partner appeared. "seemed like you was havin' a mighty good time along at the first of it." "that was when i was tellin' how i'd been gettin' on up at headquarters. say, jip will have to be tried in court!" "what? can't ninety-four's men stop it?" dan cried in surprise, for he had believed the firemen could do whatsoever they would, and seth repeated all that 'lish davis had said, adding in conclusion: "you'd better try to see him again, an' tell the poor fellow how things stand." "he'll take it mighty hard." "i'm 'fraid so; but there's nothin' else that can be done. is bill over to the room?" "he allowed he'd have to stop down-town quite a spell to-night, an' i agreed to see him there after i'd met you. why not take a spin as far as the post-office?" seth was not opposed to a stroll through the city, even though wearied by his labors of the day. his heart was so sore because it would be impossible for him to do anything in jip's behalf that he had no inclination to spend the time in his lodgings, where he could do nothing save dwell upon the painful situation of the boy who had tried to injure him. after a short time dan succeeded in partially banishing his partner's sorrowful thoughts by speaking of his own plans regarding the prospective store on third avenue, and broached the subject by paying to seth his share of the room-rent. "did you make all that to-day?" the amateur asked in surprise. "yes, an' thirty-two cents more." "you must have humped yourself." "that's jest what i did do. you see, if i count on ever ownin' that store i've got to work, same's you did to get into the department, an' i never lost a minute this mornin'. i'd made a big pile if it hadn't been for goin' to see jip." then dan pictured to his partner in words the establishment he intended one day to own, giving all the details with such exactness as to prove that he must have spent considerable time reflecting upon the matter. "that's what i want," he said as he concluded his description of the store; "but when you come to think that i've only got thirty-two cents towards it, there don't seem much chance i'll ever pull through." "you'll have twice as much to-morrow night, an' every day it'll keep on growin' till in a little while you'll have a pile that'll make your eyes stick out. a feller can do pretty near what he counts on, if he sticks right at it." "you can bet i'll stick at the store part of it, though i ain't certain as i'd ever believed it could be done if you hadn't got into the department. when you was runnin' to fires like as if there might be big money in it, i counted it was foolishness; but now the thing looks different." at this point the conversation was interrupted by sam barney, who suddenly appeared from around a corner much as if he had popped out with the purpose of frightening them. seth would have passed the would-be detective without a word, for after what had been done he felt no desire to so much as speak with him; but now was the hour of master barney's triumph, and he did not intend to lose any opportunity of sounding his own praises. "well," he cried, stepping directly in front of the boys, "what do you think _now_ 'bout my bein' a detective?" "if you are one, nobody knows it but yourself," dan replied angrily. "didn't i get jip collins arrested?" "yes, an' anybody might er done the same thing, without startin' in by goin' to philadelphy. it seems you wasn't much of a detective when you figgered that he was over there." "if you fellers hadn't been so smart with your railroad ticket i'd never gone, 'cause it didn't take me very long to see how i'd made a mistake in figgerin', after i put my mind right down to it." "i notice you hung 'round here two days waitin' for us to raise the money. couldn't you find the mistake before then?" "i didn't try; but when i started in without bein' mixed up with a crowd of duffers like you, i soon put the thing through." "yes, it was big detective work to walk over to thirty-fourth street ferry an' find him." "i snaked him right out er a house where he was hidin'." "then denny macey was the one who gave jip away, an' i'll have a settlement with that chump some day!" dan cried angrily. now for the first time seth took part in the conversation, by saying curtly to sam: "you've got jip in jail, an' think it's goin' to be a big thing to brag about; but i don't believe you'll make any great shakes out of it. come on, dan, we don't want to hang 'round here any longer." "you're feelin' mighty fine, seth bartlett, jest 'cause you're given the chance to loaf 'round the fire department headquarters an' sweep the floors!" sam cried angrily. "i s'pose you think you're pretty nigh the only feller in this town?" "come ahead, dan," and seth would have passed on but that the would-be detective barred his way. "i don't want any talk with you, sam barney, an' what's more i won't have any." "won't, eh? suppose i slap your face, how'll it be then?" instinctively seth put himself in a posture of defence, and instantly afterward realized that he must not be accused of making a disturbance on the street lest it work to his harm in the department. then once again he would have passed master barney. the would-be detective was not brave save where he believed he had a decided advantage, and the fact that seth seemed eager to avoid an encounter gave him great confidence in his own abilities. he stepped up menacingly, brandishing his fists directly under seth's nose, and dan cried sharply to his partner: "why don't you knock his head off?" "he don't dare to so much as raise his hands, except he's up 'round ninety-four's house, where he thinks some of the firemen will back him!" sam cried derisively as he redoubled his efforts to provoke the amateur. seth's cheeks were flaming red, and he clenched his fists until the knuckles were white, in the effort to restrain himself. if he had been alone there is every probability he might have forgotten his determination to avoid such encounters, for the would-be detective was doing all he could to provoke a quarrel; but dan roberts, understanding full well why his partner remained inactive when the temptation to strike at least one blow was very great, took it upon himself to put an end to the scene. sam was standing directly in front of seth, brandishing his fists, and indulging in such epithets as "coward" and "sneak," when dan sprang forward suddenly, striking the bully a blow under the ear that sent him headlong into the gutter. then, after looking quickly around to make certain there were no policemen within ear-shot, he leaped upon the discomfited detective, seizing him by the coat-collar in such a manner that it was impossible for sam to raise his head. "you're awful keen on havin' a row, an' i'm goin' to give you the chance! you knew seth wouldn't put up his hands, because he don't count on havin' any black marks against him when he goes into the department; but i ain't figgerin' on anythin' of that kind, an' can stand a little bit of a bad name for the sake of servin' you out." "come on, dan, come on! don't make a row here, 'cause in the first place sam barney ain't worth it, an' then again you mustn't get up a name for fightin'." "i reckon that dressin' this chump down won't set me off very bad, an' i'm willin' to take the risks. now stand up and show what you can do!" he added as he released his hold of the detective's collar. sam made no effort to rise, nor did he so much as reply. "you was terrible sharp for a row with seth, 'cause you counted on his not mixing up with sich as you. i'm a good bit smaller than he is, an' am ready to give you all the fightin' that's wanted. come on, and be funny same's you was a minute ago." "i ain't got any row with you, dan roberts," sam muttered. "what's the reason you haven't got as much of a one with me as you had with seth? we're partners, an' he never said half the rough things about you that i have." "leave me alone, or i'll yell for the perlice!" "i thought you wasn't achin' terrible bad for a fight," and dan flourished his fists precisely as sam had done while trying to provoke seth. "yell for the perlice, will yer? i've a precious good mind to give you a couple of black eyes, only that i hate to hit a feller who don't dare to put up his hands." "come on, dan, don't spend your time with him!" seth cried. "he won't fight, an' never would. there wouldn't been any bluff made if he hadn't known i'd promised myself not to get the name of bein' a bruiser." dan did as his partner suggested, and the would-be detective remained quietly in the gutter until the two were half a block away, when he arose and cried vindictively: "i'll get square with you fellers yet! we'll see whether seth bartlett swells 'round headquarters much longer!" "don't say a word," seth whispered as dan half turned to make some reply. "all he wants is to get me into a row, an' it'll please the chump too well if we chin with him. i'm sorry you let yourself out." "i ain't. i reckon that much of a fight won't count very hard against the third avenoo store, for i'll earn jest as big a pile of money to-morrow as if i'd let him make his bluff; but it might er been different with you." seth was by no means pleased with the outcome of this affair, although he did not say as much to his partner. it seemed as if he had acted a cowardly part in allowing sam to insult him, and then remain passive while dan took up the quarrel. he was positive he ought never to fight simply to please a bully, but equally confident that he was not manly to stand still while a fellow like sam barney imposed upon him. it was a matter which he could not settle satisfactorily in his own mind, for whatever course he might have pursued seemed to be wrong. "i'll see what mr. davis thinks about it," he said to himself, and then added to dan, "it was mighty good of you, old man, to give sam one clip for me; but i can't make out whether i ought'er stood still or put up my hands." "don't bother your head about it," master roberts replied carelessly. "that chump detective won't fool 'round us any more, an' we're well rid of him. of course he'll do a pile of blowin' an' tellin' how he'll get square with us; but his talk ain't anythin' more'n wind." this assurance did not content seth. now his only desire was to go home; but dan had no idea of curtailing his enjoyment because of the encounter, therefore the amateur felt in duty bound to do as he wished. that night jip's friends were informed of what 'lish davis had said, and while the majority regretted the necessity which kept master collins a prisoner, all agreed that perhaps it might not be well for him to escape the consequences of his act too easily. when seth returned from headquarters on the following evening, with the report that mr. fernald had continued his instruction in gymnastics, he learned that dan had, thanks to the lawyer employed by ninety-four's men, been allowed to hold a long and private conversation with the prisoner. jip was still very penitent, and declared he deserved all the punishment which the law might inflict upon him; but at the same time it could readily be seen, according to master roberts's statement, that he was wonderfully relieved by the hope 'lish davis held out. "from what the lawyer told me," dan said when detailing to his partner all that had occurred during the interview, "it'll be quite a spell before jip comes up for trial an' so long as he stays in jail i can't see but he's gettin' the best of it. three square meals every day, an' at night a bed better'n he's had since he could remember." "but he's locked in, an' that's what makes it hard to stand up under," seth suggested, whereupon dan cried with no little warmth: "i'd be willin' to let 'em lock me up nights for the sake of havin' it as easy as it is for jip. nothin' to do, an' livin' off the fat of the land." "i reckon after one day you'd be willin' to take less, an' have a chance to go where you pleased," seth replied so emphatically that master roberts did not consider it wise to continue the argument. during the three days which followed the amateur fireman worked so hard to win the approval of his teacher that mr. fernald finally told him he was trying to do too much, and cut down his tasks nearly one half, an act which won for him the unqualified approval of ninety-four's crew. it was on the morning of the fifth day after jip collins's arrest, and just as josh fernald was bringing seth's lesson to a conclusion, that one of the employés entered the gymnasium with a letter, and cried in a loud voice: "does anybody here know a fellow by the name of seth bartlett?" "that's me," the amateur replied after a moment's thought: "but i don't reckon i've got a letter, 'cause there's nobody who'd write to me." "here's what the address says," and the young man held the envelope in such a manner that both the boy and his instructor could see the superscription: "seth bartlett, fireman up at headquarters, new york." seth made no attempt to take the missive until mr. fernald asked quite sharply: "why don't you take it? there's no other of that name here so far as i know." "i never had a letter, an' it can't be for me." "you're the only seth bartlett in the building, and it must belong to you," the messenger said impatiently, whereat he threw the missive toward seth and went his way. not until mr. fernald had peremptorily ordered the boy to open the letter in order to see if it was intended for him, did the amateur as much as touch the soiled envelope; but after having torn it open the expression on his face told that the writer was not a stranger. this is what seth read in ill-formed letters, many of them occupying the depth of two lines, some in written and others in printed characters: "seth bartlett, fireman up at headquarters. deer seth: "sam barney struck this town the other day, an' borrowed a dollar off er me. you know my folks stopped here on the way to baltimore, an' i've been tryin' to earn a little money so's to see me threw. i'm in philadelphy, an' sam cum over here with a big stiff 'bout how you an' bill dean had cent him to hunt for jip collins. he was broke an' ced if i'd let him have money enuf to git home you or bill would pay it back. it's been most a week sence he was here an' i ain't heard from you. why don't you send the good dollar i put up to help you along. i'm livin' at - / filbert street an' want my stuff. "yours till deth shal part us, "joe carter." "so the letter is for you, even though you never received one before?" mr. fernald quietly remarked as seth, having read the lines after considerable difficulty, refolded the paper and returned it to the envelope. "yes, sir, an' it's from a feller in philadelphy. i don't reckon you know who jip collins is; but this has got somethin' to do with his business." as he spoke seth unfolded the paper and handed it to his instructor, who, after deciphering it, quite naturally asked for an explanation. "if you owe this boy money, send it to him at once, for people who do not pay their bills are in bad odor up here." "i never borrowed a cent of him," seth cried indignantly, and then he told mr. fernald the whole story. the old instructor appeared to be amused by the recital, and when it was concluded asked if seth wanted leave of absence to straighten the matter out. "i'll have plenty of time after leaving here to-night; but what bothers me is that i may have a row with sam barney, 'cause i ain't goin' to let him swell 'round borrowin' money on my account." "and in that you are perfectly right, my boy." "he knows i don't dare to fight on the street, 'cause it may give me a black mark in the department, an' that would never do, so i reckon he'll be mighty lippy 'bout it." "ask 'lish davis! i can't recommend you to create a disturbance, and yet it seems hard you should be imposed upon because of the situation. whatever the driver of ninety-four advises, you may do without fear of the consequences, for there isn't a more level-headed man in the department, and it's only his lack of education that has prevented him from rising in the service." "i'll see him to-night," seth replied as he put the letter in his pocket, and then without further delay he set about his regular duties. chapter xiv. the subpoena. impatient though seth was to talk with 'lish davis and his roommates concerning what had been done by sam barney in the matter of borrowing money on the account of others, he made no attempt to leave headquarters a single moment earlier than usual. when the hours of labor had come to an end, however, he did not linger, and with a cheery "good-night" to mr. fernald, for by this time the teacher and his pupil were on excellent terms, he set off at full speed for ninety-four's house. unless they were out on duty, this particular company, since seth went to work at headquarters, could always be found on the lower floor of the building at about six o'clock in the evening awaiting the arrival of "their kid," and here master bartlett found them. from the expression on his face all hands understood that something unpleasant had occurred, and 'lish davis asked in a tone of anxiety: "what's gone wrong, amateur? haven't been getting into trouble with josh, i hope?" "mr. fernald is mighty kind to me; he says i shall go in the yard next week for half an hour each day, an' then you know i'll have a great chance to pick up points." "once he starts you in there the road is pretty straight up to a job in the department. you look so kind-er peaked i was afraid something had gone wrong." "read that, an' then i reckon you'll think somethin' _has_ gone wrong!" seth exclaimed as he gave the driver joe carter's letter, unfolding the sheet that there might be no needless time spent in mastering its contents. "read it aloud, 'lish," jerry walters cried, and the driver glanced toward seth as if asking permission to do so. "go ahead, mr. davis. of course everybody belongin' to this company has a right to know all about my business." davis did as he was requested, reading slowly as if enjoying the matter hugely, and interrupted now and then by exclamations of surprise or amusement from his comrades. "well, what do you think of it?" seth asked angrily when the driver, having come to the end, remained silent. "it begins to look as if your friend the detective could manage to take care of himself by hook or by crook. i can't see that either you or bill dean is bound by any such a transaction, unless you gave sam permission to borrow money on your account." "of course we wasn't such fools as to do that! it's a reg'lar swindle, that's what it is, an' if i'd known 'bout it when dan and me met him down-town, i'm 'fraid i'd punched his head, even if it would be fightin' on the street!" "what's that?" mr. davis asked sharply. "something been going on that we haven't heard?" "i counted on tellin' you; but it seems as if there's always a bother to talk 'bout, so i waited a spell." then seth gave a detailed account of the encounter with the would-be detective, and when he had concluded the recital 'lish davis looked around at his companions as if waiting to hear their comments before he expressed an opinion. "you ought'er lit right out on him," jerry walters cried warmly. "he thinks you won't fight, an' will keep on makin' trouble for you till he learns that it ain't safe." "don't listen to such advice, seth," the captain added quickly. "you did perfectly right, and are to be praised for it, more particularly since the temptation must have been very great." then the men began what finally grew into a heated discussion, as to how the boy should have acted under such provoking circumstances, and not until it was brought to a close did 'lish davis give his opinion. "i'm allowing that you can't afford to raise a brawl, amateur," he said, deliberately. "if that imitation detective 'mounted to anything the case might be different, and though i'm free to say that every man or boy should defend himself when it's necessary, there's no wisdom in raising a disturbance while it's possible to walk on. the trouble is that too many of us are apt to think we can't get away from what appears to be a bad scrape without coming to blows; but in nine cases out of ten that isn't the truth." "but what am i to do 'bout this money he borrowed from joe carter?" seth asked as the driver ceased speaking. "i can't see that you've got any call to disturb yourself. write and tell the boy in philadelphia that the imitation detective had no authority to borrow money in your name, and let that settle it." this did not appear to seth the proper course, for he felt that he was in a certain sense bound to prevent joe carter from losing anything by being thus confiding; but yet he would not have questioned the driver's decision. "it's mighty aggravating, amateur, i'm free to confess," 'lish davis added as he noted the expression on the boy's face; "but you must remember that the poorest way to settle a difficulty is by fighting. when you're where it's got to be done in order to save yourself from being hurt or robbed, then put up your hands like a man, first making certain there's no other way out. if it's all the same to you, i'm counting on toddling down to tenth street to-night." "do you mean that i'm goin' to school now?" "i reckon the time has come when you may as well begin. jerry walters and me have made the trade, so after you've slicked up a bit, drop in here and we'll start." "all right, sir," seth cried as he hurried away to make ready for what he knew must be a trying ordeal. he understood that he was remarkably ignorant for one of his years, and had an idea that every pupil in the school would make sport of him. when the amateur fireman arrived at his lodgings he found his roommates awaiting him, and in the fewest possible words made known sam barney's misdemeanor, producing joe carter's letter in proof of his assertion. it can well be imagined that both the boys were angry and surprised by the information, and bill insisted that all three set out at once in search of the offender. "i've got to start in on school to-night, an' so i can't go," seth replied mournfully. "how long are you goin' to keep up sich a racket as that?" dan asked, as if personally aggrieved because such a course was to be pursued. "'cordin' to the way mr. davis talks i'll have to stick at it till i'm a reg'lar fireman, an' perhaps a good bit after that." "then i'd give up tryin' to get into the department!" master roberts replied emphatically. "i wouldn't do all that funny business if i never 'mounted to anythin' more'n a bootblack!" "it's jest what you ought'er do, dan, if you ever expect to own that third avenoo store." "i'd like to know why?" "now, that's a foolish question. s'posen you got the shop this very minute, an' wanted to write a letter, or figger up how much anythin' cost? what kind of a fist would you make of it?" dan did not reply, but changed the subject of conversation by asking bill: "what er you goin' to do 'bout sam barney?" "you an' me will hunt him up, an' by the time we're through with the chump he won't borrow money in sich a way ag'in, i reckon. who'll write to joe carter 'bout it?" "if seth is goin' to school he ought'er do that much, 'cause it'll come right in his line of business." "i'll do the best i can at it," the amateur fireman replied readily, and added as his friends turned to leave the room. "now, don't have a reg'lar row with that chump. it'll be enough if you show him up to all the fellers as a reg'lar fraud, and then you won't stand any chance of gettin' into trouble with the perlice." "we'll 'tend to the business in proper shape," bill replied in a meaning tone, and seth was not sadly disturbed in mind as he understood, or thought he did, that sam barney would spend a very unpleasant evening if these two acquaintances chanced to meet him. when he was alone seth set about making preparations for beginning his pursuit of knowledge, and the prospect before him was by no means pleasant. 'lish davis was awaiting his arrival when he reentered the engine-house, and immediately began laughing heartily at the expression on the boy's face. "it ain't going to be half as bad as you're counting on, amateur," the driver cried as soon as he could control his mirth, and then the two set out. mr. davis had but one remark of importance to make during the journey, and that impressed seth more than anything which had been said to him that day. "if i'd spent half or even a quarter of my spare time while i was a boy, in study, instead of being only the driver of ninety-four, i might be her captain at the very least. you may have got it into your head that firemen don't know anything except how to use an axe or handle hose; but it's a big mistake. if you want to keep on rising in the department, you've got to have more book-learning than i was willing to get." when they arrived at the school, 'lish did not spend very much time in introducing his _protégé_. "here's the kid i was telling you about," he said, and then seth was left to fight his own battle. that going to school was not as hard as he had fancied was known at the engine-house when the amateur returned shortly after nine o'clock, for then he said with an air of relief: "i ain't so certain but that i'll like it, after i kind-er get the hang of things." "course you will, amateur, course you will; but it's bound to be hard work, and there don't seem to be much chance for play in your life the way we've mapped it out for you. all hands of us have been figgering how we'd kind-er let up on you, and it's been decided that you shall sleep here every saturday night. what calls come in 'twixt the ending of the school business and midnight, you're to answer as if belonging reg'larly to the company." seth's eyes glistened with delight, and when he had gone to his room the driver said in a tone of satisfaction to his comrades: "that kid is bound to make his mark in the department some day, and we'll be patting ourselves on the head for having given him a show. just think of a boy like him being tickled way up in g when you give him a chance to work at a fire! he was reg'larly born for the business." when seth arrived at mrs. hanson's he found his roommates awaiting his arrival. "didn't you find sam?" he asked in surprise that they should have returned so soon. "that's what we did; met him down by the post-office where there was a whole crowd of the fellers, an' by this time i reckon he don't think he's a terrible big man." "what did he say 'bout givin' joe carter sich a yarn?" "first off he tried to say it wasn't so; but when we flashed up the letter, it was all over, an' the chump couldn't so much as yip, 'cept to promise to pay the bill with the very first money he could scrape together." "then you didn't have any row?" "not a bit of it." "i was 'fraid you might thump him, an' the perlice would jump in." "we didn't reckon on bein' jugged jest 'cause of him," bill replied, quietly. "instead of fightin', dan jest shoved him inside the post-office quick-like an' i let him have a couple of mighty good clips alongside the head. when he yelled, we lit out an' come up here. if it hadn't been that you're tryin' so hard to get into the department, we might er had a row with the duffer; but seein's anythin' of the kind would give you a black eye, we kept quiet." dan and master dean both appeared to think they deserved praise for having been so cautious, and seth did not believe it would be wise to reproach them for what had been done. after this affair there was nothing out of the ordinary in seth's life for ten days or more, except during the two saturday nights he slept at ninety-four's house, where on each occasion it was his good fortune to go out with the engine. at headquarters mr. fernald pushed him along in the drill as rapidly as possible, and he was allowed to devote considerably more than two hours each day to the lessons. at school he made as much advancement as could have been expected, and really came to look forward with pleasure upon his tasks there, for 'lish davis's remark as to the value of an education had not been forgotten. then came the day when he was summoned from the yard where he had been taking part in a drill with ladders, to meet a stranger who handed him a printed document, the meaning of which he failed to understand until mr. fernald explained that it was a subpoena, or, in other words, a command for him to appear in court on the following morning to give evidence in the case of the state _vs._ jipson collins. the officer who brought the summons stated that he had served a similar document upon dan roberts a few hours previous, and cautioned seth against failing to obey. "i reckon they'll have to get along without me, 'cause i can't leave here," he replied, as if believing such an excuse must be accepted by any fair-minded judge. then it was mr. fernald explained the nature of a subpoena, and seth was decidedly surprised at learning that he could, and probably would, be arrested if he refused to obey. "there is no need of your coming here at all to-morrow," the old man said, "no matter how early you may get out of court. you're needing a holiday, lad, and i'm glad of an excuse for giving you one." not until he returned from school that evening did seth see his roommates, and then he found them in a high state of excitement because of the approaching trial. "mr. davis says he shall be there, an' the lawyer is to 'tend right out so's to say a good word for poor jip when the time comes," seth hastened to state, and from that moment until it seemed absolutely necessary they should retire, the boys discussed the probable fate of the firebug. next morning when seth went to the engine-house to perform his customary task of blacking the men's boots, dan set out with him, saying as they left mrs. hanson's: "if it wasn't for that third avenoo store i wouldn't go down-town to-day, till it was time for the trial to begin; but i can't lose a whole mornin's work." "that's the way to stick at it!" seth cried approvingly. "how much money have you got laid up?" "three dollars an' five cents. oh, i'm gettin' there, old man, though 'cordin' to the way things are workin' it'll take quite a spell." "you'll strike a rush some day, an' then it'll pile up in great shape. stick at it, dan." "that's what i'm reckonin' on doin', an' say, seth, if it don't cost too much, i'm goin' to 'tend out on school, same's you do. bill has 'greed to come into the snap, an' we'll make it lively all 'round." "it won't cost you a cent; mr. davis says so." "then we'll begin to-night, but i don't want the fellers to know about it, 'cause they'd set up sich a terrible howl." dan did not waste any more time in conversation, but hurried away to take advantage of the early demand for papers, and 'lish davis said sagely when seth had repeated the conversation to him: "now you can see the result of a good example, amateur. if you had kicked against going to school, your roommates never'd thought of trying the same game, and so by helping yourself you've gone a long way towards helping others. contrariwise, if you'd been cutting 'round town, raising rows and getting into all kinds of trouble, you'd find them as would follow in your track, so it's a pretty sure thing that a boy is bound to walk straight because of the effect it'll have on others, even if for no other reason." seth made no reply to this brief lecture; he was learning very much of life through his intercourse with ninety-four's men, and it seemed to him as if each day some new idea regarding a boy's work was to be gained. "your firebug has his chance this forenoon, eh?" 'lish asked after a short pause. "yes, sir, an' i'm hopin' mighty hard that he'll get off this time." "i reckon a good deal depends on you and your partner." "how do you mean?" "if the firebug pleads guilty as his lawyer has advised him to, the judge will only call on you two witnesses to tell how it happened, so's he can get an idea of about how hard jip ought'er be punished." "then if we talk smooth he stands a better chance, eh?" "that's 'bout the size of it, amateur." during the remainder of the time he spent in ninety-four's quarters seth was unusually thoughtful, and immediately his work was finished he asked the driver if there was any objection to his going down-town. "now see here, amateur, there's no call for you to come 'round me with a question like that. i'm only too glad you've got a chance to get a holiday, and i advise you to spend all the time, till the hour for school, among your old chums. i don't reckon you've got any big pile of money left by this time, eh?" "well, i don't need a cent, 'cept for my rent, an' that ain't costin' such a terrible pile." "have you got enough to buy your breakfast with?" "i'll get whatever i need." "see here, amateur, how much money have you on hand?" 'lish asked so sternly that seth could no longer evade the question. "well, i'm broke; but there's no need of my havin' a single cent. i ain't doin' much swellin' lately." "take this," and the driver thrust a dollar in seth's hands. "i ain't giving it to you, so there's no call to kick. you've got to borrow it, or go hungry, and that i'm not minded you shall do." "i haven't done anything of the kind yet a while," the amateur replied, with a hearty laugh, and then he began to speak of jip once more lest 'lish davis might take it into his head to ask how long he had thus been penniless, for it was nearly a week since he had so much as a nickel in his pocket. "i'll pay back the dollar as soon as i get my month's wages," he said, as, his work finished, he made ready to go down-town, and the driver replied cheerily: "i'm counting on it, amateur, and i'm also reckoning that you'll come to me again when that's gone, else you and me will have a settling that won't be pleasant to one of us." then seth started down-town with a smile on his face, as he repeated again and again to himself: "folks are mighty good to me, mighty good!" when he arrived in that locality where he formerly transacted business, his old friends welcomed him heartily, and every one who claimed the slightest acquaintance had a great many questions to ask concerning his position at headquarters. not until nearly the hour set for the witnesses to be at court did seth find an opportunity of speaking privately with his partner, and then he repeated what 'lish davis had said as to the possible effect their evidence might have in the case. "we must be careful to tell the truth, dan; but there's no need of our rubbin' it in very bad." "that'll be all right," master roberts replied confidently. "jest wait till the judge begins to pump me, an' you'll see how slick i'll make it for jip." "don't put it on too thick." "see here, seth, i reckon i know how to run this thing. don't you worry 'bout me; but be kind-er thinkin' up what you'll say." "i don't s'pose we'll have a chance for anything 'cept to answer questions." "i'll bet i can sneak in a good word now an' then, never mind how hard they try to stop me. say, have you seen sam barney?" "no; is he goin' to the court?" "'cordin' to the way he's been swellin' hisself out this mornin' you'd think he was countin' on runnin' the whole thing. he told some of the fellers that the trial wouldn't begin if he wasn't there, 'cause he's the only one who can send jip up the river. bill wanted me to go in with him for usin' the chump so rough he couldn't more'n crawl, an' that would fix things for jip; but i was 'fraid it might make talk in the court so's you'd get the worst of it." "it's better to let him alone, though i'm awful sorry he's so set on this detective business, 'cause if it hadn't been for that, jip never'd been 'rested." at this moment bill dean joined his friends with the information that the would-be detective had already started for the court-room, and proposed that they set out at once. "i'm goin' to get a seat close to that duffer, an' let him know he'll get his face into trouble if he tells any more'n is called for. i wonder why he couldn't be yanked up for lyin' to joe carter when he borrowed that money? if he should have a dose of it in jail, i reckon he wouldn't be so hot to see jip sent up." dan was uncertain whether a charge might not have been brought against the would-be detective because of what he had done in philadelphia, but dismissed the matter without very much study, on the ground that it was now too late to render such a course of advantage to the firebug. then the three, followed or accompanied by nearly all their acquaintances, went toward the court-room. chapter xv. the trial. the door-keeper of the court attempted to check the rush which began with the entrance of seth, dan, and bill; but it was impossible because of his delay. he had at first objected to admitting the amateur fireman and his partner, but they speedily proved they were entitled to enter, by producing the subpoenas, and as he stepped aside for them to go in, the following came on with a rush as powerful as it was unexpected. the official would have swept down upon the offenders and literally dragged them out, but that 'lish davis, who was standing just inside the door, said with a laugh: "i don't reckon you've got time to sort 'em, mr. officer. a kid is to be tried for arson this morning, and more'n likely as not half the crowd has been summoned as witnesses, for it's only through his acquaintances that anything can be proven." the door-keeper looked for an instant at the buzzing throng which had settled down upon the front seats, and, understanding what a difficult task he might be setting himself, evidently decided that mr. davis was in the right. sam barney already sat on the front row of seats allotted to spectators when mrs. hanson's lodgers entered, and although seth would have been better pleased to remain at a greater distance from the would-be detective, bill dean forced him along until they were directly behind jip's enemy. "don't speak to him," seth whispered. "i'm sorry we're so near the duffer." "it's jest where i counted on gettin'," bill replied, in a tone of satisfaction. "i won't have any row with the chump, but only shake him up a bit." "if we make any noise, all hands will be fired out." "watch an' see how quiet i'll be," master dean replied, and then before his companion could check him, he had leaned over and whispered in sam's ear: "be mighty careful you tell the truth in this court, or i'll let out to the judge what you did in philadelphy, an' then perhaps jip collins won't be the only prisoner 'round here." master barney turned quickly, and an expression of disquiet came over his face as he saw who were directly behind him. he did not venture to make any remark, nor did bill think it wise to repeat the threat; but he shook his fist warningly, which served the same purpose. "be quiet," seth whispered imploringly. "it would be terrible if we got into a row here, for mr. davis is standing close by the door watchin' us." "i won't do a thing till we get outside, unless it happens that i have to tell the judge 'bout sam's borrowin' that money," master dean replied in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard by the alleged detective. then the attention of all the sidewalk merchants was attracted to the opposite side of the room by dan roberts, who whispered loudly, pointing with outstretched finger: "there he is! there's jip!" the prisoner was being led in by a burly policeman, who kept a firm hold on the boy's collar as if fearful he might make some desperate attempt at escape, and there was not a person in the court-room, with the probable exception of sam barney, who failed to feel a certain sympathy for the frightened lad. "that's his lawyer--the little feller with the big nose," dan whispered so loudly that not only his friends in the immediate vicinity, but all the attorneys within the enclosure, set apart for their especial use, heard the words, and much merriment ensued, during which the cause of it looked around in surprise, unable to discover the meaning of it. seth and dan, who had never before attended the trial of a prisoner, expected there would be considerable ceremony, in which policemen would play a prominent part; therefore the case was begun and gone on with to some extent before they were aware of the fact. it is true they saw jip collins standing up while the clerk read from a paper a quantity of words which had no meaning to them, and after a time, the prisoner was allowed to sit down again. then the "little man with the big nose" talked to the judge as if confiding in him some secret, after which the clerk called loudly: "daniel roberts! daniel roberts!" seth's partner gazed about him curiously, never once thinking the clerk referred to him, until 'lish davis, coming swiftly down from his station near the door, leaned over and pinched dan's ear as he asked: "why don't you answer to your name?" "is it me they mean?" dan asked, and at that instant the clerk repeated the call. dan looked about him in perplexity, uncertain as to what he should do, until 'lish reached over to seize him by the collar, when he cried in a shrill voice: "here i be, mister!" "come forward to the witness-stand," the official said sharply, while the spectators laughed heartily. it was several moments before master roberts could be made to understand exactly where he should go, and then, assisted by 'lish davis and the clerk, he finally gained the stand, where he stood gazing around with the most friendly expression on his face. for some reason no question was asked immediately, and after waiting two or three moments, dan, believing the judge was ready to hear his story, began earnestly: "you see, it's jest this way: jip, he didn't count on doin' anything off color, an' if it hadn't been for sam barney----" "silence in the court!" the crier called, and dan looked up in surprise at being interrupted so soon. "he didn't reckon on bein'----" dan stopped again as the same voice called loudly for silence in the court, and then the attorney employed to defend jip explained matters by saying: "you must wait until you are questioned, daniel. there will be ample opportunity to give your evidence." "dan ain't goin' to let any chance slip him," bill dean whispered confidentially to seth, and sam barney said in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard by those immediately behind him: "he's a reg'lar chump, else he'd know enough to behave hisself on the witness-stand." "he'll behave himself outside on the sidewalk in a way you won't like if you shoot off your mouth too much," bill whispered, and seth shook his friend's arm warningly lest he disturb the court by his threats. 'lish davis evidently saw that there was bad blood between the alleged detective and seth's roommate, and at once forced the boys on the front seat to move nearer together until he had room to sit where he could keep all of them under his eye, a proceeding which caused the amateur fireman great relief of mind. after what seemed like a long time in waiting, jip's attorney asked the witness: "what is your name?" dan appeared surprised at such a question, and after some slight hesitation replied: "why, i'm the feller you told to come here. didn't you hear the man call my name? this is where they said i was to stand." the judge rapped smartly on the desk in front of him, and dan turned quickly to see what had happened. "answer properly the questions asked of you!" "that's what----" the attorney interrupted him by asking as before: "what is your name?" "it's dan roberts, of course, an' i was----" "are you acquainted with the prisoner?" "do you mean jip? why, of course i am; him an' me used to work together when he lived with seth bartlett----" "answer only the questions asked of you!" the judge said sternly, and for the instant dan was abashed; but quickly recovered himself as he remembered what seth had said regarding the possibility of aiding jip by his evidence. "where were you when he set fire to the shed in baxter's lumber-yard?" "now, see here, mister, jip never 'd done that----" "where were you?" the attorney repeated, speaking so sharply that for the moment dan was startled. "why, in the shed, of course, we----" "had you heard the prisoner threaten to set fire to the shed?" "he didn't mean a word of it; did you, jip? he was----" "unless you answer the questions which are asked, and in a proper manner, we shall find some means of punishing you," the judge said sternly, and jip's attorney whispered a few words in the ear of the witness, which had the effect of checking him for the time being. he was questioned regarding what he had heard jip say as to burning the shed; how many times such threat had been repeated in his presence, and what the prisoner had told concerning the crime after it had been committed. it was the last question which set loose the floodgates of his speech, and, regardless of the judge's warnings or the attorney's nervous gestures, he said, speaking rapidly in order that all might be told before they should check him: "jip, he was awful sorry 'cause he'd done it, an' said he'd square things if we'd let him. he wouldn't even put up his hands when i was goin' to thump him, an' if sam barney hadn't wanted to show hisself off for a detective there wouldn't been any fuss like this. what does he know 'bout bein' a detective? why, i wouldn't----" by this time the court officials managed to stop the flow of words; but not before he had shaken his fist in the direction of sam, and caused even the judge to smile. "you may step down," the clerk said, after order had been restored, and dan asked innocently: "ain't you goin' to give me a chance to----" "step down!" was the stern command and master roberts was forced to obey, much to his displeasure. "i'll bet i'd fix things if they'd give me a chance," he whispered to seth as he took his seat; "but that lawyer 'lish davis hired don't 'mount to a row of pins." then the amateur fireman's name was called, and he proved a more satisfactory witness to all concerned than had master roberts. he replied briefly to the questions, and when the examination was ended the judge asked how jip had behaved after the crime was committed. then it was that seth had an opportunity of telling how penitent the firebug had appeared to be; how eager he was to do all in his power toward repairing the wrong, and declared he did not believe the prisoner would "go crooked again." 'lish davis next went on the stand, and although he could not swear to jip's repentance, he testified that the prisoner himself had sent in the alarm, and succeeded in saying many a good word for the boy. "that driver is a dandy!" dan whispered approvingly. "i wish the lawyer was half as good." master roberts was better satisfied with the attorney a short time later, when he made a plea that sentence be suspended on the prisoner, who had promptly confessed his guilt, and even at the moment when the crime had been committed did all in his power to repair the mischief. then two or three others had something to say; but they appeared to be talking privately with the judge, rather than conducting the case, and to the great surprise of all the small spectators sam barney was not called to the witness-stand. the fact that he had compassed the arrest of the prisoner was not even mentioned, much to the delight of dan and bill dean, each of whom leaned forward from time to time to ask in a cautious whisper as to when the "big detective work was goin' to be showed up?" after a time it seemed to those in the front seats as if the prisoner had been forgotten by the court, for nothing was said to or about him, and bill was on the point of asking seth if the trial was concluded, when the judge ordered jip to stand up. then he lectured him severely on the crime of arson, explained how many years of his life would be spent in prison if the provisions of the law were carried out to their fullest extent, and finally announced that sentence would be suspended during good behavior. at this point 'lish davis left the court-room as if he no longer had any interest in the proceedings, and after a certain time the attorney led jip out of the building, the latter's acquaintances following in a body. "is it all over?" dan cried, seizing the attorney by the arm in order to hold his attention, and before the gentleman could speak, sam barney cried vindictively: "you can bet it ain't all over! i've been buncoed by a lot of cheap firemen, an' don't count on holdin' my tongue. you'll see jip collins in jail again before he's a day older." "yes, it is all over," the attorney said in reply to dan's question. "so long as jip behaves himself, nothing more will be done; but if he should go wrong, sentence for this crime will be pronounced, and most likely he will be given the extreme penalty." "can sam barney have him arrested?" dan asked. "no one can trouble him on this charge while he lives an honest life." "then i'll see that that duffer holds his tongue!" and bill started toward the would-be detective in a threatening manner; but the latter was not minded to take any chances of an encounter. he turned and fled instantly bill made the advance, and did not halt until he was half a block or more away, when he shouted: "wait an' see what i'll do to all you chumps who think you're so awful smart!" "i'll give you a chance of seein' what i'll do, an' without much waitin', if you make any more cheap talk!" with this threat bill turned his back on the disappointed sam, and seth begged of him to remain quiet. "it's all right now," he replied complacently. "i've had my say, an' if sam knows what's good for him, he'll keep his tongue quiet. there ain't any reason why i shouldn't fight, an' he'll soon find it out." then seth turned to the attorney, who was yet talking with jip, and asked: "how's he goin' to pay you for lookin' after him?" "i don't expect he can. the bill was settled by some firemen belonging to ninety-four engine." with this the lawyer, after advising jip to call upon him from time to time, went his way, and mrs. hanson's lodgers stood looking at each other as if expecting some important proposition was about to be made. "it won't do to take you up to our house, jip, 'cause there are three of us already, an' the boss of the place can't have all the boys in the city runnin' in an' out there for sixty cents a week," seth said hesitatingly, wondering what could be done with the lad who had been put on probation. "i ain' thinkin' you could take me there," master collins replied promptly. "now i'm out, i'll begin to sell papers down by the ferry again, 'cause i've got fourteen cents left, an' if sam barney leaves me alone, i'll pull through all right." "if he so much as looks crossways at you, i'll give him something to remember me by," bill cried. "it's a good thing to get right at your work," seth said approvingly. "stick at it, an' us fellers will come to see you whenever we get a chance." "you've been mighty good to me, all three of you, an' i only wish i could----" it was impossible for the penitent firebug to say anything more. the tears he had been holding back since he first appeared in court now came out in full force, and, seated on the curbstone, he gave full sway to the sense of loneliness and shame in his heart. mrs. hanson's lodgers soothed him as best they could, and not until he was ready for business once more, with a bundle of evening papers under his arm, did seth think of leaving him. dan and bill had both equipped themselves for work, and promised to have an eye out for jip during the remainder of that day at least; therefore, seth believed himself at liberty to follow his own inclinations. "i want to go up to the engine-house for a spell; but i'll be in the room in time to go with you to school," he said to dan, and the latter replied cheerily: "all right, we'll flash up there by dark, and you needn't be 'fraid anybody will get the best of jip while we're round." ten minutes later seth was in ninety-four's quarters, standing in front of 'lish davis, as the latter asked sternly: "why didn't you stay down-town an' enjoy yourself? that's what i told you to do." "i can have more fun up here, an' i didn't think you'd care if i loafed 'round till it was time to go to school." "care? of course we don't, amateur; but you ought'er have some change; there's no sense in hanging on here all the time." "i don't see very much of you, an' perhaps----" "you're reckoning that we may get a call, and you'll have the chance to go out with us?" "if there was one, i'd like----" mr. davis interrupted him by saying with mock seriousness: "i'm afraid, amateur, we shall have to hire a back-yard somewhere, and keep a little blaze going so's to amuse you." seth laughed heartily at this conceit, and then bethinking himself that there was no reason why he should not give the men's boots an extra polish, brought his outfit from the chamber above, although jerry walters insisted strongly that he should sit still "and visit with 'em." to do this work he had drawn on an old pair of overalls to protect his blue trousers, taken off his coat, and was in full working costume, when a "click" came from the morse instrument, and the men were already on their feet as the alarm began to sound. "am i in it?" seth cried eagerly, as the horses dashed out of their stall, and 'lish davis replied, while attending to his portion of the work: "i reckon we shall have to take you along, amateur, seeing 's this fire seems to have started jest when you got into trim for hard work. swing alongside the engineer, and we'll allow you're one of the company." by the time the driver ceased speaking the engine was on its way out of the building, and seth, swaying to and fro, clung for dear life to the guard-rail, as the mighty machine was drawn swiftly over the pavement. "there's no chance of our getting first water this time, even if we are taking the mascot with us," jerry walters said with a laugh, and amateur knew there were no less than three engines stationed nearer the signal-box, from which had come this alarm, than was ninety-four. "a nasty place for a fire," the engineer said as the engine, following another an hundred yards or more in advance, rolled on toward a block of apartment houses, from the centre of which could be seen dense clouds of black smoke ascending. "and it seems to have a good start," walters added. then ninety-four's hose was coupled on, and, without attracting the attention of the driver, seth followed joe black and jerry as they dragged the nozzle up the steps to the entrance of the threatened building. "get back, amateur!" one of them shouted, and the boy cried imploringly: "please let me go as far as you do! it's my first chance, an' i've got my old clothes on!" "all right; but have an eye on yourself, and see to it the battalion chief don't spot you," joe black replied carelessly, and seth congratulated himself that he had gone to ninety-four's quarters instead of spending his time down-town. the fire appeared to have its strongest hold in the shaft of the elevator, coming from the basement, and the two men whom seth was following, joined by ben dunton, dragged the long length of hose up one flight of stairs to the landing where tongues of yellow flame were apparently coming through the very floor. once they were in position for battle with the foe directly before them, jerry walters ran into the adjoining apartment, and shouted through the open window. even where he stood, shielding his face with his arm as best he could from the intense heat and blinding smoke, seth could hear the cry: "ninety-four! start your water! start your water!" if there was any response those on the landing did not hear it; but a few seconds later the leathern hose began to stiffen and round out into shape, and then with a mighty rush that threatened to wrest the nozzle from the three strong men who were holding it, a jet of water struck the burning floor with a force that would have shattered less substantial timbers. "hurrah for ninety-four!" and seth sprang to the hose, intent on doing a full share of the work even though his face was almost blistered by the heat. "get back, amateur, get back! it's too hot for you here!" and ben dunton thrust seth aside with his elbow at the very instant a wild scream was heard on the stairway in the rear of the firemen. turning quickly seth saw dimly through the volume of choking vapor the form of a woman, and it seemed to him that ben dunton was trying to force her down the stairs when she shrieked: "there's a child on the next floor!" jerry walters and joe black could not leave their places of duty; but ben dunton sprang forward, and almost instinctively seth followed, the smoke being so dense at the top of the stairs as to screen his movements from the view of those at the nozzle. for an instant he fancied jerry called his name, and then he was groping his way upward, half-blinded, choking, but eager to do what he might toward a rescue. he gained the second landing. here everything was obscured by the black smoke, and he could no longer see dunton, although now and then a crashing noise as of wood being splintered under heavy blows told, as he believed, that the brave fireman was intent on the effort to save life even though his own might pay the forfeit. then with a roar the flames burst from the elevator shaft directly in front of him, and he staggered on along the hallway, hardly knowing in which direction he was going until, from behind a door near at hand came that which sounded like the crying of a child. he had only to turn the knob in order to gain an entrance into the apartment, which seemed entirely free from smoke, as compared with the place he had just left. on the floor near the window sat a child crying piteously, and seth caught the little thing in his arms, thinking it would be possible to gain the foot of the stairs, where he had left black and walters, before either he or his charge should receive serious injury. thus laden he ran toward the hallway, but only to retreat. the flames were pouring up through the shaft, spreading out in every direction, and forming such a barrier as he could not hope to pass. he shouted for dunton, but no reply came, and for the briefest interval of time he despaired. then came into his mind as clearly as if the words were yet being spoken, what he had heard said to one of the classes concerning just such peril as he was in at that moment, and without delay he returned to the room, closing the door behind him to shut out the noisome vapor as nearly as might be. "don't cry, baby, don't cry," he said soothingly to the screaming child as he ran here and there looking for something with which to carry into practice the lesson he had received. chapter xvi. winning a medal. the struggles and screams of the child he was trying to save served to confuse seth, and the smoke, which was growing more stifling each moment, bewildered at the same time that it choked him. but for the lectures the boy had heard at headquarters, neither he nor the baby would have left the apartment alive. he realized the vital necessity of keeping a "grip on himself," as josh fernald had expressed it, and, in order the better to do so, repeated again and again the words of the instructor. during the first dozen seconds he tried to soothe the child, and then came the thought that the little one would suffocate more quickly by inhaling the smoke-laden atmosphere as she gasped and sobbed violently. a garment--perhaps it was a table-cloth or a light blanket--hung over the back of a chair near at hand, and this seth wound around the baby's face, regardless of its struggles. "a clear head is the next best thing to a ladder," he said again and again, repeating the words of mr. fernald, and all the while searching for a rope, or something which would serve him in its stead. by this time the room was completely filled with smoke, and his eyes were blinded, smarting, burning. near the window was a footstool, and seizing this with one hand he hurled it through the glass. fresh air was a necessity now; he must have it, or speedily succumb to the deadly vapor. holding the child, who was apparently in a paroxysm of fear, or a spasm caused by pain, close against his breast, he thrust the upper portion of his body through the aperture regardless of the sharp fragments of glass which cut his flesh cruelly. what a blessed relief was this first indrawing of comparatively fresh air! the "clear head" was coming to him rapidly, and he understood that unless aid could be summoned from below he must make immediate battle with the vapor again, for with every moment the flames on the landing were increasing. "ninety-four!" he shouted at the full strength of his lungs. "this way, ninety-four!" he could hear from below a tumult of shouts and commands; but none of them appeared to be an answer to his cry. the roaring of the fire as it came through the elevator-shaft could be clearly distinguished even above all the noise, and he knew full well the blaze must soon make its way through the door, which presented but a frail barrier against the on-rush of flame. "ninety-four! here, ninety-four!" he cried once more without receiving a reply, and feeling comparatively strong for another struggle against the smoke, he drew the covering more closely around the child's head, at the same time stepping back into the suffocating vapor. he made his way by sense of touch rather than sight into the adjoining apartment. it was the kitchen of the suite, and at one end, stretched across from wall to wall above the range, was a cord on which hung several articles of wearing apparel. placing the child, who had ceased to struggle, on the floor, he tore at this apology for a rope with all his strength, dragging it from its fastenings, and, taking up the baby once more, ran back to the window from which he had just come. it was but the work of a few seconds to tie one end of the cord under the child's arms; but yet it seemed to him, half bewildered and suffering as he was, that more than five minutes passed before it had been completed. [illustration: seth rescues the baby. _page_ .] "ninety-four!" he shouted as he thrust the seemingly lifeless body through the aperture, cutting his hands and arms again and again on the sharp points of glass. quickly, but at the same time gently, he lowered the burden until the cord was at its full length. it did not seem possible this poor substitute for a life-line extended much below the top of the first story, and he dared not let go his hold lest the child should be dashed to death upon the pavement. once more he called for the men who he knew must be close at hand, leaning far out of the window in the faint hope he might be seen. his eyes were so blinded that he could distinguish nothing; he was unable to say whether the smoke yet enveloped him or if he was in full view of the men below. the sense of suffocation was heavy upon him; he tried to repeat josh fernald's words, but failed, and then came the knowledge--dim and unreal--that the cord was slipping, or being pulled, from his grasp. he made a final effort to retain his hold, and at the instant there was in his mind, as if he dreamed, a fancy that strong arms were around him. after that all was a blank until he opened his eyes to see 'lish davis bending over him as he had done on that night when jip collins set fire to the shed in baxter's lumber-yard. "where's the baby?" he asked, attempting to rise, but forced back by the deathly faintness which assailed him. "his mother has got him by this time, amateur, and you've made a man of yourself in shorter order than the majority of us are able to do. it was a close shave, lad, and we'll have no more like it till the time comes when it's your duty to take such chances." the driver's voice sounded oddly to the half-stupefied boy; usually it was gruff, like that of a man in a bad temper, but now it quavered as if the speaker was making an unsuccessful effort to control his emotions. seth allowed his head to fall back on a pile of rubber blankets, and as his cheeks touched the smooth surface there came to him the thought that once more he was in the patrol-wagon. how long he remained apparently unable to speak he had no idea, and then he heard the shout from afar off, but readily distinguishable above the panting of the engines: "how is ninety-four's kid?" 'lish davis rose to his feet and cried in reply: "he's got his head again, and appears to be all right!" at that moment some one stepped to the side of the wagon and asked the driver: "shall we send an ambulance?" "i reckon he'll get along without it, chief. it's only the reg'lar dose, as nigh as i can make out." "how did he happen to be here instead of at headquarters?" "it was his day off, owing to being a witness in an arson case, and he'd come up to the house to visit us." "we shall have to put him in a straight-jacket until he is taken on as a fireman, else something serious may happen. this would be a case for a medal if he belonged to the department." "that's what he does, chief. he comes as nigh being one of ninety-four's men as i am, and if it so be a medal belongs to him, we'll see he gets it." seth heard, but did not understand this conversation. he knew it was one of the battalion chiefs who had been talking with mr. davis, and it was enough for him that his name had been spoken in a friendly tone. the driver leaned over him once more, and asked almost tenderly: "will i send you up to the house, amateur?" "can't i stay till ninety-four pulls out?" "well, of all gluttons, you're the worst!" 'lish davis cried as if in delight. "dosed 'way up till you can hardly wink, and yet wanting to hold on to the last! ben dunton is caring for the team, and i reckon you and i had better pull out in this 'ere hurry-up." "what about the fire?" "it's under control, though i'm allowing it'll be a full two hours before ninety-four gets the word to leave." then davis left the boy a moment, and when he returned the patrol-wagon was driven slowly out past the laboring engines, through the throng of spectators, into the unobstructed streets, after which the horses were urged to their full speed. "there's no need of takin' me back, mr. davis. i ain't much worse than i was the time dan an' me was burned out." "but then it needed a night's rest to put you into shape, and i'm not minded to run any risks. ninety-four's kid is getting to be so near a man that we can't afford to take any chances with him." "hello! amateur in trouble again?" the house watchman asked when 'lish davis helped seth into the building, and the driver replied proudly: "i don't allow he's an amateur any longer, bob, but fit to be one of us in proper form. he saved a baby, and came mighty nigh knocking under." "how did he get a chance to do anything like that?" "slipped past me, and followed jerry and joe; i don't rightly know the whole of it yet. the chief allowed it was a medal job, though one can't be given, except to members of the department." "then seth is entitled to it, for he's on our rolls as if belongin' to us." "we'll see that he gets all he's earned, bob," 'lish davis replied, and then he conducted the boy upstairs, insisting that he should go to bed. "i'll be all right after a spell," seth protested, and the driver replied grimly, in his usual harsh tone: "that's what i'm going to make certain of, kid. peel off your clothes and turn in if you don't want to have trouble with me." seth obeyed with a laugh, and was equally tractable a few moments later when 'lish davis brought a glass half full of a certain disagreeable mixture for him to drink. then the boy's eyelids grew heavy; he said to himself he would remain awake until ninety-four returned, but the thought was hardly more than formed in his mind before slumber overcame him. it was late in the evening when he was awakened by the sound of voices near at hand, and on looking around seth saw, to his great surprise, mr. fernald talking with 'lish davis. "hello! got your eyes open again, eh?" the old instructor cried, and seth would have arisen to his feet but that mr. fernald's hand was laid heavily upon his shoulder. "i'm all right now, sir, an' i promised to go to school with bill an' dan." "it's a little late for anything of that kind now, my boy, seeing that the clock has just struck ten. what's all this talk i hear of your showing the members of the department how to effect a rescue?" "it wasn't me, sir. i only got the baby out of the window, an' somebody else must have taken him from there." "it was jerry walters who came up the ladder," 'lish davis interrupted. "the credit of saving the child belongs to you, seth," mr. fernald said, decidedly, "and i hope there'll be no question about its being given. tell us how it was done." "there isn't much to tell, sir. i jest heard the baby yellin', an' went in after it. then the smoke made me feel silly, an' i had to keep sayin' to myself what i heard you tellin' the class, about a clear head bein' the next best thing to a ladder, else i'd gone under before i found the rope." "now there's the kind of a pupil to have!" mr. fernald cried proudly. "there's some satisfaction in knowing that what a man says will be remembered when the time comes that it may be of profit. you shall go regularly into the class from this out, seth bartlett, whether the commissioners approve or not, and we'll find some one else to do the odd jobs." "do you really think i stand a better chance of gettin' into the department because of tryin' to pull the kid through?" seth asked in surprise, and josh fernald replied to the great delight of both the boy and mr. davis: "if i can bring any influence to bear, you shall be there very soon, my lad, and at all events, from this time out you will be kept at work on the drill. ninety-four's kid is of considerably more importance to-night than he was this morning." after such praise as this it seemed impossible for seth to remain in bed, and finally 'lish davis consented to his going down-stairs for a time. the hour which seth spent on the lower floor on this night was the most pleasant he had ever known. the men did not occupy the time in praising him, but discussed the rescue again and again, and never once was the boy spoken to, or of, as the "amateur." 'lish davis insisted on his remaining in the engine-house all night, but gave seth distinctly to understand that however many alarms might come in, he was not to so much as think of going out with the company. "you'll be on sick leave till to-morrow morning, when josh fernald is expecting you at headquarters, and then it'll be for him to say when we're to see you again." "but of course i'll sleep at mrs. hanson's same's i've been doin'?" "i can't say how it'll be, lad; but whatever josh allows must be done will come nigh being right." what between his happiness and the sleep he had indulged in during the early part of the evening, seth bartlett was unusually wakeful, and until past midnight he lay in a cot near 'lish davis's bed speculating upon what mr. fernald might be able to do in regard to procuring his admission to the school at headquarters. then slumber interfered with his waking dreams, and he knew no more until daylight next morning, when he crept softly out of bed to perform his customary task. he did the work on the lower floor lest he should disturb those who were yet asleep, and was getting well along with it when joe black came down. "how are you feelin' this mornin', kid?" he asked, in an unusually friendly tone. "fine as silk. that medicine mr. davis gave me fixed everything in great shape." "i see you're still blackin' boots." "why shouldn't i be? it was the bargain that i could do it till i got into the department." "i'm allowing 'lish will claim you're so near there now that you must graduate from this kind of work." "but, of course, i'm not near gettin' into the department, for they don't make firemen of boys." "as a rule they don't; but i'm reckoning there'll be something in the way of an exception with you. i'm not allowin' you'll be allowed to swell around as full member of a company, but you are bound to be recognized as belonging to us." seth failed to understand how any immediate change could be effected in his standing, save that he might be admitted to the classes at headquarters, and before he could ask joe black to make an explanation a shrill voice was heard calling through the half-opened door: "say, mister, is seth bartlett here?" it was dan, and seth stepped forward to prevent him from coming in, when joe black said: "there's no reason why you should go out on the sidewalk to talk with your friends. you've got the same privileges here that all hands have." by this time dan had stepped inside, and catching a glimpse of seth he cried: "say, old man, you're goin' it mighty strong, but we're proud of you. the fellers count on givin' you a reg'lar blow-out to-morrow, if it's so you can come down-town." "do you mean 'cause of what was done last night, dan?" seth asked, surprised that his roommate should have learned of the affair so soon, and joe black gave way to his mirth, although why he thought there was anything comical in what had been said, neither of the boys understood. "course i'm talkin' 'bout your savin' the baby." "how did you hear of it so soon?" "hear of it! why, it's in all the papers! look at this!" and dan unfolded the morning _herald_ as he pointed to an article nearly a column in length, which was headed, "a brave boy." seth made no attempt to read the account, and dan cried impatiently as he held the sheet in front of him: "why, don't you see what it says? the fellers down-town are pretty nigh wild 'cause you've showed the firemen that you ain't any slouch, even if you did black boots for a livin'. i reckon sam barney will get green when he sees it, an' bill's hangin' 'round so's to make certain that duffer hears 'bout it the first thing. say, can't you come down by the post-office now?" "i've got to go up to headquarters same as ever, an' it's most time now." "but the fellers are just crazy to see you." "they'll have to wait till night," seth replied with a laugh, "'cause i'm bound to be there right on the dot." "i'll walk up with you." "all right; i'm ready now as soon as i put on my coat." seth went to the floor above for the purpose of getting the garment, and while he was absent joe black asked dan: "what are you boys counting on doing with our kid?" "we're goin' to give him one of the biggest blow-outs that's ever been seen in this town. do you s'pose we'd lay still after he's been an' done what he did? we'll show that we believe he's a dandy." "what kind of a blow-out do you mean?" "a reg'lar spread with plenty to eat, an' it won't cost seth a cent. bill an' teddy bowser are rushin' 'round seein' to it now. folks think we fellers don't count for much, but some of 'em will sing a different tune after readin' what he did! you can bet we're reckonin' on givin' him a great send-off." "look here, dan," joe black whispered. "i wouldn't mind seeing how you lads get up a thing of that sort, and if you'll give me an invite i'll chip in a dollar." "will you wear your uniform?" dan asked eagerly. "i'll put on every button i've got; but you are not to tell seth i'm coming." "it's a go," master roberts replied gravely, and then the arrival of seth interrupted the conversation. when they were outside the engine-house dan insisted that his partner give him the full story of the rescue, and he was not satisfied with a general account, but demanded every particular from the time ninety-four left her quarters until josh fernald had taken his departure. "well, it's bound to be a big thing for you," he said, thoughtfully, "even if you don't get a medal." "see here, dan, mr. davis has said considerable 'bout medals, an' i don't understand it." "are you claimin' to be posted in the fire business, an' don't know things like that are given to men who save folks from bein' burned up?" "of course i know it; but i'm talkin' about myself. i can't have a medal 'cause i ain't a fireman yet." "if you'd read the _herald_ as i wanted, you'd seen that the printed piece said you earned one." "i don't think i did, not even if i belonged reg'larly to the department. it was jerry walters who did the most of the work, 'cause if he hadn't come jest then it would have been all day with me--i was mighty near gone." "don't you make such talk as that to anybody but me, seth bartlett," dan cried sharply. "what's the use of givin' anything away when folks are howlin' 'bout your bein' so brave? a feller is bound to blow his own horn sometimes in this world, else he'd never get along, an' that's what you must do now." "if i can't get into the department without it, i'll go back to shinin' boots. look at sam barney! he's always doin' that, an' what does he 'mount to?" "oh, a feller must have some sand to back him, else he won't pull through, an' you know there's nothin' to sam but wind. here's where you stop, an' i'll snoop back down-town. the fellers are countin' on givin' you a racket to-morrow night, an' you must be on hand." "see here, dan, don't you spend good money when you're needin' it for the store, jest for the sake of puffin' me up." "i reckon what i'll put out won't bust me, even if we have 'greed to whack up fifteen cents apiece. bill, teddy, an' me will chip in for jip, so's he can have a good time after all his hard luck, an' we'll make your eyes stick out before it's over." "i'd a good deal rather you didn't do it." "there's no use to kick now, 'cause it's too late. i wouldn't wonder if it was all fixed by this time. you see, bill an' me was 'fraid you'd been hurt, seein' 's you didn't come over to the room last night, an' the fellers wanted me to find out 'bout it, so's if there was any trouble we could hold off the blow-out till you'd come 'round ag'in. so long; i'll see you to-night," and dan was off like a flash. seth watched until his friend was lost to view in the distance, and then entered the building. the first man he met shook hands with him in the most friendly manner, congratulating him upon the service he had done, and so did every one he saw, until he was absolutely astounded at the warmth of his reception. for a moment it seemed as if the officials at headquarters were taking as deep an interest in him as did ninety-four's company, and there were so many who thus had a kindly word that it was nearly an hour from the time he arrived before it was possible to present himself at the gymnasium. there mr. fernald showed him marked attention before those of the class who were assembled, and, as seth confidentially told 'lish davis that evening, "he was afraid he'd get a big head if folks didn't let up on his saving the baby." at noon josh fernald held a long conversation with seth, the substance of which was that permission had been received to put him under instruction precisely as if he had been appointed a member of the department on probation, and he would be taught the entire drill from that day forth. "next spring, when the bennett, stephenson, and pulitzer medals are awarded, the life-saving corps will give an exhibition drill at some public place, and i've decided that you shall be among them. work hard, my lad, and on that day when the citizens of new york turn out to see those of the force who have distinguished themselves in the way of saving life, you can make your appearance in a manner that will give great pleasure to your comrades of ninety-four." mr. fernald did not give seth an opportunity of thanking him, but suddenly walked away as if bent on important business at the other end of the room, and the boy said to himself with pride and delight: "he called ninety-four's men my _comrades_! that's a big step-up for a bootblack to make, an' i wonder how 'lish davis will like it?" chapter xvii. the blow-out. much to dan's disappointment, seth could not go down-town on this first evening after having distinguished himself in the department. when 'lish davis heard what mr. fernald had said he insisted on having a long and confidential chat with the boy, and it was not concluded until a very late hour in the evening. "the time has now come, kid, when you're the same as one of us, and we of ninety-four who counted on giving you such a boost have been cheated out of it by what you did for yourself," the driver began gravely, and in a tone sufficiently loud for the other members of the company to hear. "from this out you're in the department, and we have no fear but that in due course of time you'll be assigned to some company--this one, if we can have our way. now, there's a question of money to come up precious soon, for we here have got the idee that the city won't pay wages while you're under instruction." "of course, we may be in the wrong as to that, but if we ain't, how'll you live? that's what we've asked ourselves, and this is the way we answer it: every man in the department looks on you as ninety-four's kid, and we can't allow anything that would go against our credit, consequently you have got to turn to us for support till you're under wages. we'll assess ourselves so much every month, and charge it up to you in reg'lar fashion so it can be paid back some time. now, you're to make no kick, for we've settled it once and for all." "why couldn't i black boots at odd times?" seth asked, pleadingly. "because there won't be any 'odd times' in the first place, and secondly we're not minded to have it said we couldn't see you through. can't you understand that we're looked on by them as are in the department as your father, or guardeen, or something of that kind, and it's our own credit we're bound to uphold? how would it look for a fireman to be around blackin' boots? and that's what you are this very minute, even though you haven't had an appointment." then one member of the company after another gave his views on the subject, until it would have been rank ingratitude had seth refused the generous proposition. it was agreed to by all that a strict account should be kept of the amounts advanced, and he be allowed to repay the company at the earliest opportunity after he was under salary. when this matter had been settled by seth's promise to take such sums of money as he needed, and "look pleasant about it," the men discussed his future, and spoke of the time when he would be running with ninety-four, until it did not require a very great stretch of the imagination for the boy to fancy himself already a member of the company. on reaching mrs. hanson's he found his roommates awake, and grumbling because he had not returned sooner. "i s'pose we shan't see very much of you now you're gettin' so high up in the department, eh?" dan said in a tone of ill-humor. "you'll see me all my spare time, providin' you an' bill still agree to go to school, 'cause i've got to duf into study in great shape now, an' we'll be together every evening." "got to do it now? what else has come up?" "mr. fernald has put me right into the drill, an' i don't have to tackle the odd jobs any more." "are you a fireman already?" and dan sprang to his feet in astonishment. "of course not; but i'm to be drilled the same as if i was, an' in case i show sand enough you'll see me in the exhibition drill that's to be given on the street next spring." neither dan nor bill spoke for several seconds, and then the former exclaimed with emphasis: "say, but you're gettin' there with both feet, eh?" it was midnight before the roommates could afford to retire, and then it was understood that on the following evening at seven o'clock seth was to be at the main entrance to the post-office, in readiness for the "blow-out" to be given in his honor. in vain he questioned his friends concerning the proposed feast. they would give him no further information on the subject, declaring that he would "have his eye knocked out before the thing was over." at daylight next morning seth was at ninety-four's house blacking boots, despite the fact that 'lish davis had given orders another boy should be engaged for such work, and before the members of the company were astir he departed for headquarters. during this day the "new probationer," as he was called, was kept at work learning how to handle, raise, and balance ladders, and it is safe to say he never did more labor in a single twelve hours before. he was exceedingly tired when supper-time arrived, but did his best to prevent mr. fernald from suspecting the fact. "feeling rather sore?" the instructor asked as the boy came to say good-night. "i ain't played out, sir." "if such was the case, would you admit it?" "i'd hate to," seth replied with a smile, and mr. fernald said in a friendly tone, as if speaking to a comrade instead of a pupil: "it is hard work, this learning the trade of a fireman, my boy, and there may be times when you will feel discouraged; but keep a firm grip on yourself at all times, live regularly, avoid bad habits, or, in other words, keep in rigid training, and you will master it." "i'm not afraid of failin' so far as i'm concerned, sir, but it may be i'll tire others out, an' so get me walkin' ticket." "you need have no such fear on my account, lad, so long as you do your level best." seth understood that mr. fernald had brought the interview to an end, and he set out for the rendezvous at the post-office, wondering not a little what and whom he should find at the "blow-out." as he neared the business locations of his different friends he was surprised because he failed to meet any whom he knew. it was as if every news-vender and bootblack had suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth, although it was not yet so late but that considerable business might have been done. arriving at the post-office he met there bill and dan alone. he had expected to see a great throng, and began to believe that for some good reason the "blow-out" had been postponed. "have you given it up?" he asked in what he intended should be a careless tone, for even though he had advised dan not to "start the thing," it had given him no slight satisfaction because his acquaintances and friends should desire thus to do him honor. "give up nothin'!" bill exclaimed. "ain't we here on time?" "i didn't know from what you said last night but that some of the other fellers were comin'." "we've fixed everything jest as we want it, an' she's goin' along as smooth as a die," master roberts replied in a tone of satisfaction. "them as don't know their business gets left; but we haven't got in with that crowd, eh, william?" "we shan't mildew even if we ain't taken in for a considerable spell," bill said contentedly, and added an instant later: "now seth's come i don't see why we should stand 'round here any longer." "let her go; i'm ready"; and master roberts set out in advance, leading the way toward chat ham street much as if believing every person whom they met knew he was conducting the boy who ran with ninety-four. "where are we goin'?" seth asked of bill, believing now that the spread concerning which so much had been said was to be confined strictly to the lodgers in mrs. hanson's house. "you'll see when we strike there, an' if it ain't tony enough for a swell from the department, you can get out." seth gazed in surprise at his friend; but the latter's face was expressionless, and the guest of the evening began to fear some disaster had overtaken the plans of his roommates. "seen sam barney to-day?" the "probationary fireman" asked after a brief time of silence. "i struck him mighty heavy yesterday, an' he's been layin' low ever since. i made up my mind that he should see the printed stuff about you in the papers, an' hung 'round till he flashed up. then i acted as if he an' me was the best friends in the world, an' asked if he knowed what kind of a racket you'd been on. that was enough to make him read the paper i had, an' you can bet he was sick when he got through. teddy bowser hit him up ag'in 'bout an hour afterward, an from that time till pretty nigh dark we kept him chafin' under the collar. then he lit out, an' we haven't seen him since." "how's jip gettin' along?" "first-class; tendin' right out on business, an' goin' to pull through into a decent kind of a feller. say, you know dan made up his mind to own a store on third avenoo?" "yes, an' i hope he won't back down." "well, i guess not! he can't, 'cause i've gone into partners with him, an' there won't be any funny business. we're goin' to take jip for a clerk." "but you haven't got the store yet." "it ain't such a dreadful long ways off. we've got most twelve dollars towards it, an' i know of a man what'll sell out a bang-up good place for a hundred an' fifty. i'm allowin' we'll get that much before spring." "what makes him sell it so cheap?" "the reason is that he's a duffer; wants to lay back smokin' an' have the dollars come rollin' in without his raisin' a hair. of course he ain't gettin' along very smart, an' we'll soon be ready to take it. with two fellers who are willin' to work there's a big thing in that place. we're countin' on settin' up a boot-blackin' place with chairs an' all such kind of swellin', you know. it's going to be 'roberts & dean, newsdealers an' shiners.'" "you'll make a go of it, bill." "course we shall," was the complacent reply. "i knowed it was a good thing jest as soon as dan flashed her up, an' said i'd come in before he got half through talkin'. this 'ere little blow-out is the only thing we're goin' to spend any money on till we get the shop paid for." "it's too bad for you to put out good money on me." "what we're doin' to-night won't break us, i reckon. first off we allowed it would cost fifteen cents apiece; but we had an offer of three dollars for that many tickets, which comes pretty nigh payin' all the bills." "three dollars for three tickets!" seth repeated in perplexity. "what is it you've been gettin' up, bill?" "hold on 'bout four minutes longer, an' then the whole thing will be flashed up. it's great!" before the time specified by bill had elapsed, dan suddenly turned into a german restaurant, walked the length of the lower floor, and led the way upstairs. seth felt that already was his "eye bein' knocked out." he knew there were private supper-rooms in some of these chatham street establishments, but had never been fortunate enough to see one, and now he was to enter as a guest of honor. dan threw open the door at the head of the stairs. seth was conscious of a blaze of light, the hum of voices, and before it was possible to distinguish anything clearly, bill cried: "three cheers for ninety-four's kid!" then rang out a shout which seemed actually to rock the building to and fro, and by the time the tumult had subsided the guest of the evening saw a long table, on either side of which were seated all his friends and acquaintances among the sidewalk merchants, while at the head 'lish davis, jerry walters, and joe black presided with as much gravity as if it had been the swellest of swell functions. now seth understood who had purchased supper tickets at one dollar a plate. the honored guest was shown to a seat near ninety-four's driver. dan and bill took places opposite, and the former called in a loud, commanding voice for the benefit of teddy bowser, who was stationed at the door: "let 'em flash her up; we're all here!" teddy cried to some one below, and during the next ten minutes two waiters were kept busy bringing upstairs sandwiches, bologna in generous, thick slices, sauerkraut without stint, potato salad, and a variety of small cakes plentifully besprinkled with tiny seeds. while this feast was being placed upon the table no one spoke, but instantly teddy gave a peculiar sign by crossing his throat and winking one eye, dan cried: "now pitch in, fellers, an' fill right up! we're doin' this 'cause seth bartlett has got into the department, an' the one what don't eat all he ought'er will have trouble with me." if master roberts had been a veritable giant seeking whom he might devour, the boys could not have shown more fear lest his command should not be obeyed. every fellow present felt that it was his duty to eat a generous portion of each dish before him, and he did it hurriedly lest dan might have cause for complaint. nor were the guests who had paid "their cold dollars," as dan explained, idle. all three ate heartily to the evident satisfaction of the others, and 'lish davis even entered so thoroughly into the spirit of the affair as to suggest that they send for another dish of sauerkraut. in ten minutes or less the hunger of the guests was in a measure appeased, and as they dallied with the dainties dan set in motion that portion of the entertainment which, in his opinion, was to be the crowning feature. [illustration: the blow-out _page_ .] "it ain't many times that duffers like us has a chance to rub up against ninety-four's men, an' we want to show 'em that we know what's what," he had said privately to bill the evening previous, and now was come the moment when the exhibition should be made. after making certain that all were giving him their attention, he rose slowly to his feet, looked round as if to collect his thoughts, and said in a loud tone, much as though repeating something he had committed to memory: "fellers, an' ninety-four's men are in it, too: we spread ourselves on this 'ere blow-out 'cause seth bartlett has got into the department owin' to havin' saved a kid, and now if all hands are 'way up full we'll have a little speech from mr. 'lish davis, driver of ninety-four engine, who's one of the three what gave up a big cold dollar for this lot of stuff." then dan sat down with a complacent smile upon his face, as if believing he had said the right thing in the right place, and mr. davis actually appeared embarrassed. he had come to the feast expecting to enjoy himself by listening to the sidewalk merchants, and found that it was himself who would provide a goodly portion of the entertainment. never doubting but that this had been all arranged beforehand, seth gazed at the driver, wondering why he was so slow in making a response, while jerry and joe laughed heartily, for they knew that 'lish had been taken wholly by surprise. however, the driver of ninety-four was not one who would be discomfited by such as dan roberts, and he began his speech, with considerable hesitation, but warming to his subject as he proceeded. "i didn't allow that i was to be part of the show when i come here, and dan roberts has got one the best of me; but yet, i ain't quite downed. the man who couldn't say a good word now never ought to set in anywhere, because there's a deal more than something to eat, if you boys will only look at it in the right light. in the first place you've spread yourself because ninety-four's kid has the same as got into the department, and perhaps some of you think he's lucky. i tell you, kids, luck hadn't anything to do with it. seth is being made a fireman because whatever he struck he stuck at, and never let a living chance go by him. when he first came up to ninety-four's house we gave him the cold shoulder, but he kept plugging away till we grew to like his pluck; yet nobody held out a hand to him till he'd hung to his idea so long that we jest couldn't help ourselves. he worked in where he wanted to go, and so can every one of you. i ain't holding that all of us are born to be firemen, but whatever we count on being we've got to work for, and work hard. do that, and you'll pull through in pretty nigh everything you tackle." when 'lish davis sat down, blushing rosy red, dan sprang up like a jumping-jack from a box, and proposed: "three cheers for the driver of ninety-four!" as may be imagined, these were given with a will, and then master roberts announced: "jerry walters will now chip in with something." it was now 'lish davis's turn to laugh, and he enjoyed his comrade's confusion mightily, for it was several moments before jerry could think of the proper words. joe black was called upon immediately afterward, and when he had concluded and been given a round of cheers, as in the case of the other speakers, the driver said gravely: "we who come here to look on have done what we could towards making a success of this here 'blow-out,' and now, according to my way of thinking, it's time we heard from mr. daniel roberts." the suggestion came in the way of a big surprise to dan, who, while making plans for this entertainment had entirely overlooked the possible fact that he might be asked to do that which he the same as demanded from others. dan's friends and acquaintances applauded 'lish davis's proposition loudly, and were so emphatic in their calls for him that the owner of the prospective third-avenue store was absolutely forced to rise. "it's what i call a mighty mean trick for you fellers to howl 'bout my makin' a speech, 'cause you know we hadn't figgered that any but the 'dollar visitors' would do that. of course 'lish davis an' the rest of the firemen didn't know, but pretty nigh every other feller was posted this afternoon. but don't think you've got me in a hole, though, for if makin' speeches is only talkin' 'bout seth, i can do that an' not half try. if it hadn't been for him i wouldn't have my third-avenoo store,--and i've got it in my mind all right,--nor bill an' me wouldn't be thinkin' of goin' to school, or we shouldn't be livin' in the toniest lodgin's in this 'ere town. an' if it hadn't been for him you fellers couldn't be settin' here so near filled up that some of you can't do much more'n wink. now 'bout this blow-out: i made a trade with the dutchman what runs the place that we should have all we could eat for four dollars; but he held to it that we mustn't stay more'n two hours, an' you can't blame him. a bang-up shop like this can't be kept goin' all night without somebody's chippin' in a stack of good money. now seein' 's you fellers can't eat any more, an' the firemen have all made their speeches, i allow we'd better skin out." save for this last portion, dan's speech would undoubtedly have been greeted with the same amount of applause as the others, but the guests were not well pleased at being asked to depart at such an early hour. during several moments there was every indication that disagreeable remarks might be made, even if nothing more unpleasant occurred, and thus the harmony of the meeting would be sadly marred. understanding all this, 'lish davis came to the rescue by saying in a cheery tone: "mr. daniel roberts has, without knowing it, done us of ninety-four a mighty good turn in bringing the meeting to a close. we'd feel kind-er sore to go before it was all over, and yet we couldn't stay many minutes longer because we only had leave of absence for three hours, and that time is about up. so if you fellows will look pleasant we'll do the same, and on the day ninety-four's kid gets appointed to the department i'll set out another spread in this same place for every one that's here to-night." this generous proposition could not have failed of its purpose, and lish' davis was cheered to the echo, he and his two comrades taking their departure during the tumult which ensued. the entire company escorted mrs. hanson's lodgers to their home, and before parting gave three hearty cheers and a series of yells in seth's honor which aroused, if it did not alarm, the neighborhood, and brought nearly every policeman in the vicinity to the scene of the parting. dan and his partners escaped to their room before the blue-coated guardians of the city's peace arrived, and from their window watched the small throng as it scattered in every direction to avoid possible contact with the officers. "it's what i call a howlin' success," master roberts said in a tone of satisfaction as he turned from the window after the last of his friends had disappeared. "it was a big mistake not to have had a lot of newspaper fellers there so's the whole thing would be in the mornin' editions." "we can fix that straight enough," bill replied carelessly, as if familiar with such methods. "i know a feller what helps clean up the _herald_ office where all the stuff is wrote out, and i'll get him to print a slat about the blow-out." this appeared to satisfy master roberts that his mistake could readily be rectified, and he gave himself wholly up to a review of the late proceedings until seth suggested that they retire. "i had a hard day's work, an' it'll be jest as bad, if not worse, to-morrow, so i've got to turn in." "it's too bad to wind up so soon," dan suggested with a sigh; but bill finally settled the matter by saying: "if you an' i ever expect to have that third-avenoo store we've got to hump ourselves all the time, an' settin' up nights ain't the way to do it." two minutes later dan was in bed, and as seth extinguished the gas the former raised himself on his elbow to say: "we'll have the store jest 'bout the time you get into the department, old man; but you can bet the shop will be shut up when 'lish davis has his blow-out." chapter xviii. the exhibition drill. seth bartlett ceased to be an "amateur fireman" when he was admitted to the probationary class, even though he had not received an appointment, and, therefore this narrative was concluded, or should have been, with an account of the "blow-out" designed and arranged by dan roberts. in case some of the readers care to know how ninety-four's kid prospered, however, a brief account of his doings up to the day when he was honored even above any member of his own particular company, shall be given. first, however, let it be said that dan roberts and bill dean did not abandon the idea of going to school. on the night after the very pleasing entertainment on chatham street they set out with seth, and from that time until the third-avenue store was a reality, they were in regular attendance. even after having engaged in what dan called "real business," the partners continued their pursuit of knowledge by going to school on alternate nights. jip collins gave good proof that he had reformed by attending closely to his work, and on the day when messrs. roberts & dean purchased the establishment from the gentleman who did not believe in working, he was hired as clerk at wages to be proportionate with the sales. sam barney disappeared on the day of the "blow-out," and was not seen by his former acquaintances for nearly eight months, when he suddenly showed himself once more, and announced that he was "partners with a city detective." at first this statement was set down as false, but in due course of time it became understood that there was a glimmer of truth in it, inasmuch as he was employed now and then by the detective in question to carry messages, and it is possible that he may yet compass his desires, providing he can bring himself down to hard work and yet harder study. it can well be fancied that seth did not neglect his duties after having been admitted to the probationary class. as a matter of fact he worked so hard that more than once was mr. fernald forced to insist on his "taking matters easier," and when this advice did not prevail 'lish davis was called upon to interfere, which he did very effectually by commanding the boy's attendance at the house of ninety-four's company at least two hours during every twenty-four. josh fernald, for certain reasons which appeared to be a secret between himself and several other members of the department had decided that seth should take part in the exhibition drill to be given by the life-saving corps on that day when the medals were to be awarded, and to such end all his efforts were directed. after the boy had become so familiar with the handling of ladders that they appeared to be little more than playthings to him, he was taught, as 'lish davis had explained he would be, how to assist in "building a chain" with a line of ladders from the street to the roof, placed in position by a man at each window of the structure. the driver had spoken of "straddling sills," and this name for the work puzzled seth not a little until it came his turn to receive instructions. then he found that it consisted in sitting astride the sill of a window, holding himself in place by the pressure of his knees much as though he had been in a saddle, drawing up one of the climbing ladders and passing the hook attached to the upper end into the window above. this does not appear by the description thus given to be a very difficult task, and yet others beside seth have found that it was a lesson extremely hard to learn, but once gained the pupil can readily make his way from the street even to the roof of a building with no other implements than the two ladders. the lesson of "standing on sill" is always given to the pupils in pairs, and before explaining what seth learned in this line it is necessary to describe the belt which is worn by members of the life-saving corps. it is broad, made of thick leather, with two stout buckles to hold it in place. directly in front is a leathern handle, to which a steel "snap-hook" is attached by a stout ring, this hook being provided so the fireman may fasten himself to a ladder or any projection while he works, and is similar to that worn by the drivers. on one side of the belt in a leathern sheet is a hatchet with a heavy square head to be used either as a hammer or an axe, as occasion may require. when a pupil is instructed in "standing on sills" he does exactly as the term implies, but on the inside of the building is his mate, who holds him in place by means of this belt-hook. in such position he raises the ladder to the window above, as when he was astride the sill. another lesson, which seth often took, is that of coming down a rope alone, or bearing a burden. it was not difficult, and, with this particular "probationer," decidedly exhilarating. a rope is made fast to the roof or window, of a building and two turns of it taken round the hook on the fireman's belt, thus forming a "brake" to prevent too rapid descent. by a pressure of the hand just below the hook it is possible for the operator to control his speed. in case of bringing down a burden, twice the number of turns are taken. as a matter of course, seth was taught to leap from the building into a net, and later to aid in holding it, in which last exercise he learned that 'lish davis had not spoken falsely when he declared it was exceedingly hard work. it might not be entertaining to repeat all the lessons which ninety-four's kid took part in; but suffice it to say that by the st of may mr. fernald announced that he was as nearly perfect in the drill as he could be until after having gained greater strength. "you will participate in the exhibition, my boy, and i am expecting a good showing from you." "will ninety-four's men be there?" seth asked eagerly, trying hard not to show how delighted he was by this praise. "surely; they are to take part in the parade, and you can see 'lish davis display his skill at driving. there are no lack of spectators at such exhibitions, and you will show, not only to a vast throng of citizens, but the mayor and heads of the department, whether you are worthy of receiving an appointment." "will that settle matters for me?" seth asked in surprise. "i don't say you will not be able to get the appointment without it; but it is an opportunity of making a leap directly into the department, and of finding yourself suddenly on equal footing with davis, walters, or black, for they are intending to make a strong effort to have you assigned to their company." seth hardly needed this incentive to labor, for he was already doing all a boy of his age could do; but it caused him to feel extremely anxious regarding the final result, and, noting this, 'lish davis said one evening in a fatherly tone: "you are working yourself all up into a snarl over the fear of not pulling through, and the result will be, if you don't have a care, that your head won't be of the clearest when the big day comes." "i'm not afraid but that i'll be able to go through with our part of the show all right, but the trouble is that i'll show up for no more than a boy, and that's what bothers me." "you can't pose for anything else, lad, seeing as how you are a kid; but it won't work against you in face of the record. go ahead as if there wasn't a thought in your mind but to show the people how we swarm over a building when the need arises, and that's all any man can do." "where is the exhibition to be held?" "on the riverside drive. number is the house that's been loaned for the occasion, and you lads couldn't have a better building on which to work." "do you mean to say we're goin' to range a decent house? there'll be considerable damage done if we have the reg'lar scalin' ladders; the teeth can't fail to tear away a good bit of the woodwork." "you'll only use the middle row of windows, and over the sills of these will be fastened timber shields, or casings, so that you can swing your ladders without fear of so much as a pin's scratch." "where are the medals to be presented?" "a stand will be built on the drive, and there all the swells will sit. the mayor does the act, and after it's over we poor duffers who haven't particularly distinguished ourselves will give a parade and drill. you'll see us respond to a call in great shape. it's always a high time of the department, for it's the only day in the year when we have a chance to show what we can do when need comes." the more seth heard regarding the proposed manoeuvres the greater was his eagerness to receive further instruction, and had he been allowed to do as he pleased, the class would have drilled not less than eighteen hours out of every twenty-four. "practise as much as you please, seth, but you are out of my jurisdiction now, for i can't suggest any improvement on your work," mr. fernald said, but the praise did not prevent this particular "probationer" from spending nearly every moment of his time at the drill. then came the night before the eventful day, and seth, who was to sleep at headquarters, had come down for a chat with his roommates and the members of ninety-four's company. "you can bet we'll be there, seth," dan roberts said emphatically. "if it hadn't been for the show you're goin' to give we'd bought the third-avenoo store yesterday; but bill an' me both allowed it couldn't be done till to-morrow, 'cause we ain't to be cheated out of seein' how much you know 'bout the fire business. we'll be right in the front row, no matter how much the swells crowd for good places." "are you goin' to act jest like as if you was a reg'lar fireman?" bill asked, much as if believing that would be impossible. "i shall go through the same drill as the others." "well, old man, i hope you'll get along all right, an' it seems as if you ought'er after workin' so hard. look for us when your crowd gets there, an' you can be certain of havin' more cheers than anybody else, for we'll yell ourselves blue in the face but that it shall go in good shape." "don't make too much noise," seth said pleadingly. "you know i'm only a boy, an' there'll be lots of men who can work all 'round me, so it wouldn't be jest the thing for me to be cheered when i'm the poorest of the lot." "we know our business," dan said decidedly, "and you needn't worry but that we'll do the thing up brown." after giving his friends a general outline of the exhibition, as he understood it, seth went to ninety-four's house, and was there received with an unusually hearty welcome. "how are you feeling, kid?" 'lish davis asked solicitously. "all right." "little fidgety about to-morrow's work?" "i'm hopin' i won't make a fool of myself, of course." "you needn't worry. josh fernald says you'll make as good a showing as any one there, and he knows. the only chance of your failing will come from borrowing too much trouble. remember what you said to yourself the night the baby was saved: 'a clear head is the next best thing to a ladder,' and there mustn't be any cobwebs in yours. don't pay attention to the crowd, but keep in mind that you're only going through the drill, so's the commissioners can see whether you're ripe for an appointment." "what are you counting on wearing?" jerry walters asked in a peculiar tone. "what i've got on, of course, seem' 's it's all the decent clothes i own, an' they belong to you of ninety-four. i'm countin' on cleanin' 'em up in great shape, an' folks can't see where they've been mended. miss hanson fixed the coat so you wouldn't know the sleeve ever had a hole in it." "i'm allowing the others will shine terrible bright." "they've all got new uniforms, an' are bound to look mighty fine." "you don't seem to be sulking on account of having to wear old togs," 'lish davis said with a peculiar twinkle in his eyes. "what would be the use? i can't have 'em, an' i'll go through my part of the drill jest the same as if i was covered with brass buttons." "it's coming kind of tough on ninety-four, eh, jerry?" the driver asked. "all hands of us swelling, and our kid rushing around at the head with patched trousers? the boys in the department will think we haven't earned much money this year." "i don't think you ought'er feel bad 'bout it if i don't," seth said, trying hard to appear unconcerned. "people will know you have something else to do with your money than buy swell clothes for me." "i ain't so certain about that, my boy. at all events we don't count on taking any chances," 'lish said with a laugh. "this ain't the first time we've talked about a new uniform, and somehow or other the tailor happened around this afternoon with one that looks as if it might fit you. bring it down, jerry." now seth understood why this conversation had been begun, and, while he was rejoiced by the thought that he would be dressed as well as the other members of the corps, there was in his mind a certain uneasiness about accepting such a favor in addition to the many which had been bestowed upon him. "i'm owin' ninety-four so much, mr. davis, that it'll be terrible if i don't get an appointment after all, an' it wouldn't----" "you can stop right where you are. this here uniform that jerry is fetching ain't charged up against you, nor it never will be. we reckon on having the right to give a present the day you graduate, and if it'll make you feel half as good to wear it as it will us to see you in it, we'll be a mighty jolly crowd to-morrow." by this time jerry had returned with the garments over his arm, and seth exclaimed as he saw them: "why there's a helmet, an' you've had brass buttons put on the coat, mr. davis!" "sure; the helmet belongs to the clothes, and on every button you'll see the letters 'n. y. f. d.'" "but only one who was really in the department could wear them." "i reckon you can tackle that kind of a job to-morrow, and if it so be that you get thrown out because of not being up in the drill, it won't take long to cut them off." "oh, if i should fail!" and the tears came into seth's eyes despite all his efforts to keep them back. "you will for a fact, if you get nervous over it. a clear head, forgetfulness of everything but the drill, and ninety-four's kid will have an appointment, or the promise of one, before this time to-morrow night." then 'lish davis proposed to walk to headquarters with the boy in order to make certain he went directly to bed; the new uniform was wrapped carefully in paper, for it was not proposed that seth should put it on until the following morning, and then every member of the company shook hands with "their kid," each giving him some bit of good advice. during the walk the old driver cautioned seth again and again not to speculate upon possible failure; but to believe he would surely succeed, and when the two parted, 'lish davis said feelingly: "you're a good boy, seth, and while every one of ninety-four's crew is your friend, you're dearer to me than the whole boiling of them. i'm proud of what you have done, and will do to-morrow. god love you, my lad." then the driver turned away abruptly, as if there was some particular reason why he wished to hide his face, and as seth wiped the moisture from his eyes lest perchance a tear should fall on the new uniform, he whispered to himself: "god _must_ love me, even if i am sich a terrible duffer, else he'd never let me run up against ninety-four's company." during the forenoon of the next day seth wandered around the gymnasium trying to act upon the advice given by his friends in the matter of "keeping cool," and then came the time to put on the new uniform, for he had been assured by mr. fernald that it was perfectly proper for him to wear the helmet and the brass buttons, even though he was not a regular member of the corps. when all was ready for the march to riverside drive something occurred which caused the boy considerable uneasiness, for, instead of setting out with the members of the corps, he, with six others were ordered to fall into line by themselves. fifty firemen, picked members of the department, ranged themselves on either side, in advance and behind as an escort, and no less a person than chief bonner himself took a station at their head. why he was thus separated from the men with whom he had practised seth could not imagine, and there came into his mind as the order to march was given, the thought that some serious mistake had been made--that he was in the wrong place, and, therefore, would utterly fail of acting his part properly. his astonishment and uneasiness increased when the squad with their escort, having arrived at the drive, were stationed in line facing the river, with their backs toward seventy-sixth street, the sixty-ninth regiment band a short distance behind them. why these men, two of whom he had never seen before, should with himself be singled out and stationed apart from the others, was a mystery which seth failed to unravel, speculate as he might. he saw the life-saving corps, in whose ranks he should have been, march up and take their station not far from the grand stand which was thronged with spectators. then, in line with the other engines, he saw ninety-four with 'lish davis holding the reins, and he fancied the driver winked at him in a most mysterious manner as he passed. a moment later he heard a shrill cry: "hi! get on to seth! what's he standin' out there all by his lonesome for?" he knew it was dan who had made this remark; but could not see him without changing his position, therefore he remained motionless. the band was playing, gayly-dressed people were watching curiously, and in many cases admiringly, the vast number of blue-coated men who represented the finest department in the world, and of all those to be seen seth was, perhaps, the only person troubled in mind. some order was given, the boy did not understand what, for he was watching the life-saving corps in the hope that some of them, seeing he was out of position, would summon him to their ranks. he saw that some one had arrived at the stand, and believed it to be the mayor. the little squad and their escort saluted the gentleman by slowly raising their right hands to their helmets, and then as slowly lowering them. mechanically seth copied the example of the men on either side of him, and thus, fortunately, had not neglected his duty. the music of the band was hushed, the mayor began to speak, and as he went on seth was plunged into even greater bewilderment than before. "it is the very pleasantest task of my experience," said the mayor, "to acknowledge the great debt which new york owes to the fire department of the city. in our population of two million souls there is no one branch of the municipal service which renders such valuable services as the fire department. we are gathered here to-day to do honor to a few of the firemen who have rendered themselves famous during the year. these men have snatched persons from the jaws of death, but this is the duty of every fireman. the army and navy are called upon to destroy everything, but it is your duty to save everything." "we are proud to-day to render you our homage for the magnificent manner in which you have discharged your duty all along the line, from the chief down, in all perilous moments, and especially you who have been selected by the department to receive these medals. this is the most pleasing duty i have ever performed." the speech ended, seth was more positive than before that he had made a mistake in position, and to his yet further bewilderment, after the mayor had handed to the chief a medal, the latter pinned it to his coat--to the uniform which ninety-four's company had presented, probably knowing at the time how it would be decorated. while this was being done the mayor described in detail that which seth had done when saving the baby's life, and as he concluded a great shout went up from the assembled multitude, high above which could be heard dan's shrill notes. then another medal was given to the chief, who pinned it to the coat of the man standing next to the boy in line, the mayor meanwhile explaining why it had thus been bestowed, and seth began to understand how greatly he was honored. when each of the seven had been decorated, and while the throng were cheering themselves hoarse, the chief said in a low tone to seth: "mr. fernald has the official notification of your appointment as substitute fireman, and you can get it on your return to headquarters. you are assigned to company ninety-four, and will report to their house for duty to-morrow morning." seth could not speak, and in fact the chief moved away so quickly that there was no chance; but looking up toward where ninety-four was stationed he saw every member of the company waving his helmet as if indulging in silent cheering. then he knew they were all in the secret--that it would be no news when he told them he was at last really their comrade. [illustration: presenting the medals. _page_ .] as to what followed immediately after this, seth had no very clear idea. he was not even conscious of how he left the squad of men who had just been decorated for their bravery, and found himself in his proper station among the life-saving corps. he hardly heard the order for the drill to be commenced, but followed the movements of those nearest him until it was as if he forgot everything else, and was once more back at headquarters fitting himself for what had already been accomplished. over the building which had been loaned for this purpose mr. fernald's pupils swarmed, as if clambering up a smooth surface of brick was a task more simple than the ordinary methods of locomotion, and each portion of the drill was gone through with mathematical exactness. concerning it, 'lish davis said to his comrades as ninety-four was hauled into her quarters that evening: "it was a great sight, boys, and what made it greater was that not a man among them outdid our kid. josh fernald himself couldn't go through a drill better, and we've reason to be mighty proud of what that little chap has done." after the life-saving corps had concluded their portion of the exhibition, two battalions were paraded by the chief himself, ten engines, two hook and ladder companies, the water-tower and the fire-boat, _new yorker_, taking part therein. the men first marched past the reviewing stand to the music of the band, after which, in response to an alarm sounded by the mayor, the engines and their crews returned along the drive at full tilt, with fires lighted, whistles blowing, and bells ringing, as if running to a fire. * * * * * during the early part of the evening after the exhibition on riverside drive, a boy clad in the full uniform of a fireman, wearing on the left breast of his coat a handsome gold medal suspended by a knot of red ribbon, walked rapidly down the street toward the headquarters of ninety-four engine, and a crowd of lads, who might have been bootblacks or newsboys, gathered on the sidewalk, cheered him loudly as he came in view, after which the senior member of the firm of roberts & dean shouted shrilly: "now let's give three more rousers for the substitute fireman of ninety-four engine!" and the cheers were given with such a hearty will that citizens more than a block away turned hastily to ask one of the other why the police allowed such a disturbance to be made at that hour. the end. tom swift among the fire fighters or battling with flames from the air by victor appleton contents chapter i a bad place for a fire ii no use of living! iii tom's new idea iv an experiment v the explosion vi tom is worried vii a forced landing viii strange talk ix suspicions x another attempt xi the blazing tree xii tom is lonesome xiii a successful test xiv out of the clouds xv coals of fire xvi violent threats xvii a town blaze xviii finishing touches xix on the trail xx a heavy load xxi the light in the sky xxii trapped xxiii to the rescue xxiv a strange discovery xxv the light of day tom swift among the fire fighters chapter i a bad place for a fire "impossible, ned! it can't be as much as that!" "well, you can prove the additions yourself, tom, on one of the adding machines. i've been over 'em twice, and get the same result each time. there are the figures. they say figures don't lie, though it doesn't follow that the opposite is true, for those who do not stick closely to the truth do, sometimes, figure. but there you have it; your financial statement for the year," and ned newton, business manager for tom swift, the talented young inventor, shoved a mass of papers across the table to his friend and chum, as well as employer. "it doesn't seem possible, ned, that we have made as much as that this past year. and this, as i understand it, doesn't include what was taken from the wreck of the pandora?" tom swift looked questioningly at ned newton, who shook his head in answer. "you really didn't get anything to speak of out of your undersea search, tom," replied the young financial manager, "so i didn't include it. but there's enough without that." "i should say so!" exclaimed tom. "whew!" he whistled, "i didn't think i was worth that much." "well, you've earned it, every cent, with the inventions of yourself and your father." "and i might add that we wouldn't have half we earn if it wasn't for the shrewd way you look after us, ned," said tom, with a warm smile at his friend. "i appreciate the way you manage our affairs; for, though i have had some pretty good luck with my searchlight, wizard camera, war tank and other contraptions, i never would have been able to save any of the money they brought in if it hadn't been for you." "well, that's what i'm here for," remarked ned modestly. "i appreciate that," began tom swift. "and i want to say, ned--" but tom did not say what he had started to. he broke off suddenly, and seemed to be listening to some sound outside the room of his home where he and his financial and business manager were going over the year's statement and accounting. ned, too, in spite of the fact that he had been busy going over figures, adding up long columns, checking statements, and giving the results to tom, had been aware, in the last five minutes, of an ever-growing tumult in the street. at first it had been no more than the passage along the thoroughfare of an unusual number of pedestrians. ned had accounted for it at first by the theory that some moving picture theater had finished the first performance and the people were hurrying home. but after he had finished his financial labors and had handed tom the first of a series of statements to look over, the young financial expert began to realize that there was no moving picture house near tom's home. consequently the passing throngs could not be accounted for in that way. yet the tumult of feet grew in the highway outside. ned had begun to wonder if there had been an attempted burglary, a fight, or something like that, calling for police action, which had gathered an unusual throng that warm, spring evening. and then had come tom's interruption of himself when he broke off in the middle of a sentence to listen intently. "what is it?" asked ned. "i thought i heard rad or koku moving around out there," murmured tom. "it may be that my father is not feeling well and wants to speak to me or that some one may have telephoned. i told them not to disturb me while you and i were going over the accounts. but if it is something of importance--" again tom paused, for distinctly now in addition to the ever-increasing sounds in the streets could be heard a shuffling and talking in the hall just outside the door. "g'wan 'way from heah now!" cried the voice of a colored man. "it is rad!" exclaimed tom, meaning thereby eradicate sampson, an aged but faithful colored servant. and then the voice of rad, as he was most often called, went on with: "g'wan 'way! i'll tell massa tom!" "me tell! big thing! best for big man tell!" broke in another voice; a deep, booming voice that could only proceed from a powerfully built man. "koku!" exclaimed tom, with a half comical look at ned. "he and rad are at it again!" koku was a giant, literally, and he had attached himself to tom when the latter had made one of many perilous trips. so eager were eradicate and koku to serve the young inventor that frequently there were more or less good-natured clashes between them to see who would have the honor. the discussion and scuffle in the hall at length grew so insistent that tom, fearing the aged colored man might accidentally be hurt by the giant koku, opened the door. there stood the two, each endeavoring to push away the other that the victor might, it appeared, knock on the door. of course rad was no match for koku, but the giant, mindful of his great strength, was not using all of it. "here! what does this mean?" cried tom, rather more sternly than he really meant. he had to pretend to be stern at times with his old colored helper and the impulsive and powerful giant. "what are you cutting up for outside my door when i told you i must be quiet with mr. newton?" "no can be quiet!" declared the giant. "too much noise in street--big crowds--much big!" he spoke an english of his own, did koku. "what are the crowds doing?" asked ned. "i thought we'd been hearing an ever increasing tumult, tom," he said to the young inventor. "big crowds--'um go to see big--" "heah! let me tell massa tom!" pleaded rad. poor rad! he was getting old and could not perform the services that once he had so readily and efficiently done. now he was eager to help tom in such small measure as carrying him a message. so it was with a feeling of sadness that tom heard the old man say again, pleadingly: "let me tell him, koku! i know all 'bout it! let me tell massa tom whut it am, an'--" "well, go ahead and tell me!" burst out tom, with a good-natured laugh. "don't keep me in suspense. if there's anything going on--" he did not finish the sentence. it was evident that something of moment was going on, for the crowds in the street were now running instead of walking, and voices could be heard calling back and forth such exclamations as: "where is it?" "must be a big one." "and with this wind it'll be worse!" tom glanced at ned and then at the two servants. "has anything happened?" asked the young inventor. "dey's a big fire, massa tom!" exploded rad. "heap big blaze!" added koku. at the same time, out in the street high and clear, the cry rang out: "fire! fire!" "is it any of our buildings?" exclaimed tom, in his excitement catching hold of the giant's arm. "no, it's quite a way off, on de odder side of town," answered the colored man. "but we t'ought we'd better come an' tell yo', an'--" "yes! yes! i'm glad you did, rad. it was perfectly right for you to tell me! i wish you'd done it sooner, though! come on, ned! let's go to the blaze! we can finish looking over the figures another time. is my father all right, rad?" "yes, suh, massa tom, he's done sleepin' good." "then don't disturb him. mr. newton and i will go to the fire. i'm glad it isn't here," and tom looked from a side window out on many shops that were not a great distance from the house; shops where he and his father had perfected many inventions. the buildings had grown up around the old swift homestead, which, now that so much industry surrounded it, was not the most pleasant place to live in. tom and his father only made this their stopping place in winter. in the summer they dwelt in a quiet cottage far removed from the scenes of their industry. "we'll take the electric runabout, ned," remarked tom, as he caught up a hat from the rack, an example followed by his friend. together the young inventor and the financial manager hurried out to the garage, where tom soon had in operation a small electric automobile, that, more than once, had proved its claim to being the "speediest car on the road." as they turned out of the driveway into the street they became aware of great crowds making their way toward a glow of sinister red light showing in the eastern sky. "some blaze!" exclaimed tom, as he turned on more power. "you said it!" ejaculated ned. "must be a general alarm," he added, as they caught the sound from the next street of additional apparatus hurrying to the fire. "well, i'm glad it isn't on our side of town," remarked tom, as he looked back at the peaceful gloom surrounding and covering his own home and work buildings. "where do you reckon it is?" asked ned, as they sped onward. "hard to say," remarked the young inventor, as he steered to one side to pass a powerful imported automobile which, however, did not have the speed of the electric runabout. "a fire at night is always deceiving as to direction. but we can locate it when we get to the top of the hill." shopton, the suburb of the town where tom lived, was named so because of the many shops that had been erected by the industry of the young inventor and his father. in fact the town was named shopton though of late there had been an effort to change the name of the strictly residential section, which lay over the hill toward the river. tom's car shot up the slope with scarcely any slackening of speed, and, as he passed a group of men and boys running onward, tom shouted: "where is it?" "the fireworks factory!" was the answer. "fireworks factory!" cried ned. "bad place for a fire!" "i should say so!" exclaimed tom. the chums had become gradually aware of the gale that was blowing, and, as they reached the summit of the hill and caught sight of the burning factory, they saw the flames being swept far out from it and toward a collection of houses on the other side of a vacant lot that separated the fireworks industrial plant from the dwellings. as tom swift glimpsed the fire, noted its proportions and the fierceness of the flames, and saw which way the wind was blowing them, he turned on the power to the utmost. "what are you doing, tom?" yelled ned. "i'm going down there!" cried tom. "that place is likely to explode any minute!" "then why go closer?" gasped ned, for his breath was almost taken away by the speed of the car, and he had to hold his hat to keep it from blowing away. "why don't you play safe?" "don't you understand?" shouted tom in his chum's ear. "the wind is blowing the fire right toward those houses! mary nestor lives in one of them!" "oh--mary nestor!" exclaimed ned. then he understood--mary and tom were engaged to be married. "they may be all right," tom went on. "i can't be sure from this distance. or they may be in danger. it's a bad fire and--" his voice was blotted out in the roar of an explosion which seemed to hurl back the electric runabout and bring it to a momentary stop. chapter ii no use of living! only momentarily was tom swift halted in his progress toward the scene of the blaze in the fireworks factory. to him, and to the chum who sat beside him on the seat of the electric runabout, it appeared that the blast had actually stopped the progress of the car. but perhaps that was more their imagination than anything else, for the machine swept on down the hill, at the foot of which was the conflagration. "that was a bad one, ned!" gasped tom, as he turned to one side to pass an engine on its way to the scene of excitement. "i should say so! must have been somebody hurt in that blow-up!" "i only hope it wasn't mary or her folks!" murmured tom. "the wind is sweeping the fire right that way!" "what are you going to do, tom?" yelled his chum, as the business manager saw the young inventor heading directly for the blaze. "what's the idea?" "to rescue mary, if she's in danger!" "i'm with you!" was ned's quick response. "but you can't go any closer. the police are stretching the fire lines!" "i guess they'll let me through!" said tom grimly. he slowed his car as he approached a place where an officer was driving back the throng that sought to come closer to the blaze. "git back! git back, i tell you!" stormed the policeman, pushing against the packed bodies of men and boys. "there'll be another blow-up in a minute or two, and a lot more of you killed!" "are there any killed?" asked tom, stopping the car near the officer. "i guess so--yes. and some of the houses are catching. git back now! you, too, with that car! you'll have to back up!" "i've got to go through!" replied tom, with tightening lips. "i've got to go through, cassidy!" he knew the officer, and the latter now seemed, for the first time, to recognize the young inventor. "oh, it's you, is it, mr. swift?" he exclaimed. "well, go ahead. but be careful. 'tis dangerous there--very dangerous, an'--" his voice was lost in the roar of another explosion, not as loud or severe as the first, but more plainly felt by tom and ned, for they were nearer to it. "now will you git back!" cried policeman cassidy, and the crowd did, without further urging. tom started the runabout forward again. "we've got to rescue mary!" he said to ned, who nodded. in another moment the two young men were lost to sight in a swirl of smoke that swept across the street. and while they are thus temporarily hidden may not this opportunity be taken of telling new readers something of the hero of this story? the young inventor was introduced in the first volume of this series, called "tom swift and his motor cycle." it was tom's first venture into the realms of invention, after he had purchased from mr. wakefield damon a speedy machine that tried to climb a tree with that excitable gentleman. tom, with the help of his father, an inventor of note, rebuilt the motor cycle adding many improvements, and it served tom in good stead more than once. from then on the career of tom swift was steadily onward and upward. one new invention led to another from his second venture, a motor boat, through an airship and other marvels, and eventually to a submarine. in each of these vehicles of motion and travel tom and his friends, ned newton and mr. damon, had many adventures, detailed in the respective volumes. his venture in proceeding to save mary nestor from possible danger in the blaze of the fireworks factory was not the first time tom had rendered service to the nestor family. there was that occasion on which he had sent his wireless message from earthquake island, as related in an earlier volume. space forbids the detailing of all that had happened to the young inventor up to the time of the opening of this story. sufficient to say that tom's latest achievement had been the recovery of treasure from the depths of the ocean. tom swift's activities in connection with his inventions had become so numerous that the swift construction company, of which ned newton was financial manager and mr. damon one of the directors, had been formed. and when the rumor came that there was a chance to salvage some of the untold wealth at the bottom of the sea, tom was interested, as were his friends. it was decided to search for the wreck of the pandora, sunk in the west indies, and one of tom's latest submarine craft was utilized for this purpose. not to go into all the details, which are given in the last volume of this series, entitled "tom swift and his undersea search," suffice it to say that the venture was begun. matters were complicated owing to the fact that mary nestor's uncle, barton keith, was in trouble over the loss of valuable papers proving his title to some oil lands. mary mentioned that a person, dixwell hardley, was the man who, it was supposed, was trying to defraud her relative. and the complications may be imagined when it is said that this same hardley was the man who had interested tom in the undersea search for the riches of the pandora. tom had been at home some time now, and it was while going over his accounts with ned, and, incidentally, planning new activities, that the cry of fire broke in on them. "whew, tom, some heat there!" gasped ned, lowering his arm from his face, an action which had been necessitated by tom's daring in driving the car close to the blazing fireworks factory. "i should say so!" agreed tom. "i can almost smell the rubber of my tires burning. but we're out of the worst of it." "lucky she didn't take the notion to blow up as we were passing," grimly commented ned. "where are you aiming for now?" "mary's house. it's just beyond here. but we can't see it on account of the smoke." a few seconds later they had passed through the black pall that was slashed here and there with red slivers of flame, and, coming to a more open space, ned and tom cleared their eyes of smoke. "i guess there's no immediate danger," remarked tom, as he saw that the home of mary nestor and the houses near her residence were, for the time being, out of the path of the flames. the explosion had blown down part of the blazing factory nearest the residential section, and the flames had less to feed on. but the conflagration was still a fierce one. not half the big factory was yet consumed, and every now and then there would sound dull, booming reports, causing nervous screams from the women who were out in front of their homes, while the men would crouch down as though fearing a shower of fiery embers. "oh, tom, i'm so glad you're here!" cried mary, as the runabout drew up in front of her home. "do you think it will be much worse?" and she clutched his arm, as he got down to speak to her. "i think the worst is over, as far as you people here are concerned," the young inventor replied. "the wind has shifted a bit." "and there are several engines near us, tom," said mr. nestor, coming forward. "the firemen tell me they will play streams of water on the roofs and outsides of our houses if the flames start this way again." "that ought to do the trick," said tom, with a show of confidence. "anybody hurt around here?" he asked. "one of the policeman said he heard several were killed." "they may have been--in the factory," said mr. nestor. "of course if the fire and explosions had taken place in the daytime the loss of life would have been great. but most of the workers had left some time before the blaze was discovered. there are a few men on a night shift, though, and i shouldn't be surprised but what some of them had suffered." "too bad!" murmured the young inventor. "you're not worried about your home, are you, mrs. nestor?" he asked of mary's mother. "oh, tom, i certainly am!" she exclaimed. "i wanted to bring out our things, but mr. nestor said it wouldn't be of any use." "neither it would, if we've got to burn, but i don't believe we have--now," said her husband. "that last explosion and the shift of the wind saved us. i appreciate your coming over, tom," he went on. "we might have needed your help. it's queer there isn't some better, or more effective, way of fighting a fire than just pouring on a comparatively insignificant bit of water," he added, as, from what was now a safe distance, they watched the firemen using many lines of hose. "they do have chemical extinguishers," said ned. "yes, for little baby blazes that have just started," went on mr. nestor. "but in all the progress of science there has not been much advance in fighting fires. we still do as they did a hundred years ago--squirt water on it, and mighty little of it compared to the blaze. it would take a week to put this fire out by the water they are using if it were not for the fact that the blaze eats itself up and has nothing more to feed on." "we'll have to get tom to invent a new way of fighting fire," remarked ned. the young inventor was about to reply when several firemen, equipped with smoke helmets which they adjusted as they ran, came running down the street. "what's the matter?" asked tom of one whom he knew. "some men are trapped in a small shed back of the factory," was the answer. "we just heard of it, and we're going in after them. oh! oh--my--my heart!" he gasped, and he sank to the sidewalk. evidently he was either overcome by the smoke and poisonous gases or by his exertions. tom grasped the situation instantly. taking the smoke helmet from the exhausted fire-fighter, the young inventor shouted: "i'll fill your place! see if you can grab a hat, ned, and come on!" one of the other firemen had two helmets, and he offered ned one. pausing only long enough to see that mr. nestor and some others were looking after the exhausted "smoke-eater," ned raced on after tom. the two young men, following the firemen, made their way around the end of the factory to the smoke-filled yard in the rear. but for the helmets, which were like the gas masks of the great war, they would not have been able to live. one of the firemen pointed through the luridly-lighted smoke to a small structure near the main building. this was beginning to burn. with quick blows of an axe the door was hewed down, and the rescue party, including tom and ned, made its way inside. in the light from the blaze, as it filtered through the windows, it could be seen that a man lay in a huddled heap on the floor. by motions the leader of the rescue squad made it clear that the man was to be carried out, and tom helped with this while ned, using an axe, cleared away some debris to enable the door to be opened fully so the men could pass out carrying their burden. the man was taken to the nestor yard and stretched out on the grass. word was relayed to one of the ambulance doctors who were on the scene attending to several injured firemen, and in a short time the man, who, it appeared, had been overcome by smoke, was revived. "well, that was a narrow squeak for you," said one of the firemen, glad to breathe without a mask on. "yes, it was touch and go," remarked the young doctor, who had used heroic measures to bring the man back from the brink of the grave. "but you'll live now, all right." the revived man looked dully about him. he seemed somewhat bewildered. "of what use to live?" he murmured. "you might as well have let me die in there. life isn't worth living now," and he sank into a stupor, while tom and the others looked wonderingly at one another. chapter iii tom's new idea "what's the matter with him, doctor?" asked tom in a low voice of the young physician who had been working over the man. "do you think he is worse hurt than appears? is he dying, and is his mind wandering?" "i don't believe so," answered the doctor. "at least i don't believe that he is dying, though his mind may be wandering. he isn't injured--at least not outwardly. just temporarily overcome by smoke is what it looks like to me. but of course i haven't made a thorough examination." "hadn't we better get him into the house, doctor?" asked mr. nestor, who stood with tom, ned and a group of men and boys about the inert form of the man lying on the grass. the rescued one was again seemingly unconscious. "the best medicine he can have is fresh air," the doctor replied. "he's better off out here than in the house. though if he doesn't revive presently i will send him to the hospital." the man did not appear to be so badly off but what he could hear, and at these words he opened his eyes again. "i don't want to go to the hospital," he murmured. "i'll be all right presently, and can go home, though--oh, well, what's the use?" he asked wearily, as though he had given up some fight. "i've lost everything." "well, you've got a deal of life left in you yet; and that's more than you could say of some who have come out of smaller fires than this," said one of the firemen who, with tom, had carried the man out of the shed. "come on, we'd better be getting back," he said to his companion. "the worst of it is over, but there'll be plenty to do yet." "you said it!" commented the other grimly. they went out of the nestor yard, many of the crowd that had gathered during the rescue following. the doctor administered some more stimulant in the shape of aromatic spirits of ammonia to the man, who, after his momentary revival, had again lapsed into a state of stupor. "who is he?" asked tom, as the physician knelt down beside the silent form. "i don't know," said mr. nestor. "i know quite a number connected with the fireworks factory, but this man is a stranger to me." "i've seen him going into the main offices several times," remarked mary, who was standing beside tom. "he seemed to be one of the company officers." "i don't believe so, mary," stated her father. "i know most of the fireworks company officials, and i'm sure this man is not one of them. poor fellow! he seems to be in a bad way." "mentally, as well as physically," put in ned. "he acted as if sorry that we had saved his life." "too bad," murmured mary, and then a policeman, who had just come into the yard to get the facts for his report, looked at the figure lying on the grass, and said: "i know him." "you do?" cried tom. "who is he?" "name's baxter, josephus baxter. he's a chemist, and he works in the fireworks factory here. not as one of the hands, but in the experiment laboratory. i've seen him there late at night lots of times. that's how i got acquainted with him. he was going in around two o'clock one morning, and i stopped him, thinking he was a thief. he proved his identity, and i've passed the time of day with him many a time since." "where does he live?" asked mr. nestor. "down on clay street," and the officer mentioned the number. "he lives all alone, so he told me. he's some sort of an inventor, i guess. at least i judged so by his talk. do you want an ambulance, doctor?" he asked the physician. "no, i think he's coming around all right," was the answer. "if we had an auto we could send him home." "i'll take him in the runabout," eagerly offered tom. "but if he lives all alone will it be safe to leave him in his house?" "he ought to be looked after, i suppose," the doctor stated. "he'll be all right in a day or so if no complications set in, but he'll be weak for a while and need attention." "then i'll take him home with me!" announced tom. "we have plenty of room, and mrs. baggert will feel right at home with some one to nurse. bring the runabout here, will you please, ned?" as ned darted off to run up the machine, the man opened his eyes again. for a moment he did not seem to know where he was or what had happened. then, as he saw the lurid light of the flames which were now dying away and realized his position, he sighed heavily and murmured: "it's all over!" "oh, no, it isn't!" cheerfully exclaimed the doctor. "you will be all right in a few days." "myself, yes, maybe," said the man bitterly, and he managed to rise to his feet. "but what of my future? it is all gone! the work of years is lost." "burned in the fire?" asked tom, wondering whether the man was a major stockholder in the company. "didn't you have any insurance? though i suppose you couldn't get much on a fireworks plant," he added, for he knew something of insurance matters in connection with his own business. "oh, it isn't the fire--that is directly," said the man, in the same bitter tones. "i've lost everything! the scoundrels stole them! and i--oh, never mind!" he cried. "what's the use of talking? i'm down and out! i might just as well have died in the fire!" tom was about to make some remark, but the doctor motioned to him to refrain, and then ned came up with the runabout. at first josephus baxter, which was the name of the man who had been rescued, made some objections to going to tom's home. but when it was pointed out that he might lapse into a stupor again from the effects of the smoke poisons, in which event he would have no one to minister to him at his lonely home, he consented to go to the residence of the young inventor. "though if i do lapse into unconsciousness you might as well let me keep on sleeping until the end," said mr. baxter bitterly to tom and ned, as they drove away from the scene of the fire with him. "oh, you'll feel better in the morning," cheerfully declared ned. the man did not answer, and the two chums did not feel much like talking, for they were worn out and weary from their exertions at the fire. the factory had been pretty well consumed, though by strenuous labors the blaze had not extended to adjoining structures. the home of mary nestor was saved, and for this tom swift was thankful. mrs. baggert, the swift's housekeeper, was indeed glad to have some one to "fuss over," as tom put it. she prepared a bed for mr. baxter, and in this the weary and ill man sank with a sigh of relief. "can i do anything for you?" asked tom, as he was about to go out and close the door. "no--thank you," was the halting reply. "i guess nothing can be done. field and melling have me where they want me now--down and out." "do you mean amos field and jason melling of the fireworks firm?" asked tom, for the names were familiar to him in a business way. "yes, the--the scoundrels!" exclaimed mr. baxter, and from his voice tom judged that he was growing stronger. "they pretended to be my friends, giving me a shop in which to work and experiment, and when the time came they took my secret formulae. i believe that is what they started the fire for--to conceal their crime!" "you don't mean that!" cried tom. "deliberately to start a fire in a factory where there was powder and other explosives! that would be a terrible crime!" "field and melling are capable of just such crimes as that!" said josephus baxter, bitterly. "if they took my formulae they wouldn't stop at arson." "were your formulae for the manufacture of fireworks?" asked tom. "not altogether," was the reply. "i had several formulae for valuable chemical combinations. they could be used in fireworks, and that is why i could use the laboratory here. but the main use of my discoveries is in the dye industry. i would have been a millionaire soon, with the rise of the american dye industry following the shutting out of the germans after the war. but now, with my secret formulae gone, i am no better than a beggar!" "perhaps it will not be as bad as you think," said tom, recognizing the fact that mr. baxter was in a nervous and excited state. "matters may look brighter in the morning." "i don't see how they can," was the grim answer. "however, i appreciate all that you have done for me. but i fear my case is hopeless." "i'll see you again in the morning," tom said, trying to infuse some cheerfulness into his voice. he found ned waiting for him when he came downstairs. "how is he?" asked the young business manager. "in rather a bad way--mentally, at least," and tom told of the lost formulae. "do you know, ned," he went on, "i have an idea!" "you generally do have--lots of 'em!" ned rejoined. "but this is a new one," went on tom. "you saw what trouble they had this evening to get a stream of water to the top stories of that factory, didn't you?" "yes, the pressure here isn't what it ought to be," ned agreed. "and some of our engines are old-timers." "why is it necessary always to fight a fire with water?" tom continued. "there are plenty of chemicals that will put out a fire much quicker than water." "of course," ned answered. "there are plenty of chemical fire extinguishers on the market, too, tom. if your idea is to invent a new hand grenade, stay off it! a lot of money has been lost that way." "i wasn't thinking of a hand grenade," said tom, as he drew some sheets of paper across the table to him. "my idea is on a bigger scale. there's no reason, ned, why a big fire in a tall building, like a sky-scraper, shouldn't be fought from above, as well as from below. now if i had the right sort of chemicals i could--" tom paused in a listening attitude. there was the rush of feet and a voice cried: "i'll get them! i'll get the scoundrels!" chapter iv an experiment "that can't be koku and rad in one of their periodic squabbles, can it?" asked ned. "no. it's probably mr. baxter," tom answered. "the doctor said he might get violent once or twice, until the effects of his shock wore off. there is some quieting medicine i can give him. i'll run up." "guess i'd better go along," remarked ned. "sounds as if you'd need help." and it did appear so, for again the frenzied shouts sounded: "i'll get 'em! i'll get the scoundrels who stole my secret formulae that i worked over so many years! come back now! don't put the match near the powder!" tom and ned hurried to the room where the unfortunate chemist had been put to bed, to find him out in the hall, wrapped in a bedquilt, and with mrs. baggert vainly trying to quiet him. mr. baxter stared at tom and ned without seeing them, for he was in a delirium of fever. "have you my formulae?" he asked. "i want them back!" "you shall have them in the morning," replied tom soothingly. "lie down, and i'll bring them to you in the morning. and drink this," he added, holding out a glass of soothing mixture which the doctor had ordered in case the patient should become violent. josephus baxter glared about with wild eyes, but between them tom and mrs. baggert managed to get him to drink the mixture. "bah! it's as bad as some of my chemicals!" spluttered the chemist, as he handed back the glass. "you are sure you'll have my formulae in the morning?" he asked, as he turned to go back to his room. "i'll do my best," declared tom cheerfully. "now please lie down." which, after some urging, mr. baxter consented to do. eradicate wanted to lie down in the hall outside the excited chemist's door to guard against his emerging again, but tom decided on koku. the giant, though not as intelligent as the colored man, was more efficient in an emergency because of his great strength. eradicate was getting old, and there was a pathetic droop to his figure as he shuffled off when koku superseded him. "ah done guess ah ain't wanted much mo'," muttered rad sadly. "oh, yes, you are!" cried tom, as, the excitement over, he walked downstairs with ned. "i'm going to start something new, rad, and i'll need your help." "will yo', really, massa tom?" exclaimed faithful rad, his face lighting up. "dat's good! is yo' goin' off after mo' diamonds, or up to de caves of ice?" "not quite that," answered the young inventor, recalling the stirring experiences that had fallen to him when on those voyages. "i'm going to work around home, rad, and i'll need your help." "anyt'ing yo' wants, massa tom! anyt'ing yo' wants!" offered the now delighted rad, and he went to bed much happier. "well, to resume where we left off," began ned, when he and tom were once more by themselves, "what's the game?" "oh, i don't know that it's much of a game," was the answer. "but i just have an idea that a big fire in a towering building can be fought from above with chemicals, as well as from the ground with streams of water. "well, i guess it could be," ned agreed. "but how are you going to get your chemicals in at the top? shoot 'em up through a hose? if you do that you'll need a special kind of hose, for the chemicals will rot anything like rubber or canvas." "i wasn't thinking of a hose," returned tom. "what then?" asked the young financial manager. "an airship!" tom exclaimed with such sudden energy that ned started. "it just came to me!" explained the youthful inventor. "i was wondering how we could get the chemicals in from the top, and an airship is the solution. i can sail over the burning building and drop the chemicals down. that will douse the blaze if my plans go right." ned was silent a moment, considering tom's daring plan and project. then, as it became clearer, the young banker cried: "blamed if i don't think that's just the thing, tom! it ought to work, and, if it does, it will save a lot of lives, to say nothing of property! a fire in a sky-scraper ought to be fought from above. then the extinguisher element, whether chemicals or water, could be dropped where they'd do the most good. as it is now, with water, a lot of it is wasted. some of it never reaches the heart of the fire, being splashed on the outside of the building. a lot more turns to steam before it hits the flames, and only a small percentage is really effective." "that's my notion," tom said. "then go ahead and do it!" urged his friend. "you have my permission!" "thanks," commented tom dryly. "but there are several things to be worked out before we can start. i've got to devise some scheme for carrying a sufficient quantity of chemicals, and invent some way of releasing them from an airship over the blaze. but that last part ought to be easy, for i think i can alter my warfare bomb-dropping attachment to serve the purpose. "what i really need, however, is some new chemical combination that will quickly put a really big blaze out of business. there are any number of these chemicals, but most of them depend on the production of carbon dioxide. this is the product of some solution of a carbonate and sulphuric acid, and i suppose, eventually, i'll work out something on that order. but i hope i may get something better." "you haven't delved much into chemistry, have you?" "no. and i wish now that i had. i see my limitations and realize my weakness. but i can brush up a little on my chemistry. as for the mechanical part, that of dropping the extinguisher on the blaze, i'm not worrying over that end." "no," agreed ned. "you have enough types of airships to be able to select just the best one for the purpose. but, say, tom!" he suddenly cried, "why not ask him to help you?" "who?" "mr. baxter. he's a chemist. and though he says his formulae are about dyes and fireworks, maybe he can put you in the way of inventing a chemical solution that will be death to fires." "he might," tom agreed. "but i think he'll be out of business for some time. this shock--being overcome by smoke and his secret formulae having been stolen--seem to have affected his mind. i don't know that i could depend on him." "it's worth trying," declared ned. "what do you suppose he means, tom, saying that field and melling stole his formulae?" "haven't the least idea. i only know those fireworks firm members slightly, if at all. i'm not sure i'd recognize them if i met them. but they are reputed to be wealthy, and i hardly think they would stoop to stealing some inventor's formulae. "we inventors are a suspicious lot, ned, as you probably have found out," he added with a smile. "we imagine the rest of the world is out to cheat us, and i presume josephus baxter is no exception. still, there may be some truth in his story. i'll give him all the help i can. but i'm going into the aerial fire-fighting game. i've been waiting for something new, and this may be it." "you may count on me!" declared ned. "and now, unless you're going to sit up all night and start studying chemistry, you'd better come to bed." "that's right. tomorrow is another day. i hope mr. baxter gets some rest. sleep will improve him a lot, the doctor said." "i know one friend of yours who will be glad to know that you are going to start something," remarked ned, as he and tom started for their rooms, for the young manager was staying with his friend for the night. "who?" tom wanted to know. "mr. wakefield damon," was the answer. "he hasn't been over lately, tom." "no, he's been off on a little trip, blessing everything from his baggage check to his suspender buttons," laughed the young inventor, as he recalled his eccentric acquaintance. "i shall be glad to see him again." "he'll be right over as soon as he learns what's in the wind," predicted ned. the hopes that mr. baxter would be greatly improved in the morning were doomed to disappointment. he was in no actual danger, the doctor said, but his recovery from the effects of the smoke he had breathed was not as rapid as desired or hoped for. "he's suffering from some shock," said the physician, "and his mental condition is against him. he ought to be kept quiet, and if you can't have him here, mr. swift, i can arrange to have him sent to a hospital." "i wouldn't dream of it!" tom exclaimed. "let him stay here by all means. we have plenty of room, and mrs. baggert has been wishing for some one to nurse. now she has him." so it was arranged that the chemist should remain at the swift home, and he gave a languid assent when they spoke to him of the matter. he really was much more ill than seemed at first. but as everything possible had been done, tom decided to go ahead with the new idea that had come to him--that of inventing an aerial chemical fire-fighting machine. "and if we get a chance, ned, we'll try to get back those secret formulae mr. baxter claims to have lost," tom declared. "i have heard some stories about that fireworks firm, which make me believe there may be something in baxter's story." "all right, tom, i'm with you any time you need me," ned promised. the young inventor lost little time in beginning his operations. as he had said, the chief need was a fire extinguishing chemical solution or powder. tom resolved to try the solution first, as it was easier to make. with this end in view he proceeded to delve into old and new chemistry books. he also sought the advice of his father. and one day, when ned called, tom electrified his chum with the exclamation: "well, i'm going to give it a try!" "what?" "my aerial chemical fire-fighting apparatus. of course i only have the chemical yet. i haven't worked on the carrying apparatus nor decided how i will attach it to an airship. but i'm going up now with some of my new solution and drop it on a blaze from above." "where are you going to get the fire?" asked ned. "you can't have a sky-scraper blaze made to order, you know." "no, but as this is only an experiment," tom said, "a big bonfire will answer the purpose. i'm having koku and rad make one now down in our big meadow. as soon as it gets hot enough and fierce enough, i'll sail over it in my small machine, drop the extinguisher on it, and see what happens. want to come?" "sure thing!" cried ned. "and i hope the experiment is a success!" "thanks," murmured tom. "i'm about ready to start. all i have to do is to take this tank up with me," and he pointed to one containing his new mixture. "of course the arrangement for dumping it out of the aircraft is very crude," tom said. "but i can work on that later." ned and he were busy putting the can of tom's new chemical extinguisher in the airship when the door of the hangar was suddenly opened and a very much excited man entered crying: "fire! fire! bless my kitchen sink, your meadow's on fire, tom swift! it's blazing high! fire! fire!" chapter v the explosion tom and ned were so startled by the entrance of the excited man with his cry of "fire!" that the young inventor nearly dropped the tank of liquid extinguisher he was helping to hoist into the aeroplane. then, as he caught sight of his visitor, tom exclaimed: "hello, mr. damon! we were wondering whether you'd be along to witness our first experiment." "experiment, tom swift! experiment! bless my latin grammar! but you'd much better be calling out the fire department to play on that blaze down in your meadow. what is it--your barns or one of your new shops?" "neither one, mr. damon," laughed ned. "it's only a blaze that koku and rad started." "and the fire department is here," added tom. "where?" inquired the eccentric man. "here," and tom pointed to his airship--one of the smaller craft--into which the tank of chemicals had been hoisted. "oh!" exclaimed mr. damon. "something new, eh, tom?" his eyes glistened. "yes. fighting fires from the air. i got the idea after the fireworks factory went up in smoke. will you come along? there's plenty of room." "i believe i will," assented mr. damon. it was not the first time, by any means, that he had gone aloft with tom. "i happened to be coming over in my auto," he went on to explain, "when i happened to see the fire down in the meadow. i was afraid you didn't know about it." "oh, yes," replied tom. "i had rad and koku light a big pile of packing boxes, to represent, as nearly as possible, on a small scale, a burning building. i plan now to sail over it and drop the tins of chemicals. they are arranged to burst as they fall into the blaze, and i hope the carbon dioxide set loose will blanket out the fire." "sounds interesting," commented mr. damon. "i'll go along." the airship was wheeled out of the hangar and was soon ready for the flight. a big cloud of black vapor down in the meadow told tom and ned that koku and eradicate had done their work well. the giant and the colored man had poured oil over the wood to make a fierce blaze that would give tom's new chemical combination a severe test. a mechanic turned the propeller of the airship until there was an accumulation of gas in the different cylinders. then he stepped back while tom threw on the switch. this was not one of the self-starting types, of which tom possessed one or two. "contact!" cried tom sharply, and the man stepped forward to give the big blades a final turn that would start the motor. there was a muffled roar and then a steady staccato blending of explosions. tom raced the motor while his men held the machine in place, and then, satisfied that all was well, the young inventor gave the word, and the craft raced over the ground, to soar aloft a little later. tom, ned and mr. damon could look down to the meadow where the bonfire was blazing. a crowd had collected, but the heat of the blaze kept them at a good distance. then, as many of the throng caught sight of the airship overhead, there was a new interest for them. tom had told ned and mr. damon, before the trio had entered the machine, what he wanted them to do. this was to toss the chemicals overboard at the proper time. of course in his perfected apparatus tom hoped to have a device by which he could drop the fire extinguishing elements by a mere pressure of his finger or foot, as bombs were released from aircraft during the war. but this would serve for the time being. nearer and nearer the blaze the airship approached until it was almost above it. tom had had some experience in bomb-dropping, and knew when to give the signal. at last the signal came. mr. damon and ned heaved over the side the metal containers of the powerful chemicals. down they went, unerring as an arrow, though on a slant, caused by the impetus given them by the speed of the airship. tom and his friends leaned over the side of the machine to watch the effect. they could see the chemicals strike the blaze, and it was evident from the manner in which the fire died down that the containers had broken, as tom intended they should to scatter their contents. "hurray!" cried ned, forgetting that he could not be heard, for no head telephones were used on this occasion and the roar of the motor would drown any human voice. "it's working, tom!" truly the effect of the chemicals was seemingly to cause the fire to go out, but it was only a momentary dying down. koku and rad had made a fierce, yet comparatively small, conflagration, and though for a time the gas generated by tom's mixture dampened the blaze, in a few seconds--less than half a minute--the flames were shooting higher than ever. tom made a gesture of disappointment, and swung his craft around in a sharp, banking turn. he had no more chemicals to drop, as he had thought this supply would be sufficient. however, he had guessed badly. the fire burned on, doing no damage, of course, for that had been thought of when it was started in the meadow. "something wrong!" declared the young inventor, when they were back at the hangar, climbing out of the machine. "what was it?" asked ned. "didn't use the right kind of chemicals," tom answered. "from the way the flames shot up, you'd think i had poured oil on the blaze instead of carbon dioxide." "bless my insurance policy, tom!" cried mr. damon, "but i'd hate to trust to your apparatus if my house caught." "don't blame you," tom assented. "but i'll do the trick yet! this is only a starter!" during the next two weeks the young inventor worked hard in his laboratory, mr. swift sometimes helping him, but more often koku and eradicate. mr. baxter had recovered sufficiently to leave the swift home. but though the chemist seemed well physically, his mind appeared to be brooding over his loss. "if i could only get my secret formulae back!" he sighed, as he thanked tom for his kindness. "i'm sure field and melling have them. and i believe they got them the night of the fireworks blaze; the scoundrels!" "well, if i can help you, please let me," begged tom. and then he dismissed the matter from his mind in his anxiety to hit upon the right chemical mixture for putting out fires from the air. one afternoon, at the end of a week in which he had been busily and steadily engaged on this work, tom finally moved away from his laboratory table with a sigh of relief, and, turning to eradicate, who had been helping him, exclaimed: "well, i think i have it now!" "good lan' ob massy, i hopes so!" exclaimed the colored man. "it sho' do smell bad enough, massa tom, to make any fire go an' run an' drown hisse'f! whew-up! it's turrible stuff!" "yes, it isn't very pleasant," tom agreed, with a smile. "though i am getting rather used to it. but when it's in a metal tube it won't smell, and i think it will put out any fire that ever started. we'll give it a test now, rad. just take that flask of red stuff and pour it into this one of yellow. i'll go out and light the bonfire, and we'll make a small test." leaving rad to mix some of the chemicals, a task the colored man had often done before, tom went out into the yard near his laboratory to start a blaze on which his new mixture could be tested. he had not got far from the laboratory door when he felt a sudden jar and a rush of air, and then followed the dull boom of an explosion. like an echo came the voice of eradicate: "oh, massa tom, i'se blowed up! it done sploded right in mah face!" chapter vi tom is worried dropping what he had in his hands, tom swift raced back to the laboratory where he had left eradicate to mix the chemicals. again the despairing, frightened cry of the colored man rang out. "i hope nothing serious has happened," was the thought that flashed through tom's mind. "but i'm afraid it has. i should have mixed those new chemicals myself." koku, the giant, who was at work in another part of the shop yard, heard rad's cry and came running up. as there was always more or less jealousy between eradicate and koku, the latter now thought he had a chance to crow over his rival, not, of course, understanding what had happened. "ho! ho!" laughed koku. "you much better hab me work, master tom. i no make blunderstakes like dat black fellow! i never no make him!" "i don't know whether rad has made a mistake or not," murmured tom. "come along, koku, we may need your help. there has been an explosion." "yep, dat rad he don't as know any more as to blow up de whole place!" chuckled koku. he thought he would have a chance to make fun of eradicate, but neither he nor tom realized how serious had been the happening. as the young inventor reached the laboratory, which he had left but a few seconds before, he saw the interior almost in ruins. all about were scattered various pieces of apparatus, test tubes, alembics, retorts, flasks, and an electric furnace. but what gave tom more concern than anything else was the sight of eradicate lying in the midst of broken glass on the floor. the colored man was moaning and held his hands over his face, and the young inventor could see that the hands, which had labored so hard and faithfully in his service, were cut and bleeding. "rad! rad! what has happened?" cried tom quickly. "it sploded! it done sploded right in mah face!" moaned eradicate. "i--i can't see no mo', massa tom! i can't see to help yo' nevah no mo'!" "don't worry about that, rad!" cried tom, as cheerfully as possible under the circumstances. "we'll soon have you fixed up! come in here, koku, and help me carry rad out!" though the fumes from the chemicals that had exploded were choking, causing both tom and koku to gasp for breath, they never hesitated. in they rushed and picked up the limp figure of the helpless colored man. "poor rad!" murmured the giant koku tenderly. "him bad hurt! i carry him, master tom! i take him bed, an' i go for doctor! i run like painted pig!" probably koku meant "greased pig," but tom never thought of that. all his concern was for his faithful eradicate. "me carry him, master tom!" cried koku, all the petty jealousy of his rival passing away now. "me take care ob rad. him no see, me see for him. anybody hurt rad now, got to hurt koku first!" it was a fine and generous spirit that the giant was showing, though tom had no time to speculate on it just then. "we must get him into the house, koku," said the young inventor. "and two of us can carry him better than one. after we get him to a bed you can go for the doctor, though i fancy the telephone can run even quicker than you can, koku." "whatever master tom say," returned the giant humbly, as he looked with pity at the suffering form of his rival--a rival no longer. it seemed that rad's working days were over. tenderly the aged colored man was laid on a lounge in the living room, mr. swift and mrs. baggert hovering over him. "where are you worst hurt, rad?" asked tom, with a view to getting a line on which physician would be the best one to summon. "it's all in mah face, massa tom," moaned the colored man. "it's mah eyes. dat stuff done sploded right in 'em! i can't see--nevah no mo'!" "oh, i guess it isn't as bad as that," said tom. but when he had a glimpse of the seared and wounded face of his faithful servant he could not repress a shudder. a physician was summoned by telephone, and he arrived in his automobile at the same time that mr. damon reached tom's house. "bless my bottle of arnica, tom!" exclaimed the eccentric man, with sympathy in his voice. "what's this i hear? one of your men tells me old eradicate is killed!" "not as bad as that, yet," replied tom, as he came out, leaving the doctor to make his first examination. "it was an explosion of my new aerial fire-fighting chemicals that i left rad to mix for me. if anything serious results to him from this i'll drop the whole business! i'll never forgive myself!" "it wasn't your fault, tom. perhaps he did something wrong," said mr. damon. "yes, it was my fault. i should not have let him take the chance with a mixture i had tried only a few times. but we'll hope for the best. how is he, doctor?" tom asked a little later when the physician came out on the porch. "he's doing as well as can be expected for the present," was the answer. "i have given him a quieting mixture. his worst injury seems to be to his face. his hands are cut by broken glass, but the hurts are only superficial. i think we shall have to get an eye specialist to look at him in a day or two." "you mean that he--that he may go blind?" gasped tom. "well, we'll not decide right away," replied the doctor, as cheerfully as he could. "i should rather have the opinion of an oculist before making that statement. it may be only temporary." "that's bad enough!" muttered tom. "poor old rad!" "me take care ob him," put in koku, who had been humbly standing around waiting to hear the news. "me never be mad at dat black man no more! him my best friend! i lub him like i did my brudder!" "thank you, koku," said tom, and his mind went back to the time when he had escaped in his airship from the gigantic men, of whom koku and his brother were two specimens. the brother had gone with a circus, and koku, for several years, only saw him occasionally. everything possible was done for eradicate, and the doctor said that it would be several days, until after the burns from the exploding chemicals had partly healed, before the eye-doctor could make an examination. "then we can only wait and hope," said tom. "and hope for the best!" advised mr. damon. "i'll try," promised tom. he went back to the laboratory with his eccentric friend and with ned, who had come over as soon as he heard the news. not much of an examination could be made, as the place was in such ruins. but it was surmised that in combining the two chemical mixtures a new one had been created, or at least one that tom had not counted on. this had exploded, blowing eradicate down, flaring a sheet of flame up into his face, scattering broken glass about, and generally creating havoc. "i can't understand it," said tom. "i was trying to make a fire extinguishing liquid, and it turned out to be a fire creator. i don't see what was wrong." "one chemical might have been impure," suggested ned. "yes," agreed tom. "i'll check them over and try to find out where the mistake happened." "this place will have to be rebuilt," observed ned. "it's in bad shape, tom." "i don't mind that in the least, if rad doesn't lose his eyesight," was the answer of the young inventor, and his friends could see that he was much worried, as well he might be. in silence tom swift looked about the ruins of what had been a fine chemical laboratory. "it will take a month to get this back in shape," he said ruefully. "i guess i shall have to postpone my experiments." "why not ask mr. baxter to help you?" suggested ned. "what can he do?" tom wanted to know. "he hasn't any laboratory." "he has a sort of one," ned rejoined. "you know you told me to keep track of him and give him any help i could." "yes," tom nodded. "well, the other day he came to me and said he had a chance to set up a small laboratory in a vacant shop near the river. he needed a little capital and i lent it to him, as you told me to." "glad you did," returned tom. "but do you suppose his plant is large enough to enable me to work there until mine is in shape again?" "it wouldn't do any harm to take a look," suggested ned. "i'll do it!" decided tom, more hopefully than he had spoken since the accident. chapter vii a forced landing josephus baxter seemed to have recovered some of his spirits after his narrow escape from death in the fireworks factory blaze. he greeted tom and ned with a smile as they entered the improvised laboratory he had been able to set up in what had once been a factory for the making of wooden ware, an industry that, for some reason, did not flourish in shopton. "i'm glad to see you, mr. swift," said the chemist, who seemed to have aged several years in the few weeks that had intervened since the fire. "i want to thank you for giving me a chance to start over again." "oh, that's all right," said tom easily. "we inventors ought to help one another. are you able to do anything here?" "as much as possible without my secret formulae," was the answer. "if i only had those back from the rascals, field and melling, i would be able to go ahead faster. as it is, i am working in the dark. for some of the formulae were given to me by a frenchman, and i had only one copy. i kept that in the safe of the fireworks concern, and after the fire it could not be found." "was the safe destroyed?" asked tom. "no. but the doors were open, and much of what had been inside was in ashes and cinders. amos field claimed that the explosion had blown open the safe and burned a lot of their valuable fireworks formulae too." "and you believe they have yours?" asked ned. "i'm sure of it!" was the fierce answer. "those men are unprincipled rogues! they had been at me ever since i was foolish enough to tell them about my formulae to get me to sell them a share. but i refused, for i knew the secret mixtures would make my fortune when i could establish a new dye industry. field and melling claimed they wanted the formulae for their fireworks, but that was only an excuse. the formulae were not nearly so valuable for pyrotechnics as for dyes. the fireworks business is not so good, either, since so many cities have voted for a 'sane fourth of july.'" "i can appreciate that," said tom. "but what we called for, mr. baxter, is to find if you have room enough to let me do a little experimenting here. i am working on a new kind of fire extinguisher, to be dropped on tall buildings from an airship." "sounds like a good idea," said the chemist, rather dreamily. "well, i have the airship, and i can see my way clear to perfecting a device to drop the chemicals in metal tanks or bombs," went on tom. "but what bothers me is the chemical mixture that will put out fires better than the carbon dioxide mixtures now on the market." "i haven't given that much study myself," said mr. baxter. "but you are welcome to anything i have, mr. swift. the whole place, such as it is, will be at your disposal at any time. i intend to have it in better shape soon, but i have to proceed slowly, as i lost nearly everything i owned in that fire. if i could only get those formulae back!" he sighed. "perhaps you may recall the combinations," suggested ned. "or can't you get them from that frenchman?" "he is dead," answered the chemist. "everything seems to be against me!" "well, it's always darkest just before daylight," said tom. "so let us hope for the best. we both have had a bit of bad luck. but when i think of rad, who may lose his eyesight, i can stand my losses smiling." "yes," agreed mr. baxter, "you have big assets when you have your health and eyesight." three days later the eye specialist looked at rad. tom stood by anxiously and waited for the verdict. the doctor motioned to the young inventor to follow him out of the room, while mrs. baggert replaced the bandages on the colored man's eyes and koku stood near him, sympathetically patting rad on the back. "well?" asked tom nervously, as he faced the physician. "i am sorry, mr. swift, that i can not hold out much hope that your man will ever regain his sight," was the answer. tom could not repress a gasp of pity. "i do not say that the case is altogether hopeless," the doctor went on; "but it would be wrong to encourage you to hope for much. i may be able to save partly the sight of one eye." "poor rad!" murmured tom. "this will break his heart." "there is no need for telling him at once," dr. henderson said. "it will only make his recovery so much the slower. it will be weeks before i am able to operate, and, meanwhile, he should be kept as comfortable and cheerful as possible." "we'll see to that," declared tom. "is he otherwise injured?" "no, it is merely his eyesight that we have to fear for. and, as i said, that is not altogether hopeless, though it would not be honest to let you look for much success. i shall see him from time to time until his eyes are ready to operate on." tom and his friends were forced to take such comfort as they could from this verdict, but no hint of their downcast feelings were made manifest to eradicate. "whut de doctor man done say, massa tom?" asked eradicate when the young inventor went back into the sick room. "oh, he talked a lot of big latin words, rad--bigger words than you used to use on your mule boomerang," and tom forced a laugh. "all he meant was that you'd have to stay in bed a while and let koku wait on you." "huh! am dat--dat big--dat big nice man heah now?" asked rad, feeling around with his bandaged hand; and a smile showed beneath the cloth over his eyes. "i here right upsidedown by you, rad," said koku, and his big hand clasped the smaller one of the black man. "koku--yo'--yo' am mighty good to me," murmured eradicate. "i reckon i been cross to yo' sometimes, but i didn't mean nuffin' by it!" "huh! me an' you good friends now," said the giant. "anybody what hurt my rad, i--i--bust 'im! dat i do!" cried the big fellow. "come on," whispered tom to ned. "they'll get along all right together now." but eradicate caught the sound of his young employer's footsteps and called: "yo' goin', massa tom?" "yes, rad. is there anything you want?" "no, massa tom. i jest wanted to ast if yo' done 'membered de time mah mule boomerang got stuck in de road, an' yo' couldn't git past in yo' auto? does yo' 'member dat?" "indeed i do!" laughed tom, and eradicate also chuckled at the recollection. "that laugh will do him more good than medicine," declared the doctor, as he took his leave. "i'll come again, when i can make a more thorough examination," he added. for tom the following days, that lengthened into weeks, were anxious ones. there was a constant worry over eradicate. then, too, he was having trouble with his latest invention--his aerial fire-fighting apparatus. it was not that tom was financially dependent on this invention. he was wealthy enough for his needs from other patented inventions he and his father owned. but tom swift was a lad not easily satisfied. once embarked on an enterprise, whether it was the creation of a gigantic searchlight, an electric rifle, a photo telephone or a war tank, he never rested until he had brought it to a successful consummation. but there was something about this chemical fire extinguishing mixture that defied the young inventor's best efforts. mixture after mixture was tried and discarded. tom wanted something better than the usual carbonate and sulphuric combination, and he was not going to rest until he found it. "i think you've struck a blind lead, tom," said ned, more than once. "well, i'm not going to give up," was the firm answer. "bless my shoe laces!" cried mr. damon, when he had called on tom once at the baxter laboratory and had been driven out, holding his breath, because of the chemical fumes, "i should think you couldn't even start a fire with that around, tom, much less need to put one out." "well, it doesn't seem to work," said the young inventor ruefully. "everything i do lately goes wrong." "it is that way sometimes," said mr. baxter. "suppose you let me study over your formulae a bit, mr. swift. i haven't given much thought to fire extinguishers, but i may be able, for that very reason, to approach the subject from a new angle. i'll lay aside my attempt to get back the lost formulae and help you." "i wish you would!" exclaimed tom eagerly. "my head is woozie from thinking! suppose i leave you to yourself for a time, mr. baxter? i'll go for an airship ride." "yes, do," urged the chemist. "sometimes a change of scene is of benefit. i'll see what i can do for you." "will you come along, ned--mr. damon?" asked tom, as he prepared to leave the improvised laboratory, the repairs on his own not yet having been finished. "thank you, no," answered ned. "i have some collections to make." "and i promised my wife i'd take her riding, tom," said the jolly, eccentric man. "bless my umbrella! she'd never forgive me if i went off with you. but i'll run you to your first stopping place, ned, and you to your hangar, tom." his invitation was accepted, and, in due season, tom was soaring aloft in one of his speedy cloud craft. "guess i'll drop down and get mary nestor," he decided, after riding about alone for a while and finding that the motor was running sweetly and smoothly. "she hasn't been out lately." tom made a landing in a field not far from the home of the girl he hoped to marry some day, and walked over to her house. "go for a ride? i just guess. i will!" cried mary, with sparkling eyes. "just wait until i get on my togs." she had a leather suit, as had tom, and they were soon in the machine, which, being equipped with a self-starter, did not need the services of a mechanician to whirl the propellers. "oh, isn't it glorious!" said mary, as she sat at tom's side. they were in a little enclosed cabin of the craft--which carried just two--and, thus enclosed, they could speak by raising their voices somewhat, for the noise of the motor was much muffled, due to one of tom's inventions. other rides on other days followed this one, for tom found more rest and better refreshment after his hours of toil and study in these rides with mary than in any other way. "i do love these rides, tom!" the girl cried one day when the two were soaring aloft. "and this one i really believe is better than any of the rest. though i always think that," she added, with a slight laugh. "glad you like it," tom answered, and there was something in his voice that caused mary to look curiously at him. "what's the matter, tom?" she asked. "has anything happened? is rad's case hopeless?" "oh, no, not yet. of course it isn't yet sure that he will ever see again, but, on the other hand, it isn't decided that he can't. it's a fifty-fifty proposition." "but what makes you so serious?" "was i?" "i should say so! you haven't told me one funny thing that mr. damon has said lately." "oh, haven't i? well, let me see now," and he sent the machine up a little. "well, the other day he--" tom suddenly stopped speaking and began rapidly turning several valve wheels and levers. "what--what's the matter?" gasped mary, but she did not clutch his arm. she knew better than that. "the motor has stopped," tom answered, and the girl became aware of a cessation of the subdued hum. "is it--does it mean danger?" she asked. "not necessarily so," tom replied. "it means we have to make a forced landing, that's all. sit tight! we're going down rather faster than usual, mary, but we'll come out of it all right!"' chapter viii strange talk there was a rapid and sudden drop. mary, sitting beside tom swift in the speedy aeroplane, watched with fascinated eyes as he quickly juggled with levers and tried different valve wheels. the girl, through her goggles, had a vision of a landscape shooting past with the speed of light. she glimpsed a brook, and, almost instantly, they had skimmed over it. a jar, a nerve-racking tilt to one side, the creaking of wood and the rattle of metal, a careening, and then the machine came to a stop, not exactly on a level keel, but at least right side up, in the midst of a wide field. tom shut off the gas, cut his spark, and, raising his goggles, looked down at mary at his side. "scared?" he asked, smiling. "i was," she frankly admitted. "is anything broken, tom?" "i hope not," answered the young inventor. "at least if it is, the damage is on the under part. nothing visible up here. but let me help you out. looks as if we'd have to run for it." "run?" repeated mary, while proving that she did not exactly need help, for she was getting out of her seat unaided. "why? is it going to catch fire?" "no. but it's going to rain soon--and hard, too, if i'm any judge," tom said. "i don't believe i'll take a chance trying to get the machine going again. we'll make for that farmhouse and stay there until after the storm. looks as if we could get shelter there, and perhaps a bit to eat. i'm beginning to feel hungry." "it is going to rain!" decided mary, as tom helped her down over the side of the fusilage. "it's good we are so near shelter." tom did not answer. he was making a hasty but accurate observation of the state of his aeroplane. the landing wheels had stood the shock well, and nothing appeared to be broken. "we came down rather harder than i wanted to," remarked tom, as he crawled out after his inspection of the machine. "though i've made worse forced landings than that." "what caused it?" asked mary, glancing up at the clouds, which were getting blacker and blacker, and from which, now and then, vivid flashes of lightning came while low mutterings of thunder rolled nearer and nearer. "something seemed to be wrong with the carburetor," tom answered. "i won't try to monkey with it now. let's hike for that farmhouse. we'll be lucky if we don't get drenched. are you sure you're all right, mary?" "certainly, tom. i can stand a worse shaking up than that. and you needn't think i can't run, either!" she proved this by hastening along at tom's side. and there was need of haste, for soon after they left the stranded aeroplane the big drops began to pelt down, and they reached the house just as the deluge came. "i don't know this place, do you, tom?" asked mary, as they ran in through a gateway in a fence that surrounded the property. a path seemed to lead all around the old, rambling house, and there was a porch with a side entrance door. this, being nearer, had been picked out by the young inventor and his friend. "no, i don't remember being here before," tom answered. "but i've passed the place often enough with ned and mr. damon. i guess they won't refuse to let us sit on the porch, and they may be induced to give us a glass of milk and some sandwiches--that is, sell them to us." he and mary, a little breathless from their run, hastened up on the porch, slightly wet from the sudden outburst of rain. as tom knocked on the door there came a clap of thunder, following a burst of lightning, that caused mary to put her hands over her ears. "guess they didn't hear that," observed tom, as the echoes of the blast died away. "i mean my knock. the thunder drowned it. i'll try again." he took advantage of a lull in the thundering reverberations, and tapped smartly. the door was almost at once opened by an aged woman, who stared in some amazement at the young people. then she said: "guests must go to the front door." "guests!" exclaimed tom. "we aren't exactly guests. of course we'd like to be considered in that light. but we've had an accident--my aeroplane stopped and we'd like to stay here out of the storm, and perhaps get something to eat." "that can be arranged--yes," said the old woman, who spoke with a foreign accent. "but you must go to the front door. this is the servant's entrance." mary was just thinking that they used considerable formality for casual wayfarers, when the situation dawned on tom swift. "is this a restaurant--an inn?" he asked. "yes," answered the old woman. "it is meadow inn. please go to the front door." "all right," tom agreed good-naturedly. "i'm glad we struck the place, anyhow." the porch extended around three sides of the old, rambling house. proceeding along the sheltered piazza, tom and mary soon found themselves at the front door. there the nature of the place was at once made plain, for on a board was lettered the words "meadow inn." "i see what has happened," tom remarked, as he opened the old-fashioned ground glass door and ushered mary in. "some one has taken the old farmhouse and made it into a roadhouse--a wayside inn. i shouldn't think such a place would pay out here; but i'm mighty glad we struck it." "yes, indeed," agreed mary. the old farmhouse, one of the best of its day, had been transformed into a roadhouse of the better class. on either side of the entrance hall were dining rooms, in which were set small tables, spread with snowy cloths. "in here, sir, if you please," said a white-aproned waiter, gliding forward to take tom's leather coat and mary's jacket of like material. the waiter ushered them into a room, in which at first there seemed to be no other diners. then, from behind a screen which was pulled around a table in one corner, came the murmur of voices and the clatter of cutlery on china, which told of some one at a meal there. "somebody is fond of seclusion," thought tom, as he and mary took their places. and as he glanced over the bill of fare his ears caught the murmur of the voices of two men coming from behind the screen. one voice was low and rumbling, the other high-pitched and querulous. "talking business, probably," mused tom. "what do you feel like eating?" he asked mary. "i wasn't very hungry until i came in," she answered, with a smile. "but it is so cozy and quaint here, and so clean and neat, that it really gives one an appetite. isn't it a delightful place, tom? did you know it was here?" "it is very nice. and as this is the first i have been here for a long while i didn't know, any more than you, that it had been made into a roadhouse. but what shall i order for you?" "i should think you would have had enough experience by this time," laughed mary, for it was not the first occasion that she and tom had dined out. thereupon he gave her order and his own, too, and they were soon eating heartily of food that was in keeping with the appearance of the place. "i must bring ned and mr. damon here," said tom. "they'll appreciate the quaintness of this inn," for many of the quaint appointments of the old farmhouse had been retained, making it a charming resort for a meal. "mr. damon will like it," said mary. "especially the big fireplace," and she pointed to one on which burned a blaze of hickory wood. "he'll bless everything he sees." "and cause the waiter to look at me as though i had brought in an escaped inmate from some sanitarium," laughed tom. "no use talking, mr. damon is delightfully queer! now what do you want for dessert?" "let me see the card," begged mary. "i fancy some french pastry, if they have it." tom gazed idly but approvingly about as she scanned the list. the sound of the rumbling and the higher-pitched voices had gone on throughout the entire meal, and now, as comparative silence filled the room, the clatter of knives and forks having ceased, tom heard more clearly what was being said behind the screen. "well, i tell you what it is," said the man whom tom mentally dubbed mr. high. "we got out of that blaze mighty luckily!" "yes," agreed he of the rumbly voice, whom tom thought of as mr. low, "it was a close shave. if it hadn't been for his chemicals, though, there would have been a cleaner sweep." "indeed there would! i never knew that any of them could act as fire extinguishers." tom seemed to stiffen at this, and his hearing became more acute. "they aren't really fire extinguishers in the real sense of the word," went on the other man behind the screen. "it must have been some accidental combination of them. but in spite of that we put it all over josephus baxter in that fire!" "what's this? what's this?" thought tom, shooting a glance at mary and noting that apparently she had not heard what was said. "what strange talk is this?" chapter ix suspicions "what's that?" exclaimed mary nestor, giving such a start as she sat opposite tom at the restaurant table that she dropped the bill of fare she had been looking over. a crash had resounded through the room, but it spoke well for the state of tom's nerves that he gave no indication that he had heard the noise. it was caused by a waiter when he dropped a plate, which was smashed into pieces on the floor. the noise was startling enough to excuse mary for jumping in her chair, and it seemed to put an end to the strange talk of "mr. high" and "mr. low" back of the screen, for after the crash of china only indistinct murmurs came from there. but tom swift did not cease to wonder at the import of the talk about chemicals, fire, and the mention of the name of josephus baxter. "i think i'll try some of those murolloas, as they call them, tom," announced mary, having made her selection of the pastry. "and may i have another cup of tea?" "two if you like," answered the young inventor. "they say tea is good for the nerves, and you seem to need something, judging by the way you jumped when that plate fell." "oh, tom, that isn't fair! after the way we had to come down in your 'plane!" objected mary. "that's right!" he conceded. "i forgot about that. my fault, entirely!" mary smiled, and seemed to have regained her composure. tom glanced at her anxiously, not because of what he thought might be the state of her nerves, but to see if she had sensed anything the two men behind the screen had said. but the girl gave no indication that her mind had been occupied with anything more than the selection of her dessert. "i wonder who they are, and what they meant by that talk," mused tom, as the waiter served the murolloas to him and mary. "poor baxter! it looks as if he might have more enemies than the fireworks men he accuses of having taken his valuable formulae. i must see him soon, and have a talk with him. yes, i must make a special point to see josephus baxter. but first i'd like to have a glimpse of these men." tom's wish in this respect was soon gratified, for before he and mary had finished their pastry and tea there was a scraping of chairs back of the sheltering screen, and the two men, "mr. low" and "mr. high," who had finished their meal, came forth. tom's judgment as to the statures of the men, based on the quality of their voices, was not exactly borne out. for it was the big man who had the high pitched, squeaky voice, and the little man who had the deep, rumbling tones. they passed out, without more than a glance at tom and his companion, but the young inventor peered at them sharply. as far as he could tell he had seen neither of them before, though he had an idea of their identity. tom took the chance to make certain this conjecture when mary left her seat, announcing that she was going to the ladies' parlor to arrange her hair, which the run to escape from the rain had disarranged. "some storm," tom observed to the waiter, who came up when the young inventor indicated that he wanted his check. "yes, sir, it came suddenly. hope you didn't have to change a tire in it, sir." "no, my machine isn't that kind," replied tom, as he handed out a generous tip. "if i need a new tire i generally need a whole new outfit." "oh, then--" obviously the man was puzzled. "we came in an aeroplane," tom explained. "but we had to make a forced landing. is there a garage near here? i may need some help getting started." "we accommodate a few cars in what was once the barn, and we have a good mechanic, sir. if you'd like to see him--" "i would," interrupted tom. "tell the young lady to wait here for me. i'll see if i can get the scud to work. if not, i'll have to telephone to town for a taxi. did those men who just left come in a car?" and he nodded in the direction taken by the two who had dined behind the screen. "yes, sir. and they had engine trouble, i believe. our man fixed up their machine." "then he's the chap i want to see," thought tom. "i'll have a talk with him." he reasoned that he could get more about the identity of the two mysterious men from the mechanic than from the waiter. nor was he wrong in this surmise. "oh, them two fellers!" exclaimed the mechanician, after he had agreed to go with tom to where the airship scud was stalled. "they come from over shopton way. they own a fireworks factory--or they did, before it burned." "are they field and melling?" asked tom, trying not to let any excitement betray itself in his voice. "that's the names they gave me," said the man. "little man's field. he gave me his card. i'm going to get a job overhauling his car. there isn't enough work here to keep a man busy, and i told 'em i could do a little on the outside. this place just started, and not many folks know about it yet." "so i judge," tom said. "well, i'll be glad to have you give me a hand. i fancy the carburetor is out of order." and this, when the young inventor and the mechanician from meadow inn reached the stranded scud, was found to be the case. the storm had passed, and mary told tom she would not mind waiting at the inn until he found whether or not he could get his air craft in working order. "there you are! that's the trouble!" exclaimed the mechanician, as he took something out of the carburetor. "a bit of rubber washer choked the needle valve." "glad you found it," said tom heartily. "now i guess we can ride back." while preparations were being made to test the scud after the carburetor had been reassembled, tom's mind was busy with many thoughts, and chief among them were suspicions concerning field and melling. "if their talk meant anything at all," reasoned the young inventor, "it meant that there was some deal in which josephus baxter got the worst of it. 'putting it over on him in the fire,' could only mean that. of course it isn't any of my business, in a way, but i don't think it is right to stand by and see a fellow inventor defrauded. "of course," mused tom, while his helper put the finishing touches to the carburetor, "it may have been a business deal in which one took as many chances as the other. there are always two sides to every story. baxter says they took his formulae, but he may have taken something from them to make it even. the only thing is that i'd trust baxter sooner than i would those two fellows, and he certainly had a narrow squeak at the fire. "but i have my own troubles, i guess, trying to perfect that fire-fighting chemical, and i haven't much time to bother with field and melling, unless they come my way." "there, i reckon she'll work," said the mechanician, as he fastened the last valve in the carburetor. "it was an easier job than i expected. wasn't as much trouble as i had over their car those two fellers you were speaking of--field and melling. they're rich guys!" "yes?" replied tom, questioningly. "sure! they've started a big dye company." "a dye company?" repeated the young inventor, all his suspicions coming back as he recalled that baxter had said his formulae were more valuable for dyes than for fireworks. "yes, they're trying to get the business that used to go to the germans before the war," went on the man. "yes, the germans used to have a monopoly of the dye industry," said tom, hoping the man would talk on. he need not have worried. he was of the talkative type. "well, if these fellers have their way they'll make a million in dyes," proceeded the mechanician, as he stepped down out of the airship. "they've built a big plant, and they have offices in the landmark building." "where's that?" asked tom. "over in newmarket," the man went on, naming the nearest large city to shopton. "the landmark building is a regular new york skyscraper. haven't you seen it?" "no," tom answered, "i haven't. been too busy, i guess. so field and melling have their offices there?" "yes, and a big plant on the outskirts for making dyes. they half offered me a job at the factory, but i thought i'd try this out first; i like it here." "it is a nice place," agreed tom. "well, now let's see if she'll work," and he nodded at the scud. it needed but a short test to demonstrate this and soon tom went back to the inn for mary. "are you sure we shall not have to make another forced landing?" she asked with a smile, a she took her place in the cockpit. "you can't guarantee anything about an aeroplane," said tom. "but everything is in our favor, and if we do have to come down i have a better landing field than this." he glanced over the meadow near the wayside inn. "i suppose i'll have to take a chance," said mary. however, neither of them need have worried, for the scud tried, evidently, to redeem herself, and flew back to shopton without a hitch. after making sure that his engine was running smoothly, tom found his mind more at ease, and again he caught himself casting about to find some basis for his suspicious thoughts regarding the two men who had talked behind the screen. "what is their game?" tom found himself asking himself over and over again. "what did they 'put over' on poor baxter?" tom had a chance to find out more about this, or at least start on the trail sooner than he expected. for when he landed he saw koku, the giant, coming toward him with an appearance of excitement. "is rad worse? is there more trouble with his eyes?" asked the young inventor. "no, him not much too bad," answered koku. "i keep him good as i can. he sleep now, so i come out to swallow some fresh air. but man come to see you--much mad man." "mad?" queried tom. "well, what you say--angry," went on koku. "man what was in roman skycracker blaze." "oh, you mean mr. baxter, who was in the fireworks blaze," translated tom. "where is he, and what's the matter?" chapter x another attempt koku managed to make tom understand that the dye inventor was in the main office of the swift plant talking to tom's father. the young inventor sent mary home in his electric runabout in company with ned newton, who, fortunately, happened along just then, and hurried to his office. "oh, tom, i'm glad you have arrived," said his father. "you remember mr. baxter, of course." "i should hope so," tom answered, extending his hand. he noticed that the man whom he had helped save from the fireworks blaze was under the stress of some excitement. "i hope he hasn't been getting on dad's nerves," thought tom, as he took a seat. the elder mr. swift had been quite ill, and it was thought for a time that he would have to give up helping tom. but there had been a turn for the better, and the aged inventor had again taken his place in the laboratory, though he was frail. "what's the trouble now?" asked tom. "at least i assume there has been some trouble," he went on. "if i am wrong--" "no, you are right, unfortunately," said mr. baxter gloomily. "the trouble is that everything i do is a failure. up to a little while ago i thought i might succeed, in spite of field and melling's theft of the formulae from me. i made a purple dye the other day, and tested it today. it was a miserable failure, and it got on my nerves. i came to see if you could help me." "in what way?" asked tom, wondering whether or not he had best tell mr. baxter what he had overheard at the inn. "well, i need better laboratory facilities," the man went on. "i know you have been very kind to me, mr. swift, and it seems like an imposition to ask for more. but i need a different lot of chemicals, and they cost money. i also need some different apparatus. you have it in your big laboratory. that wouldn't cost you anything. but of course to go out and buy what i need--" "oh i guess we can stand that, can't we, dad?" asked tom, with a genial smile. "you may have free access to our big laboratory, mr. baxter, and i'll see that you get what chemicals you need." "oh, thank you!" exclaimed the inventor. "now i believe i shall succeed in spite of those rascals. just think, mr. swift! they have started a big new dye factory." "so i have heard," replied tom. "and i'm almost sure they're using the secret formulae they stole from me!" exclaimed mr. baxter. "but i'll get the best of them yet! i'll invent a better dye than they ever can, even if they use the secrets the old frenchman gave me. all i need is a better place to work and all the chemicals at my disposal." "then we'll try to help you," offered tom. "and if i can do anything let me know," put in mr. swift. "i shall be glad to get in the harness again, tom!" he added. "well, if you're so anxious to work, dad, why not give me a hand with my fire extinguisher chemical?" asked tom. "i haven't been able to hit on the solution, somehow or other." "perhaps i may be able to give you a hint or two after i get settled down," suggested mr. baxter. "i shall be glad of any assistance you can give," replied tom swift. "and now i'm going to start right in. dad, you can make the arrangements for mr. baxter to use our big laboratory. and let him have credit for any chemicals he needs. have them put on my bill, for i am buying a lot myself." "i'll never forget this," said mr. baxter, and there were tears in his eyes as he shook hands with tom, who tried to make light of his generous act. tom, after the wrecking of his laboratory, in which accident poor eradicate was injured, had built himself another--two others, in fact, after having shared mr. baxter's temporary one for a time. tom put up the most completely equipped laboratory that could be devised, and he also erected a smaller one for his own personal use, the main one being at the disposal of his father and the various heads of the different departments of the shopton plant. the little conference broke up, and tom was on his way to his own special private laboratory when there came the sound of some excitement in the corridor outside and mr. damon burst in. "bless my accident policy, tom! what's this i hear?" he asked, all in a fluster. "i'm sure i don't know," answered the young inventor, with a smile. "what about?" "about you and mary nestor being killed!" burst out mr. damon. "i heard you fell in the aeroplane and were both dashed to pieces!" "if you can believe the evidence of your own eyes, i'm far from being in that state," laughed tom. "and as for mary, she just left here with ned newton." "thank goodness!" sighed mr. damon, sinking into a chair. "bless my elevator! i rushed over as soon as i heard the news, and i was almost afraid to come in. i'm so glad it didn't happen!" "no gladder than i," said tom. "we had to make a forced landing, that was all," and he made as light of the incident as possible when he saw the look of terror in his father's eyes. "some people in waterford saw you going down," went on mr. damon, "and they told me." "it was a false alarm," replied tom. "and now, mr. damon, if you want to smell some perfumes come with me." "are you going into that line, tom?" asked the eccentric man. "bless my handkerchief, my wife will be glad of that!" "i mean i'm going to experiment some more with fire-extinguishing chemicals," laughed the young inventor. "if you want to--" "bless my gas mask, i should say not!" cried mr. damon. "i don't see how you stand those odors, tom swift." "guess i'm used to 'em," was the answer. and then, leaving his father to entertain mr. damon and to make arrangements for mr. baxter's use of the main laboratory, he betook himself to his own private quarters. the next week or so was a busy time for tom; so busy, in fact, that he had little chance to see mr. baxter. all he knew was that the unfortunate man was also laboring in his own line, and tom wished him success. he knew that if the man made any discoveries that would help with the fire-extinguishing fluid he would report, as he had promised. "well, tom, how goes it?" asked ned one day when he came over to call on his chum. "are you ready to accept contracts for putting out skyscraper blazes in all big cities?" "not yet," was the answer. "but i'm going to make another attempt, ned." "you mean another experiment?" "yes, i have evolved a new combination of chemicals, using something of the carbonate idea as a basis. i found that i couldn't get away from that, much as i wanted to. but my application is entirely new, at least i hope it will prove so." "when are you going to try it?" asked ned. "right away. all i have to do is to put the chemicals in the metal tank." "then i'd better get my leather suit on," remarked ned, starting to take off his street coat. tom kept for his chum a full outfit of flying garments, one suit being electrically heated. "oh, we aren't going up in any airship," tom said. "why, i thought you were going to test your aerial fire fighting dingus!" exclaimed ned. "so i am. but i want to stay on the ground and watch the effect on the blaze as the tank bursts and scatters the chemical fluid." "then you want me, and perhaps mr. damon to take the stuff up in the machine? excuse me. i don't believe i care to run an airship myself." "no," went on tom, "there isn't any question of an airship this time. no one is going up. come on out into the yard and i'll show you." ned newton followed his chum out into the big yard near one of the shops. erected in it, and evidently a new structure, was a large wooden scaffold in square tower shape with a long overhanging arm and a platform on the extremity. beneath it was a pit dug in the earth, and in this pit, which was directly under the outstanding arm of the tower, was a pile of wood and shavings, oil-soaked. "oh, i see the game," remarked ned. "you're going to drop the stuff from this height instead of doing it from an airship." "yes," tom answered. "there will be time enough to go on with the airship end of it after i get the right combination of chemicals. and by having a metal container with the stuff in dropped from this frame work, i can station myself as near the burning pit as i can get and watch what happens." "it's a good idea," decided ned. "i wonder you didn't try that before." "mr. baxter suggested it," replied tom. "that helpful idea more than pays me for what i have done for him. so now, if you're ready, i'd like to have you watch with me and make some notes, one of us on one side of the pit, and one on the other. there are always two sides to a fire, the leeward and the windward, and i want to see how my chemicals act in both positions." "i'm with you," said ned. "who's going to drop the stuff--koku?" "no, he is a bit too heavy for the framework, which i had put up in a hurry. i'd have rad do it, but he's out of the game." "poor old rad!" murmured ned. "do you think he'll ever get better, tom?" "i don't know," sighed the young inventor. "all i can do is to hope. he is very patient, and koku is devoted to him. all their little bickerings and squabbles seem to have been forgotten." tom called some of his workmen, some of them to start the blaze of inflammable material in the pit, while one climbed up to the top of the tower of scantlings and made his way out on the extended arm, where there was a little platform for him to stand until it was time to drop the chemicals. "light her up!" cried tom swift, and a match was thrown in among the oiled wood. in an instant a fierce blaze shot up, as hot, in proportion, as would come from any burning building. for the second time tom was about to make a test on a fairly large scale of his experimental extinguisher mixture. "all ready up there?" he called to his helper perched high in the air. "all ready!" came back the answer above the roar and crackle of the flames that made tom and ned step back. would success or failure attend the young inventor's project? chapter xi the blazing tree tom swift hesitated a moment before giving the final word that would send the metal container of powerful chemicals down into the midst of the crackling flames. he wanted to make sure, in his own mind, that he had done everything possible to insure the success of his undertaking. the young inventor never attempted the solution of any problem without going into it with his whole energy. so he wanted this experiment to succeed. he quickly reviewed, mentally, the composition of the chemical compound. he had made it as strong as possible, and he had spared no pains to insure a hot fire, so that the test would not be too simple. "what's the matter, tom?" asked ned, as his chum appeared to hesitate about giving the word that would send the chemicals hurtling down into the fire. "nothing. i was just making sure i hadn't forgotten anything," tom answered. "i guess i haven't." he paused a moment, looked up at his assistant on the overhanging arm of the tower, glanced down at the flames, now at their height, and then suddenly cried: "let her go!" "right!" came back the man's voice, and then a dark object, like a bomb, was seen descending from the skeleton framework above the flames. there was a scattering of the fire in the pit as the extinguisher bomb fell among the blazing embers. then followed a slight explosion when the bomb broke, as it was intended it should. tom and ned leaned forward to peer through the pall of smoke which swirled this way and that. here was to come the real test of the device. would the fumes of the liberated chemicals choke the fire, or would it burn on in spite of them? that was the question to be settled for tom swift. almost immediately he had his answer. for after a fierce burst of the tongues of fire following the fall of the bomb, there was a distinct dying down of the conflagration in the pit. great clouds of smoke arose, but the fire was quenched in a great measure, and as the fire-blanketing gas continued to be generated from the chemicals liberated from the bomb, there was a further dying down of the crackling fire. "tom, you've struck it!" yelled ned in delight. "you have the right combination this time!" tom did not answer. he leaned forward and looked eagerly down into the pit. he was about to join with ned in agreeing that he had, indeed, solved the problem, when, to his surprise, the flames started up again. "what's this?" asked the young financial manager. "are you going to have a second test, tom?" "not that i know of," was the puzzled answer. "i don't exactly understand this myself, ned. by all calculations this fire ought to have died a natural death, but now it is breaking out again. i think what must have happened is that a quantity of the oil they poured on collected in a pool and didn't get all the effects of the chemicals from the bomb. then the oil started to blaze." "what can you do about it?" ned wanted to know. "oh, i've got another bomb up there," and tom pointed to his helper who was still perched on the overhanging arm. "i was prepared for some such emergency as this. drop the other one!" tom yelled, and again a dark object fell, bursting in the pit and again liberating the gas that was supposed to choke any fire. the flames that had started up for the second time instantly died down, and ned, leaning over the edge of the pit, cried: "hurray, tom! that does the business!" but the young inventor shook his head. "i'm not quite satisfied," he remarked. "it didn't work quickly enough. what i want is a chemical combination that will choke the fire off first shot." "well, you pretty nearly have it," observed ned. "yes. but 'good enough' isn't what i want," tom said. "i've got to work on that chemical compound again. i think i know where i can improve it." "well, if i were a fire, and i had this happen to me," remarked ned, laughing and pointing to the heap of blackened embers in the pit, "i should feel very much discouraged." "but not enough," declared tom. "i want the fire to be out more quickly than this one was. i think i can improve that chemical compound, and i'm going to do it." "all right! come on down!" he called to his helper, who was still perched on the overhanging arm. "we won't do any more today." "what is your next move?" asked ned, as tom started for his small, private laboratory. "oh, i'm going to fiddle around among those sweet-smelling chemicals," answered the young inventor. "bless my vest buttons! then i'm not coming in, exclaimed a voice which could proceed from none other than mr. damon. and he it proved to be. he had driven over from waterford in his automobile and had arrived just as the fire test was concluded. "oh, come on in!" called tom. "you can visit with dad, and eradicate will be glad to see you." "poor rad! how is he?" asked mr. damon, walking along with tom and ned. "no change," was the sad answer of the young inventor, for he felt responsible for the mishap to the colored man. "they can't operate on his eyes yet." "and when they do will he be able to see?" asked mr. damon. "that is what we are all hoping," answered tom with a sigh. "but do go in to see him, mr. damon. it will cheer him up." "i will," promised the eccentric man. "at any rate i'll not venture near your perfume shop, tom swift!" "and i don't see that i can be of any service," added ned, "so i'm off to my work." "all right," assented tom. "i've got several new schemes to try. some of them ought to work." tom swift was very busy for the next few days--so busy, in fact, that even mary saw little of him. he was closeted with mr. baxter more than once, and that individual seemed to lose some of his bitter feelings over the loss of his formulae as he found he could be of service to the young inventor. for he was of service in suggesting new ways of combining fire-fighting chemicals, gained by his association with the fireworks concern. "and that's about all the benefit i derived from being with those scoundrels, field and melling," said mr. baxter gloomily. "you still think they took your dye formulae?" asked tom. "i'm positive of it, but i can't prove anything. they threatened to get the best of me when i would not sell them, for a ridiculously low sum, an interest in the secrets. and i believe they did get the best of me during that fire." "i believe the same!" exclaimed tom. "how is that? what do you know? can you help me prove anything against them?" eagerly asked the chemist. "well, i don't know," answered tom slowly. "i'll tell you what i heard." thereupon he related the conversation he had overheard while with mary at the wayside inn. the eyes of josephus baxter gleamed as he listened to this recital. "so that was their game!" he cried, as he smote the table with his fist, thereby nearly upsetting a test tube of acid, which tom caught just in time. "i knew something crooked was going on, and they thought i'd be so badly overcome in the fire that i wouldn't know, or wouldn't remember, what happened." "what did happen?" asked tom. "all i know is that you were overcome in the laboratory room." "it's too long a story to tell in detail now," said mr. baxter. "but the main facts are that through misrepresentations i was induced to associate myself with field and melling. they had a good factory for the making of fireworks, and some of the chemicals used in that industry also enter into the manufacture of the kind of dyes i have in mind to make. so i associated myself with them, they agreeing to let me use their laboratory. "one night they came to see me as i was working there over my formulae. they pretended to have discovered something in an expired patent that nullified what i had. i did not believe this to be so, and i brought out my formulae to compare with theirs--or what they said they had. the next thing i remember was that the fire broke out and my formulae disappeared. then i was overcome, and i did not care what happened to me, for, having lost the valuable dye formulae, i did not think life worth living. "perhaps i was foolish," said mr. baxter, "but i had tried so many things and failed, and i counted so much on these formulae that it seemed as if the bottom dropped out of everything when i lost them." "i know," said tom sympathetically. "i've been in the same boat myself. but are you sure they took the papers which meant so much to you?" "i don't see who else could," answered the chemist. "the papers were in a tin box on the table in the room where i was overcome by fire gases, or where, perhaps, they drugged me. i am not clear on this point. and afterward the tin box could not be found. there wasn't enough fire in that room to have melted it." "no," agreed tom, "it was mostly smoke in there, and smoke won't melt tin. nor did i see any box on the table when we carried you out." "then the only other surmise is that field and melling got away with my formulae during the excitement and when i was half unconscious," went on mr. baxter bitterly. "but you can see how foolish i would be to accuse them in court. i haven't a bit of proof." "not much, for a fact," agreed tom. "well, with what i heard and what you tell me, perhaps we can work up a case against them later. i'll go over it with ned. he has a better head for business than i." "yes, we inventors need some business brains; or at least the time to give to business problems," agreed the chemist. "but enough of my troubles. let's get at this chemical compound of yours." tom and mr. baxter spent many days and nights perfecting the fire-extinguisher chemical, and, after repeated tests, tom felt that he was nearer his goal. one afternoon ned called, and tom invited him to go for a ride in a small but speedy aeroplane. "anything special on?" asked the young manager. "in a way, yes," tom answered. "i'm having a firm in newmarket make me some different containers, and they have promised me samples today. i thought i'd take a fly over and get them. i have the chemical compound all but perfected now, and i want to give it another test." "all right, i'm with you," assented ned. "newmarket," he added musingly. "isn't that where field and melling are now?" "yes. they have a factory on the outskirts of the place, and their offices are in the landmark building. but we aren't going to see them, though we may call on them later, when you have that case better worked up." for ned's services had been enlisted to aid mr. baxter. "i shall need a little more time," remarked ned. "but i think we can at least bluff them into playing into our hands. i have a report to hear from a private detective i have hired." "i hope we can do something to aid baxter," remarked tom. "he has done me good service in this chemical fire extinguisher matter." a little later tom and ned were speeding through the air on their way to newmarket. the rapid flier was making good time at not a great height when ned, leaning forward, appeared to be gazing at something in the near distance. "what's the matter?" asked tom, for he had his silencer on this craft and it was possible for the occupants to converse. "do you hear one of the cylinders missing, ned?" "no. but what's that smoke down there?" and ned pointed. "it looks like a fire!" "it is a fire!" exclaimed tom, as he took an observation. "not a big one, but a fire, just the same. if only--" he did not finish what he started to say, but changed the direction of his air craft and headed directly toward a pall of smoke about a mile away. in a few seconds they were near enough to make out the character of the blaze. "look, tom!" cried ned. "it's an immense tree on fire!" "a tree!" exclaimed tom, half incredulously, for he was leaning forward to look at one of the aeroplane gages and did not have a clear view of what ned was looking at. "yes, as sure as mr. damon would bless something if he were here! it's a tree on fire up near the top!" "that's strange!" murmured tom. "but it may give me just the chance i've been looking for." ned wondered at this remark on the part of his chum as the airship drew nearer the blazing monarch in the patch of woods over which they were then hovering. chapter xii tom is lonesome "this is certainly the strangest sight i ever saw," remarked ned, as he and his chum flew nearer and nearer to the smoking and blazing tree. "is the world turning upside down, tom, when fires start in this fashion?" "i fancy it can easily be explained," answered the young inventor. "we'll go into that later. here, ned, grab hold of that tin can on the floor and take out the screw plug." "what's the idea?" "i want you to drop it as nearly as you can right into the midst of the tree that's on fire." "oh, i get your drift! well, you can count on me." ned picked up from the floor of their aeroplane a metal can similar to those tom used to hold oil or perhaps spare gasoline when he was experimenting on airship speed. the opening was closed with a screw plug, with wings to afford an easier grip. as ned unscrewed this his nostrils were greeted by an odor that made him gasp. "don't mind a little thing like that," cried tom. "drop it down, ned! drop it down! we're going to be right over the tree in another second or two!" ned leaned over the side of the craft and had a good view of the strange sight. the tree that was on fire was a dead oak of great size, dwarfing the other trees in the grove in which it stood. in common with other oaks this one still retained many of its dried leaves, though it was devoid, or almost devoid, of life. ned noticed in the branches many irregularly shaped objects, and it appeared to be these that were on fire, blazing fiercely. "it looks as though some one had tied bundles of sticks in the tree and set them on fire," ned thought as he poised the opened tin of the evil-smelling compound on the edge of the aeroplane's cockpit. "let her go, ned!" cried tom. "you'll be too late in another second!" ned raised himself in his seat and threw, rather than let fall, the can straight for the blazing tree. like a bomb it shot toward earth, and ned and tom, looking down, could see it strike a limb and break open, the rupture of the can letting loose the liquid contained in it. and then, before the eyes of tom and ned, the fire seemed to die out as a picture melts away on a moving picture screen. the smoke rolled away in a ball-like cloud, and the flames ceased to crackle and roar. "well, for the love of molasses! what happened, tom?" cried ned, as the young inventor guided his craft about in a big circle to come back again over the tree. he wanted to make sure that the fire was out. it was! "what sent that blaze to the happy hunting grounds?" asked ned. "my new aerial extinguisher," answered tom, with justifiable pride in his voice. "this fire happened in the nick of time for me, ned. i had a tin of my new combination in the car, not with any intention of using it, though. i intended to pour it in the new containers i am having made in newmarket to see if it would corrode them, a thing i wish to avoid. "but when i saw that tree on fire i couldn't resist the temptation to use my very latest combination of chemicals. it is so recent that i haven't actually tried it on a blaze yet, though i had figured out in theory that it ought to work. and it did, ned! it worked!" "well, i should say so!" agreed his chum. "that blaze was doused for fair. the test could not have been better. but what in the name of a volunteer fire department set that tree to blazing, tom?" "i'll tell you in a moment. i want to make some notes before i forget. that combination seems to be just of the right strength. it did the trick. here, take the wheel and hold her steady while i jot down some memoranda before they get away from me." ned was capable of managing an airship, especially under tom's watchful eye, and as this craft was one with dual controls there was no difficulty in shifting from one steersman to the other. so while ned guided, now and then gazing down at the tree from which some smoke still arose, though the fire was all out, tom made the necessary scientific notes for future amplification. "and now," observed ned, as his chum resumed the wheel, "suppose you enlighten me on how that tree came to be on fire--if you didn't set it yourself." "no, i didn't do that," tom said, with a laugh. "and i only have a theory as to the cause of the blaze. but suppose we go down and take a look. there's a good field around this grove, and we can get a fine take off. i'll have to go back to shopton anyhow, to get some more of the chemical." so the aeroplane made a landing, and then the mystery was explained. the dead oak, to which some of its last year's foliage still clung, was the abiding place of thousands of crows that had built their nests in it. there were hundreds of the big nests, made of dried sticks, mostly, and these made an ideal fuel for the fire. "but where are the crows, and what started the fire?" asked ned. "i fancy the birds flew away as soon as they saw their homes on fire," said tom. "or they may not have been at home. flocks of crows often go to some distant feeding ground for the day, returning at night. i fancy that is what happened here. "as for the cause of the blaze, i believe it was set by some mischievous boys, who saw a good chance to have some fun without thought of doing any real damage. for the dead tree was of no value, and i imagine the farmers would be glad to see the flock of crows dispersed. some boys probably climbed up and set fire to one of the nests, and then, when they saw the whole lot going, they became frightened and ran away." and tom's theory was, eventually, proved to be true. some lads, wandering afield, had set fire to the crows' nests and then, frightened as they saw a bigger blaze than they intended, ran away. tom and ned did not remain to see what the returning crows might think about the destruction of their homes, provided they saw fit to return, but, starting the aeroplane, were again on their way. tom had lingered long enough to make sure that his latest combination of chemicals had been just what was needed. he felt sure that by using a larger quantity, no fire, however fierce, could continue to blaze. "but i want to give it a good trial, ned, as we did from the tower," said tom. "though i don't believe there'll be a fizzle this time." it did not take long for tom to secure another supply of the new chemical. he then went with it to the firm in newmarket that was making his containers, or "bombs" as he called them. on his return he consulted with mr. baxter as to the ingredients of the fluid that had put out the blaze in the tree. "i believe you have at last hit on the right combination," said the chemist. "you are on the road to success, tom. i wish i could say the same of myself." "perhaps your formulae may come back to you as suddenly as they disappeared, or as quickly as i discovered that i had the right thing to put out the fire," said tom hopefully. busy days followed for the young inventor. now that he was convinced he had at last evolved the right mixture of chemicals, he prepared to make a test on a larger scale than merely a blazing tree. "i'll try it with a fire in the pit," he said to his chum. preparations were made, and the day before tom was to carry out his plans he received a letter. "what's the matter? bad news?" asked ned, as he saw his friend's face change after reading the epistle. "nothing much. only mary is going away, and i had expected her to be at the test," tom answered. "going away?" echoed ned. "for long?" "oh, no, only for a couple of weeks. she is going to visit an uncle and aunt in newmarket, or just outside of that city. another uncle, barton keith, has offices in the landmark building, i believe." "landmark building," murmured ned. "isn't that where field and melling hang out?" "yes. but don't mention mary's uncle in connection with them," laughed tom. "he wouldn't like it." "i should say not!" ned well remembered mary's uncle, who had been associated with tom in recovering the treasure in the undersea search. "well, if she can't be here, she can't," said tom, as philosophically as possible. "i'd better run over and bid her goodbye." this tom did, though ned noticed that his chum acted as though lonesome on his return. "but when he gets to work testing his new chemical he'll be all right," decided ned. chapter xiii a successful test "it took you long enough," ned remarked as tom entered the main office of the plant, having been to see mary off on her trip to newmarket. this was following his call of the night before to learn more particulars of her unexpected visit. "yes, i didn't plan to be gone so long," apologized tom. "but i thought while i was there i might as well go all the way with her." "and did you?" "yes. in the electric runabout. i wanted to come back and get the airship, but she said she wanted to look nice when she met her relatives, and as yet airship travel is a bit mussy. though when i get my cabined cruiser of the clouds i'll guarantee not to ruffle a curl of the daintiest girl!" "getting poetical in your old age!" laughed ned. "well, here is that statement you said you wanted me to get ready. want to go over it now?" "no, i guess not, as long as you know it's all right. i'm going to start right in and get ready for a bang-up test." "of what--your new aerial fire fighting apparatus?" "yes. mr. baxter and i are going to make up a lot of the chemical compound that--we discovered through using it on the blazing tree--will best do the trick. then i'm going to try it on a pit fire, and after that on a big blaze with an airship." "let me know when you do," begged ned. "i want to see you do it." "i'll send you word," promised the young inventor. then he began several days and nights of hard work. and he was glad to have the chance to occupy himself, for, though tom professed not to be much affected by the departure of mary nestor, he really was very lonesome. "how is her uncle, barton keith, by the way?" asked ned, when he called on his chum one day, to find him reading a letter which needed but half an eye to tell was from mary. "about as usual," was the answer. "he sends word by mary that he'll be glad to see us any time we want to call. he has some nice offices in the landmark building." "those papers proving his right to the oil land, which you recovered from the sunken ship for him, must have made his fortune." "well, yes--that and other things," agreed tom. "say, we had some exciting times on that undersea search, didn't we?" "did you call on mr. keith when you went to newmarket with mary?" ned wanted to know, for he and tom had taken quite a liking to miss nestor's uncle. "no, i didn't get a chance. besides, i wanted to keep away from the landmark building." "why?" "oh, i might run into field and melling, and i don't want to see them until i can accuse them, and prove it, of having taken mr. baxter's dye formulae." "oh, yes, they're in the same building with mr. keith, aren't they? why do they call it the landmark? though i suppose the answer is obvious." "yes," assented tom. "it's a big building--the tallest ever erected in that city, and a fine structure. though while they were about it i don't see why they didn't make it fireproof." "didn't they?" asked ned, in surprise. "then the insurance rates must be unusually high, for the companies are beginning to realize how fire departments, even in big cities, are hampered in fighting blazes above the tenth or twelfth stories." "yes, it was a mistake not to have the landmark building fireproof," admitted tom. "and mr. keith says the owners are beginning to realize that now. it is what is called the 'slow burning' construction." "insurance companies don't go much on that," declared ned, who was in a position to know. "well, let us hope it never catches fire." these were busy days for the young inventor. he laid aside all his other activities in order to perfect the plans for manufacturing his new chemical fire extinguisher on a large scale. for tom realized that while a small quantity of chemicals in a compound might act in a certain way on one occasion, if the bulk should happen to be increased the experimenter could not always count on invariably the same results. there appeared to be at times a change engendered when a large quantity of chemicals were mixed which was not manifest in a small and experimental batch. so tom wanted to mix up a big tank of his new chemical compound and see if it would work in large quantities as well as it did with the small amount ned had dropped on the blazing tree. to this end tom worked at night, as well as by day, and finally he announced to ned and mr. damon, who called one evening, that he believed he had everything in readiness for an exhaustive test the next day. "there's the stuff!" exclaimed tom, not a little proudly, as he waved his hand toward an immense carboy in the main shop. "that's what i hope will do the trick. just take a--" "hold on! stop! that's enough! bless my hair brush!" cried mr. damon, holding up a protesting hand. "if you take that cork out, tom swift, you and i will cease to be friends!" "i wasn't going to open it," laughed the young inventor. "it has a worse odor and seems to choke you more in a big quantity than when there's only a little. i was just going to shake the carboy to let you realize how full it was." "we'll take your word for it!" laughed ned. "now about your test. how are you going to work it?" "there are to be two tests," answered tom. "the first, and the smaller, will be in the pit, as before, only this time we shall have what, i believe, will be the successful combination of chemicals to drop on it. "the second test will be the main one. in that i plan to have an old barn which i have bought set ablaze. then ned and i will sail over it in the airship and drop chemicals on it. the barn will be filled with empty boxes and barrels, to make as hot a fire as possible. you are invited to accompany us, mr. damon." "will there be any smell?" asked the eccentric man, who seemed to have a dislike for anything that was not as agreeable as perfume. "no, the chemicals will be sealed in containers, which will be dropped from my airship as bombs were dropped in the war," said tom. "on those conditions i'll go along," agreed mr. damon. "but bless my wedding certificate, tom! don't tell my wife. she thinks i'm crazy enough now, associating with you and flying occasionally. if she thought i would help you battle with flames from the air she'd likely never speak to me again." "i'll not tell," promised tom, laughing. preparations for the test went on rapidly. in the morning a fire was to be started in the same pit where the experiment had partly failed before. from the platform over the blazing hole some of the new combination of chemicals was to be dropped. if it acted with success, as tom believed it would, he proposed to go on with the more important test in the afternoon. to this end he had purchased from a farmer the right to set on fire an old ramshackle barn, standing in the midst of a field about three miles outside of shopton. the barn was on an untilled farm, the house having been destroyed some years before, and it was not near any other structures, so that, even in a high wind, no damage would result. tom had filled the barn with inflammable material, and was going to spare no effort to have the test as exhaustive as possible. the time came for the preliminary trial, and there were a few anxious moments after the oil-soaked boards and boxes in the pit were set ablaze. "let her go!" cried tom to his man on the elevated platform, and down fell the container of chemicals. it had no sooner struck and burst, letting loose a mass of flame-choking vapor, than the fire died out. "you've struck it, tom! you've struck it!" cried ned. "it begins to look so," agreed the young inventor. "but i'll not call myself out of the woods until this afternoon. though we can consider it a success so far." quite a throng was on hand when the old barn was set ablaze. tom and ned and mr. damon were there with the airship which had been especially fitted to carry the bombs filled with the extinguisher. in order to insure a quick, hot blaze the barn was fired on all four sides at once by tom's men. when it was seen to be a veritable raging furnace of fire, tom and his two friends took their places in the airship and rapidly mounted upward. necessarily they had to circle off away from the blaze to get to the necessary height, but tom soon brought the airship around again and headed for the black pall of smoke which marked the place of the blazing barn. "we'll all three send down bombs at the same time," tom told his friends, as they darted forward. "when i give the word press the levers, and the chemical containers will drop. then we'll hope for the best." higher mounted the flames, and more fiercely raged the fire. the heat of it penetrated even aloft, where tom and his friends were scudding along in the airship. "now!" cried tom, as his craft hovered for an instant in a favorable position for dropping the bombs. the young inventor, mr. damon, and ned newton pressed the levers. looking over the sides of the craft, they saw three dark objects dropping into the midst of the burning barn. chapter xiv out of the clouds almost as though some giant hand had dropped an immense cloak over the fire in the barn, so did the blaze die down instantly after tom swift's extinguishing liquid had been dropped into the seething caldron of flame. for a moment there was even no smoke, but as the embers remained hot and glowing for a time, though the flames themselves were quenched, a rolling vapor cloud began to ascend shortly after the first cessation of the fire. but this only lasted a little while. "you've turned the trick, tom!" cried ned, leaning far over to look at what was left of the barn and its contents. "bless my insurance policy, i should say so!" exclaimed mr. damon. "it was certainly neat work, tom!" "it does look as if i'd struck the right combination," admitted tom, and he felt justifiable pride in his achievement. "look so! why, hang it all, man, it is so!" declared ned. "that fire went out as if sent for by a special delivery telegram to give a hurry-up performance in another locality. look, there's hardly any smoke even!" this was so, as the three occupants of the rapidly moving airship could see when tom circled back to pass again over the almost destroyed structure. he had waited until it was almost consumed before dropping his chemicals, as he wished to make the test hard and conclusive. now the fire was out except for a few small spots spouting up here and there, away from the center of the blaze. "yes, i guess she doesn't need a second dose," observed tom, when he saw how effective had been his treatment of the fire. "i had an additional batch of chemicals on hand, in case they were needed," he added, and he tapped some unused bombs at his feet. "i call this a pretty satisfactory test," declared ned. "if you want to form a stock company, tom, and put your aerial fire-fighting apparatus on the market, i'll guarantee to underwrite the securities." "hardly that yet," said tom, with a laugh. "now that i have my chemical combination perfected, or practically so, i've got to rig up an airship that will be especially adapted for fighting fires in sky-scrapers." "what more do you want than this?" asked ned, as his chum prepared to descend in the speedy machine. "i want a little better bomb-releasing device, for one thing. this worked all right. but i want one that is more nearly automatic. then i am going to put on a searchlight, so i can see where i am heading at night." "not your great big one!" cried ned, recalling the immense electric lantern that had so aided in capturing the canadian smugglers. "no. but one patterned after that." tom answered. "bless my candlestick!" exclaimed mr. damon, "what do you want with a searchlight at a fire, tom? isn't there light enough at a blaze, anyhow?" "no," answered the young inventor, as he made his usual skillful landing. "you know all the big city fire departments have searchlights now for night work and where there is thick smoke. it may be that some day, in fighting a sky-scraper blaze from the clouds at night, i'll have need of more illumination than comes from the flames themselves." "well, you ought to know. you've made a study of it," said mr. damon, as he and ned alighted with tom, the latter receiving congratulations from a number of his friends, including members of the shopton fire department who were present to witness the test. "mighty clever piece of work, tom swift!" declared a deputy chief. "of course we won't have much use for any such apparatus here in shopton, as we haven't any big buildings. but in new york, chicago, pittsburgh and other cities--why, it will be just what they need, to my way of thinking." "and he needn't go so far from home," said mr. damon. "there is one tall building over in newmarket--the landmark. i happen to own a little stock in the corporation that put that up, along with other buildings, and i'm going to have them adopt tom swift's aerial fire-fighting apparatus." "thank you. but you don't need to go to that trouble," asserted tom. "my idea isn't to have every sky-scraper equipped with an airship extinguisher." "no? what then?" asked mr. damon. "well, i think there ought to be one, or perhaps two, in a big city like new york," tom answered. "perhaps one outfit would be enough, for it isn't likely that there would be two big fires in the tall building section at the same time, and an airship could easily cover the distance between two widely separated blazes. but if i can perfect this machine so it will be available for fires out of the reach of apparatus on the ground, i'll be satisfied." "you'll do it, tom, don't worry about that!" declared the deputy chief. "i never saw a slicker piece of work than this!" and that was the verdict of all who had witnessed the performance. with the successful completion of this exacting test and the knowledge that he had perfected the major part of his aerial fire-extinguisher--the chemical combination--tom swift was now able to devote his attention to the "frills" as ned called them. that is, he could work out a scheme for attaching a searchlight to his airship and make better arrangements for a one-man control in releasing the chemical containers into the heart of a big blaze. tom swift owned several airships, and he finally selected one of not too great size, but very powerful, that would hold three and, if necessary, four persons. this was rebuilt to enable a considerable quantity of the fire-extinguishing liquid to be stored in the under part of the somewhat limited cockpit. this much done, and while his men were making up a quantity of the extinguisher, using the secret formula, and storing it in suitable containers, tom began attaching a searchlight to his "cloud fire-engine," as koku called it. the giant was aching to be with tom and help in the new work, but koku was faithful to the blinded eradicate, and remained almost constantly with the old colored man. it was touching to see the two together, the giant trying, in his kind, but imperfect way, to anticipate the wishes of the other, with whom he had so often disputed and quarreled in days past. now all that was forgotten, and koku gave up being with tom to wait on eradicate. while the colored man was, in fact, unable to see, following the accident when tom was experimenting with the fire extinguisher, it was hoped that sight might be restored to one eye after an operation. this operation had to be postponed until the eyes and wounds in the face were sufficiently healed. meanwhile rad suffered as patiently as possible, and koku shared his loneliness in the sick room. tom came to see rad as often as he could, and did everything possible to make his aged servant's lot happier. but rad wanted to be up and about, and it was pathetic to hear him ask about the little tasks he had been wont to perform in the past. rad was delighted to hear of tom's success with the new apparatus, after having been told how quickly the barn fire was put out. "yo'--yo' jest wait twell i gits up, massa tom," said rad. "den ah'll help make all de contraptions on de airship." "all right, rad, there'll be plenty for you to do when the time comes," said the inventor. and he could not help a feeling of sadness as he left the colored man's room. "i wonder if he is doomed to be blind the rest of his life," thought tom. "i hope not, for if he does it will be my fault for letting him try to mix those chemicals." but, hoping for the best, tom plunged into the work ahead of him. he did not want to offer his aerial fire extinguisher to any large city until he had perfected it, and he was now laboring to that end. one day, in midsummer, after weary days of toil, tom took ned out for a ride in the machine which had been fitted up to carry a large supply of the chemical mixture, a small but powerful searchlight, and other new "wrinkles" as tom called them, not going into details. "any special object in view?" asked ned, as tom headed across country. "are you going to put out any more tree fires?" "no, i haven't that in mind," was the answer. "though of course if we come across a blaze, except a brush fire, i may put it out. i have the bombs here," and tom indicated the releasing lever. "what i want to try now is the stability of this with all i have on board," he resumed. "if she is able to travel along, and behave as well as she did before i made the changes, i'll know she is going to be all right. i don't expect to put out any fires this trip." in testing the ship of the air tom sent her up to a good height, heading out over the open country and toward a lake on the shores of which were a number of summer resorts. it was now the middle of the season, and many campers, cottagers and hotel folk were scattered about the wooded shore of the pretty and attractive body of water. tom and ned had a glimpse of the lake, dotted with many motor boats and other craft, as the airship ascended until it was above the clouds. then, for a time, nothing could be seen by the occupants but masses of feathery vapor. "she's working all right," decided tom, when he found that he could perform his usual aerial feats with his craft, laden as she was with apparatus, as well as he had been able to do before she was so burdened. "guess we might as well go down, ned. there isn't much more to do, as far as i can see." down out of the heights they swept at a rapid pace. a few moments later they had burst through the film of clouds and once more the lake was below them in clear view. suddenly ned pointed to something on the water and cried: "look, tom! look! a motor boat in some kind of trouble! she's sinking!" chapter xv coals of fire tom swift saw the craft almost as soon as did his chum. it was rather a large-sized motor boat, quite some distance out from shore, and there was no other craft near it at this time. from the quick, first view tom and ned had of it, they decided that a party of excursionists were on a pleasure trip. but that an accident had happened, and that trouble, if not, indeed, danger, was imminent, was at once apparent to the young inventor and the other occupant of the swiftly moving airship. for as tom shut off his motor, to volplane down, thus reducing all noise on his craft, they could dimly hear the shouts and calls for help, coming from the water craft below them. "help! help!" came the impassioned appeals, floating up to tom and ned. "we're coming!" tom answered, though it is doubtful if his voice was heard. sound does not seem to carry downward as well as upward, and though tom's craft was making scarcely any noise, save that caused by the rush of wind through the struts and wires, there was so much confusion on the motor boat, to say nothing of the engine which was going, that tom's encouraging call must have been unheard. "what are you going to do, tom?" asked ned, "you can't land on the water!" "i know it; worse luck! if i only had the hydroplane, now, we could make a thrilling rescue--land right beside the other boat and take 'em all off. but, as it is, i'll have to land as near as i can and then we will look for a boat to go out to them in." ned saw, now, what tom's object was. on one shore of the lake was a large, level field, suitable for a landing place for the craft of the air. at least it looked to be a suitable place, but tom would be obliged to take a chance on that. this field sloped down to the beach of the lake, and as ned and his chum came nearer to earth they could see several boats on shore, though no persons were near them. had there been, probably they would have gone to the rescue. tom cast a rapid look across the sheet of water, to make sure his services were really needed. the motor boat was lower in the lake now, and was, undoubtedly, sinking. and no other craft was near enough to render help. though distant whistles, seeming to come from approaching craft, told of help on the way. "hold fast, ned!" cried tom, as they neared the earth. "we may bump!" but tom swift was too skillful a pilot to cause his craft to sustain much of a crash. he made an almost perfect "three point landing," and there would have been no unusual shaking, except for the fact that the field was a bit bumpy, and the craft more heavily laden than usual. "good work, tom!" cried ned, as the lucifer slackened her speed, the young inventor having sent her around in a half circle so that she now faced the lake. then tom and ned climbed from the cockpit, throwing off goggles and helmets as they ran to the shore where there were several rowboats moored. "and a little old-fashioned naphtha launch! by all that's lucky!" cried tom. "i didn't think they made these any more. if she only works now!" there was a little dock at this point on the lake, and the boats appeared to be held at it for hire. but no one was in charge, and tom and ned made free with what they found. they considered they had this right in the emergency. the naphtha launch was chained and padlocked to the dock, but using an oar tom burst the chain. "get one of the rowboats and fasten it to the back of the launch!" tom directed ned. "i don't believe this craft will hold them all," and he nodded toward those aboard the sinking boat--for it was only too plainly sinking now. "all right!" voiced ned. "i'm with you. can you get that engine to work?" "she's humming now," announced tom, as he turned on the naphtha, and threw in a blazing match to ignite it, this act saving his hand. naphtha engines are a trifle treacherous. a few moments later, though not as quickly as a gasoline craft could have been gotten under way, tom was steering the small launch out and away from the dock, and toward the craft whence came the faint calls for help. behind them tom and ned towed a large rowboat. tom speeded the naphtha craft to its limit, and, fortunately for those in danger, it was a fast boat. in less time than they had thought possible, the young inventor and his chum were near the boat that was now low in the water--so low, in fact, that her rail was all but awash. "oh, take us out! save us!" screamed some of the girls. "take it easy now," advised tom, approaching with care. "we've got room for you all. ned, get back in the rowboat and bring that alongside--on the other side. we'll take you all in," he added. "girls first!" called ned sternly, as he saw one young fellow about to scramble into the naphtha boat. "sure, girls first!" agreed the skipper of the disabled craft. "hit a submerged log," he explained to tom, as the work of rescue proceeded. "stove a hole in the bow, but we stuffed coats and things in, and made it a slow leak. kept the engine going as long as we could, but i thought no one would ever come! lucky you happened to see us from up there!" "yes," assented tom shortly. he and ned were too busy to talk much, as they were aiding in getting some hysterical girls and young women into the two sound craft. and when the last of the picnic party had been taken off, the boat with a hole in it gave a sudden lurch, there was a gurgling, bubbling sound, and she sank quickly. tom and ned had anticipated this, however, and had their craft well out of the way of the suction. "you'll all have to sit quiet," tom warned his passengers as he took ned's boat, with her load, in tow. "i've got about all the law allows me to carry," he added grimly. "oh, what ever would we have done without you?" half sobbed one girl. "i guess you could have managed to swim ashore," tom answered, not wanting to make too much of his effort. then more rescue boats came up, but those in the naphtha craft, and ned's smaller one, refused to be transferred, and remained with our friends until safely landed at the dock. receiving the half-hysterical thanks of the party, and leaving them to explain matters to the owner of the borrowed boats, ned and tom went back to the lucifer, and were soon aloft again. "pretty slick act, tom," remarked ned. "oh, it's all in the day's work," was the answer. he had all but perfected his big fire-extinguishing aeroplane, and was contemplating means by which he could give a demonstration to the fire department of some big city, when mr. baxter asked to see tom one day. there was a look on the face of the chemist that caused tom to exclaim with a good deal of concern: "what's the matter?" "only the same old trouble," was the discouraged answer. "i can't get on the track of my lost secret formulae. if i had field and melling here now i--i'd--" he did not finish his threat, but the look on his face was enough to show his righteous anger. "i wish we could do something to those fellows!" exclaimed tom energetically. "if we only had some direct evidence against them!" "i've got evidence enough--in my own mind!" declared mr. baxter. "unfortunately that doesn't do in law," returned tom. "but now that i have this airship firefighter craft so nearly finished, i can devote more time to your troubles, mr. baxter." "oh, i don't want you bothered over my troubles," said the chemist. "you have enough of your own. but i'm at my wit's end what to do next." "if it is money matters," began tom. "it's partly that, yes," said the other, in a low voice. "if i had those dye formulae, i'd be a rich man." "well, let me help you temporarily," begged tom. and the upshot of the talk was that he engaged mr. baxter to do certain research work in the swift laboratories until such time as the chemist could perfect certain other inventions on which he was working. in return for his kindness to a fellow laborer, tom received from mr. baxter some valuable hints about fire-extinguishing chemicals, one hint, alone, serving to bring about a curious situation. it was several days after the accident to the motor boat from which the young inventor and ned newton had rescued the party of pleasure seekers that tom was visited by mr. damon, who drove over in his car. "have you anything special to do, tom?" asked the eccentric man. "if you haven't i wish you'd take a ride with me. not for mere pleasure! bless my excursion ticket, don't think that, tom!" cried his friend quickly. "i know better than to ask you out for a pleasure jaunt. but i have become interested in a certain candy-making machine that a man over in newmarket is anxious to sell me a share in, and i'd like to get your opinion. can you run over?" "yes," tom answered. "as it happens i am going to newmarket myself." "oh, i forgot about mary nestor being there!" laughed mr. damon. "sly dog, tom! sly dog!" and he nudged the youth in the ribs. "it isn't altogether mary. though i am going to see her," tom admitted. "it has to do with a little apparatus i am getting up. i can capture several birds in the same auto, so i'll go along." this pleased mr. damon, and he and tom were soon speeding over the road. it was just outside newmarket that they saw an automobile stalled at the foot of a hill which they topped. it needed but a glance to show that there was serious trouble. as mr. damon's car went down the slope two men could be seen leaping from the other machine. and, as they did so, flames burst out of the rear of the stalled machine. "fire! fire!" cried mr. damon, rather needlessly it would seem, as any one could see the blaze. "another chance!" exclaimed tom, reaching down between his feet for a wrapped object he had placed in mr. damon's car. "it's field and melling!" he cried. "the two men who boasted of having put it over on mr. baxter. their car is blazing. here's where i get a chance to heap coals of fire on their heads!" chapter xvi violent threats tom swift's companion in the automobile was sufficiently acquainted with this old expression to understand readily what it meant. and as he directed his car as close as was safe to the blazing car, mr. damon asked: "are you going to put out that fire for them, tom?" "i'm going to try," was the grim answer. the young inventor was rapidly taking out of wrapping paper a metal cylinder with a short nozzle on one end and a handle on the other. it was, obviously, a hand fire extinguisher of a type familiar to all. "wait tom, i'll slow up a little more," said mr. damon, as he applied the brakes with more force. "bless my court plaster! don't jump and injure yourself." but tom swift was sufficiently agile to leap from the automobile when it was still making good speed. he did not want mr. damon to approach too close to the burning car, for there might be an explosion. at the same time, he rather discounted the risk to himself, for he ran right in, while the two men, who had leaped from the blazing machine, hurried to a safe distance. tom held in readiness a small hand extinguisher. it was one he had constructed from an old one found in the shop, but it contained some of his own chemicals, the original solution having been used at some time or other. it was the intention of the young inventor to put on the market a house-size extinguisher after he had disposed of his big airship invention. "look out there! the gasoline tank may go up!" cried field, the small man with the big voice. tom did not answer, but ran in as close as was necessary and began to play a small stream from his hand extinguisher on the blazing car. he was thus able to direct the white, frothy chemical better than when he had shot it from the airship, and in a few seconds only some wisps of curling smoke remained to tell of the presence of the fire. the automobile was badly charred, but the damage was not past redemption. "bless my check book! you did the trick, tom," cried mr. damon, as he alighted and came up to congratulate his companion. "yes. but this wasn't much," tom said. "i didn't use half the charge. short circuit?" he asked field and melling who were now returning, having seen that the danger was passed. "i--i guess so," replied melling, in his squeaky voice. "we--we are much obliged to you." "no thanks necessary," said tom, a bit shortly, as he turned to go back with mr. damon to their car. "it's what any one would do under like circumstances." "only you did it very effectively," observed field. tom was wondering if they knew who he was and of his association with josephus baxter. he did not believe the men recognized him as the person who had been at the meadow inn one day with mary. they had hardly glanced at him then, he thought. "that's a mighty powerful extinguisher you have there, young man," said melling. "may i ask the make of it? we ought to carry one like it on our car," he told his companion. "it is the swift aerial fire extinguisher," said tom gravely, with a glance at mr. damon. "the swift--tom swift?" exclaimed melling. "do you mean--" "i am tom swift," put in the young inventor quickly. "and this is one of my inventions. i might add," he said slowly, looking first melling and then field full in the face, "that i was aided in perfecting the chemical extinguisher by josephus baxter." the effect on the two men, whom tom believed were scoundrels, was marked. "baxter!" cried field. "is he associated with you?" demanded melling. "not officially," tom answered, delighted at the chance to "rub it in," as he expressed it later. "i have been helping him, and he has been helping me since he lost his dye formulae in--in your fire!" "does he say he lost them in the fire of our factory?" demanded field aggressively. "he believes he did," asserted tom. "i helped carry him out of the laboratory of your place when he was almost dead from suffocation. he remembers that he had the formulae then, but since has been unable to find them." "he'd better be careful how he accuses us!" blustered field, in his big voice. "we could have the law on him for that!" squeaked the bigger melling. "he hasn't accused you," said tom easily. "he only says the formulae disappeared during the fire in your place, and he is just wondering, that is all--just wondering!" "well, he--we, i--that is, we haven't anything from baxter that we didn't pay for," declared field. "and if he goes about saying such things he'd better be careful. i am going--" but he suddenly became silent as his companion's elbow nudged him. and then melling took up the talk, saying: "we're much obliged to you, mr. swift, for putting out the fire in our car. but for you it would have been destroyed. and if you ever want to sell the extinguisher process of yours, you'll find us in the market. we are going into the dye business on a large scale, and we can always use new chemical combinations." "my extinguisher is not for sale," said tom dryly. "come on, mr. damon. we can take you into town, i suppose," tom went on, looking at his eccentric friend for confirmation, and finding it in a nod. "but i doubt if we could tow you, as we are in a hurry, and--" "oh, thank you, we'll look over our machine before we leave it," said melling. "it may be that we can get it to go." tom doubted this, after a look at the charred section, but he easily understood the dislike of the men, upon whose heads he had heaped coals of fire, to ride with him and mr. damon. so field and melling were left standing in the road near their stranded car, which, but for tom swift's prompt action, would have been only a heap of ruins. tom first visited the man who had a candy machine, in which the owner wanted to interest mr. damon. after seeing a demonstration and giving his opinion, he attended to his own affairs, in which his hand extinguisher played a part. then he called on mary nestor at her relative's home. "oh, but it's good to see you again, tom!" cried mary, after the first greeting. "what have you been doing, and what's all that white stuff on your coat?" "fire extinguisher chemical," tom answered, and he related what had happened. "what's the matter with your aunt, mary? she seems worried about something," he said, after the aunt with whom mary was staying had come in, greeted tom briefly, and gone out again. "oh, she and uncle jasper are worried over money matters, i believe," mary said. "uncle jasper invested heavily in the landmark building here, and now, i understand, it is discovered that it was put up in violation of the building laws--something about not being fire-proof. uncle jasper is likely to lose considerable money. "it isn't that it will make him so very poor," mary went on. "but uncle barton keith--you remember you went on the undersea search with him--uncle barton warned uncle jasper not to go into the landmark building scheme." "and uncle jasper did, i take it," said tom. "yes. and now he's sorry, for not only may he lose money, but uncle barton will laugh at him, and uncle jasper hates that worse than losing a lot. but tell me about yourself, tom. what have you been doing? and is eradicate going to get better?" "i hope so," tom said. "as for me--" but he was interrupted by loud voices in the hall. he recognized the tones of mary's uncle jasper saying: "they're scoundrels, that's what they are! just plain scoundrels! when i accuse them of swindling me and others in that landmark building deal they have the nerve to ask me to invest money in some secret dye formulae they claim will revolutionize the industry! bah! they're scoundrels, that's what they are--field and melling are scoundrels, and i'm going to have them arrested!" chapter xvii a town blaze mary's uncle, jasper blake, always an impetuous man, opened the door so quickly that tom, who was standing near it talking to mary, barely had time to move aside. "oh, tom, excuse me! didn't see you!" bruskly went on mr. blake. "but this thing has gotten on my nerves and i guess i'm a bit wrought up. "there isn't any guessing about it, uncle jasper," said mary, with a laugh and a look at tom to warn him not to tell her relative that he had just befriended field and melling. "for," as mary said to tom later, "he would positively rave at you." tom was wise enough to realize this, and so, after some laughing reference to the effect that he would have to wear protective armor if he stood near doors when mary's uncle opened them so suddenly, the conversation became general. "i hope you never get roped in as i have been," said mr. blake, as he sat down. "those scoundrels, field and melling, would rob a baby of his first tooth if they had the chance!" "no, i am not likely to have anything to do with them; though i have met them," and tom gave mary a glance. "but did i hear you say they are embarking on a dye enterprise?" he asked. "i couldn't help overhearing what you said in the hall," he explained. "that's the story they tell," said uncle jasper. "i was foolish enough to invest in the landmark building, and now i'm likely to lose it all in a lawsuit." "i mentioned it," said mary. "and that isn't the worst," went on mr. blake. "but barton--that's your friend of the submarine--will give me the laugh, for he was asked to invest in the same building, and didn't." "oh, maybe it will all turn out right," said tom consolingly. "my friend mr. damon has a little stock in the same structure." "nothing those two scoundrels have anything to do with will turn out right," declared mary's uncle. "and to think of their nerve when they ask me to go in with them on a dye scheme!" "that's what interests me," said tom. "well, take my advice and don't become interested to the extent of investing any money," warned mr. blake. "i'm not going to." "i didn't mean that way," said tom. "but i happen to be acquainted with an expert dye maker who lost some secret formulae during a fire in field and melling's factory." "you don't say so!" cried mr. blake. "tom swift, there's something wrong here! let you and me talk this over. i begin to see how i may be able to take a peep through the hole in the grindstone," a colloquial expression which was as well understood by tom as were some of mr. damon's blessing remarks. "if you're going to talk business i think i'll excuse myself," said mary. "don't go," urged tom, but she said to him that she would see him before he left, and then she went out, leaving her uncle and the young inventor busily engaged in talking. but though mr. blake had certain suspicions regarding field and melling, and though tom swift, too, believed they had something to do with the disappearance of baxter's secret formulae, it was another matter to prove anything. impetuous as he often was, mr. blake was for calling in the police at once, and having the two men arrested. but tom counseled delay. "wait until we get more evidence against them," he urged. "but they may skip out!" objected mary's uncle. "they won't with that landmark building on their hands," said the young inventor. "their hands! huh! they'll take precious good care that the trouble and responsibility of it are on other people's hands before they go," declared mr. blake. "however, i suppose you're right. barton keith sets a deal by your opinion since that undersea search, and while i don't always agree with him, i do in this case. especially since he is likely to have the laugh on me." "oh, i wouldn't count everything lost in that building deal," said tom. "a way may be found out of the trouble yet. but i must be getting back. dr. henderson was to give a report today on the condition of eradicate's eyes, and i want to be there." "mary was saying something about your faithful old retainer being in trouble," said mr. blake. "i'm sorry to hear about it." "we are all sorry for poor rad," replied tom slowly. "i only hope he gets his sight back. his last days will be very sad if he doesn't." tom found mary waiting for him after he had left her uncle, and, after a short talk with her, he made ready to ride back with mr. damon, who, after having attended to several other matters, was now outside in his car. "when are you coming home, mary?" tom asked. "in a week or two," she answered. "i'll send word when i'm ready and you can come and get me." "delighted!" declared tom. "don't forget!" during the ride home the young inventor was unusually silent, so much so that mr. damon finally exclaimed: "bless my phonograph, tom swift! but what is the matter? has mary broken the engagement?" "oh, no, nothing like that," was the answer. "only i'm wondering about eradicate, and--other matters." other matters had to do with what mary's uncle had told tom about the interest manifested by field and melling in some dye industry. tom's forebodings regarding his colored helper were nearly borne out, for dr. henderson gloomily shook his head when asked for the verdict. "it's too early to say for a certainty," replied the medical man, "but i am not as hopeful as i was, tom, i'm sorry to say." "i'm sorry to hear it," returned tom. "is there anything we can do--any hospital to which we can send him for special treatment?" "no, he is doing as well as he can be expected to right here. besides, he has his friends around him, and the companionship of that giant of yours, absurd as it may seem, is really a tonic to eradicate. i never saw such devotion on the part of any one." "koku has certainly changed," said tom. "he and rad used always to be quarreling. but i guess that is all over," and tom sighed. "oh, i wouldn't say that," declared the medical man. "i haven't given up, though there are some symptoms i do not like. however, i am going to wait a week and then make another test." tom knew that the week would be an anxious one for him, but, as it developed, he had so much to do in the next few days that, for the time being, he rather forgot about eradicate. field and melling, he heard incidentally, had their machine towed to a garage for repairs, but beyond that no word came from the two men. josephus baxter remained at work over his dye formulae in one of tom's laboratories, but the young inventor did not see much of the discouraged old man. tom did not tell of the encounter with field and melling and of extinguishing the fire in their car, for he knew it would only excite mr. baxter, and do no good. it was within a few days of the time when tom was to call in a committee of fire insurance experts to give them a demonstration of the efficiency of his aerial fire-fighting machine. he was putting the finishing touches to his craft and its extinguishing-dropping devices when he received a call from mr. baxter. "well, how goes it?" asked tom, trying to infuse some cheer into his voice. "not very well," was the answer. "i've tried, in every way i know, to get on the track of the missing methods perfected by that frenchman, but i can't. i'd be a millionaire now, if i had that dye information." "do you really think they have them--actually have the formulae?" asked tom. "i certainly do. and the reason i believe so is that i was over at a chemical supply factory the other day when an order came in for a quantity of a very rare chemical." "what has that to do with it?" asked tom. "this chemical is an ingredient called for by one of the dye formulae that were stolen from me. i never heard of its being used for anything else. i at once became suspicious. i learned that this chemical had been ordered sent to field and melling in their new offices in the landmark building." "maybe they intend to use it in making a new kind of fireworks," suggested tom. mr. baxter shook his head. "that chemical never would work in a skyrocket or roman candle," he said. "i'm sure they're trying to cheat me out of my dye formulae. if i could only prove it!" "that's the trouble," agreed tom. "but i'll give you all the help i can. and, come to think of it, i believe you might interest mr. blake. he has no love for field and melling, and he has several keen lawyers on his staff. i believe it would be a good thing for you to talk to mr. blake." "please give me a letter of introduction to him," begged mr. baxter. "what i need is legal talent and capital to fight these scoundrels. mr. blake may supply both." "he may," agreed tom. "i'll fix it so you can meet him. but what do you think of this combination, mr. baxter? it is my very latest solution for putting out fires. i'm loading an airship up with some of the bomb containers now, and--" tom's further remarks were interrupted by the noise of shouting and tumult in the street, and a moment later yells could be heard of: "fire! fire! fire!" "another blaze!" exclaimed mr. baxter, raising the shades which had been drawn, since night had fallen. "and not far away," said tom, as he caught the reflection of a red gleam in the sky. there was a ring at the front doorbell, and almost at once ned newton's voice called: "tom! tom swift! there's quite a fire in town! don't you want to try your new apparatus on it?" "the very chance!" exclaimed the young inventor. "come on, mr. baxter. there's room in the airship for you and ned. i want you to see how my chemical works!" without waiting for a reply from the chemist, tom caught him by the hand and led him toward the side door that gave egress to the yard where one of the airships was housed. tom caught sight of ned, who was hastening toward him. "big fire, tom!" said the young manager again. "fierce one!" "i'm going to try to put it out!" tom answered. "want to come?" "sure thing!" answered ned. chapter xviii finishing touches tom swift and ned newton were so accustomed to acting quickly and in emergencies that it did not take them long to run out the airship, which tom had in readiness, not especially for this emergency, but to demonstrate his new apparatus to a committee of fire underwriters whom he had invited to call in a few days. "take this, if you will, mr. baxter!" cried tom, giving the chemist a metal container. "it's a little different combination from the extinguisher i already have in the machine. maybe i'll get a chance to try it." "you're going to have all the chance you want, tom, by the looks of that blaze," commented ned newton. "it does look like quite a fire," observed tom, as he gazed up at the sky, where the reflection was turning to a brighter red. outside in the streets near the swift house and shops could be heard the rattle of fire apparatus, the patter of running feet, and many shouts from excited men and boys. "any idea what it is, ned?" asked tom, as he motioned to mr. baxter to climb into the aircraft. "some one said it was the new normal school. but that's farther to the north," was ned's answer. "by the way the blaze has increased since i first saw it, i'd take it to be the lumberyard." "that would make a monster blaze!" observed tom. "i don't believe i'll have chemicals enough for that," and he looked at the rather small supply in his craft. "however, i haven't time to get any more. besides, they'll have the regular department on the job, and this isn't a skyscraper, anyhow." "no, we'll have to go to new york or newmarket for one of those," observed ned. "all ready, tom?" "all ready," said the young inventor, as ned took his place beside mr. baxter. "what's the matter, tom?" asked the voice of mr. swift, as he came out into the yard, having been attracted by the flashing lights and the noise of the aircraft motor, as tom gave it a preliminary test. "there's a fire in town," tom answered. "i'm going to see if they need my services." "guess there isn't any question about that," said his business manager. tom's father, who was suffering the infirmities of age, was in the habit of retiring early, and he had dozed off in his chair directly after supper, to be awakened by the shouting and confusion about the place. "take care of yourself, my boy!" he advised, as there came a moment of silence before the throttle of the aircraft was opened to send it on its upward journey. "don't take too many risks." "i won't," tom promised. "we'll be back soon." then came the roar of the motor as tom cut out the muffler to gain speed and, a moment later, he and his two friends were sailing aloft with a load of fire-extinguishing chemicals. up and up rose the aircraft. it was not the first time mr. baxter had enjoyed the sensation, but he was not enough of a veteran to be immune to the thrills nor to be altogether void of fear. and it was his first night trip. still he gave few evidences of nervousness. "these she is!" cried ned, for when the exhaust from the motor was sent through the new muffler tom had attached it was possible to talk aboard the lucifer. the young manager pointed down toward the earth, over which the craft was then skimming, though at no great height. "it is the lumberyard!" exclaimed mr. baxter presently. "it sure is," assented tom. "i know i haven't enough stuff to cover as big a blaze as that, but i'll do my best. fortunately there is no wind to speak of," he added, as he guided the craft in the direction of the fire. "what has that to do with it--i mean as far as the working of your chemical extinguisher is concerned?" asked mr. baxter. "can't you drop the bomb containers accurately in a wind?" "well, the wind has to be allowed for in dropping anything from an aeroplane," tom answered. "and, naturally, it does spoil your aim to an extent. but the reason i'm glad there is no wind to speak of is that the chemical blanket i hope to spread over the fire won't be so quickly blown away." "oh, i see," said mr. baxter. "well, i'm glad that you will be able to have a successful test of your invention." "the regular land apparatus is on hand," observed ned, for they were now so near the fire that they could look down and, in the reflection from the blaze, could see engines, hose-wagons and hook and ladder trucks arriving and deploying to different places of advantage, from which to fight the lumberyard fire that was now a roaring furnace of flames. "no skyscraper work needed here," observed tom. "but it will give me a chance to use the latest combination i worked out. i'll try that first. are you ready with it, mr. baxter?" "yes," was the answer. the young inventor, not heeding the cries of wonder that arose from below and paying no attention to the uplifted hands and arms pointing to him, steered his craft to a corner of the yard where there was a small isolated fire in a pile of boards. it was tom's idea to try his new chemical first on this spot to watch the effect. then he would turn loose all his other containers of the chemical mixture that had proved so effective in other tests. attention of those who had gathered to look at the fire was about evenly divided between the efforts of the regular department and the pending action by tom swift. the latter was not long in turning loose his latest sensation. "let it go!" he cried to mr. baxter, and down into the seething caldron of flame dropped a thin sheet-iron container of powerful chemicals. leaning over the cockpit of the aircraft, the occupants watched the effect. there was a slight explosion heard, even above the roar of the flames, and the tongues of fire in the section where tom's extinguisher had fallen died down. "good work!" cried ned. "no!" answered tom, shaking his head. "i was a little afraid of this. not enough carbon dioxide in this mixture. i'll stick to the one i found most effective." for the flames, after momentarily dying down, burst out again in the spot where he had dropped the bomb. tom wheeled the airship in a sharp, banking turn, and headed for the heart of the fire in the lumberyard. it was clearly getting beyond the control of the regular department. "how about you, ned?" called tom, for he had given his chum charge of dropping the regular bombs containing a large quantity of the extinguisher tom had practically adopted. "all ready," was the answer. "let 'em go!" came the command, and down shot the dark, spherical objects. they burst as they hit the ground or the piles of blazing lumber, and at once the powerful gases generated by the mixture of several different chemicals were released. again the three in the airship leaned eagerly over the side of the cockpit to watch the effect. it was almost magical in its action. the bombs had been dropped into the very fiercest heart of the fire, and it was only an instant before their action was made manifest. "this will do the trick!" cried ned. "i'm certain it will." "i didn't have much fear that it wouldn't," said tom. "but i hoped the other would be better, for it is a much cheaper mixture to make, and that will count when you come to sell it to big cities." "but the fire is certainly dying down," declared mr. baxter. and this was true. as container after container of the bomb type fell in different parts of the burning lumberyard, while tom coursed above it, the flames began to be smothered in various sections. and from the watching crowds, as well as from the hard-working members of the shopton fire department, came cheers of delight and encouragement as they saw the work of tom swift's aerial fire-fighting machine. for he had, most completely, subdued what threatened to be a great fire, and when the last of his bombs had been dropped, so effective was the blanket of fire-dampening gases spread around that the flames just naturally expired, as it were. as tom had said, the absence of wind was in his favor, for the generated gases remained just where they were wanted, directly over the fire like an extinguishing blanket, and were not blown aside as would otherwise have been the case. and, by the peculiar manner in which his chemicals were mixed, tom had made them practically harmless for human beings to breathe. though the fire-killing gases were unpleasant, there was no danger to life in them, and while several of the firemen made wry faces, and one or two were slightly ill from being too close to the chemicals, no one was seriously inconvenienced. "well, i guess that's all," said tom, when the final bomb had been dropped. "that was the last of them, wasn't it, ned?" "yes, but you don't need any more. the fire's out--or what isn't can be easily handled by the hose lines." "good!" cried tom. "but, all the same, i wish i had been able to make the first mixture work." "perhaps i can help you with that," suggested mr. baxter. and the following day, after tom had received the thanks of the town officials and of the fire department for his work in subduing the lumberyard blaze, the young inventor called josephus baxter in consultation. "i feel that i need your help," said the young inventor. "you have been at this chemical study longer than i, and i am willing to pay you well for your work. of course i can't make up to you the loss of your dye formulae. but while you are waiting for something to turn up in regard to them, you may be glad to assist me." "i will, and without pay," said the chemist. but tom would not hear of that, and together he and mr. baxter set about putting the finishing touches to tom's latest invention. chapter xix on the trail "there, tom swift, it ought to work now!" josephus baxter held up a large laboratory test tube, in which seethed and bubbled some strange mixture, turning from green to purple, then to red, and next to a white, milky mixture. "do you think you've hit on the right combination?" asked the young inventor, whose latest idea, the plan of fighting fires in skyscrapers from an airship as a vantage point, was taking up all his spare moments. "i'm positive of it," said mr. baxter. "i've dabbled in chemicals long enough to be certain of this, even if i can't get on the track of the missing dye formulae." "that certainly is too bad," declared tom. "i wish i could help you as much as you have helped me." "oh, you have helped me a lot," said the chemist. "you have given me a place to work, much better than the laboratory i had in the old fireworks factory of field and melling. and you have paid me, more than liberally, for what little i have done for you." "you've done a lot for me," declared tom. "if it had not been for your help this chemical compound would not be nearly as satisfactory as it is, nor as cheap to manufacture, which is a big item." "oh, you were on the right track," said mr. baxter. "you would have stumbled on it yourself in a short time, i believe. but i will say, tom swift, that, between us, we have made a compound that is absolutely fatal to fires. even a small quantity of it, dropped in the heart of a large blaze, will stop combustion." "and that's what i want," declared tom. "i think i shall go ahead now, and proceed with the manufacture of the stuff on a large scale." "and what do you propose doing with it?" asked mr. baxter. "i'm going to sell the patent and the idea that goes with it to as many large cities as i can," tom answered. "i'll even manufacture the airships that are needed to carry the stuff over the tops of blazing skyscrapers, dropping it down. i'll supply complete aerial fire-fighting plants." "and i think you'll do a good business," said the chemist. it was the conclusion of the final tests of an improved chemical mixture, and the reaction that had taken place in the test tube was the end of the experiment. success was now again on the side of tom swift. but when that has been said there remains the fact that it was just the other way with the unfortunate mr. baxter. try as he had, he could not succeed in getting the right chemical combination to perfect the dye process imparted to him by his late french friend. with the disappearance of the secret formulae went the good luck of josephus baxter. he had worked hard, taking advantage of tom's generosity, to bring back to his memory the proper manner of mixing certain ingredients, so that permanent dyes of wondrous beauty in coloring would be evolved. but it was all in vain. "i know who have those formulae," declared the chemist again and again. "it is those scoundrels, field and melling. and they are planning to build up their own dye business with what is mine by right!" and though tom, also, believed this, there was no way of proving it. as the young inventor had said, he was now ready to put his own latest invention on the market. after many tests, aided in some by mr. baxter, a form of liquid fire extinguisher had been made that was superior to any known, and much cheaper to manufacture. veteran members of fire departments in and about shopton told tom so. all that remained was to demonstrate that it would be as effective on a large scale as it was on a small one, and big cities, it was agreed, must, of necessity, add it to their equipment. "well, i think i'll give orders to start the works going," said tom, at the conclusion of the final test. "i have all the ingredients on hand now, and all that remains is to combine them. my airship is all ready, with the bomb-dropping device." "and i wish you all sorts of luck," said mr. baxter. "now i am going to have another go at my troubles. i have just thought of a possible new way of combining two of the chemicals i need to use. it may be i shall have success." "i hope so," murmured tom. he was about to leave the room when koku, the giant, entered, with a letter in his hand. the big man showed some signs of agitation, and tom was at once apprehensive about eradicate. "is rad--has anything happened--shall i get the doctor?" "oh, rad, him all right," answered koku. "that is him not see yet, but mebby soon. only i have to chase boy, an' he make faces at me--boy bring this," and the giant held out the envelope. "oh!" exclaimed tom, and he understood now. messenger boys frequently came to tom's house or to the shops, and they took delight in poking fun at koku on account of his size, which made him slow in getting about. the boys delighted to have him chase them, and something like this had evidently just taken place, accounting for koku's agitation. "this is for you, mr. baxter, not for me," said tom, as he read the name on the envelope. "for me!" exclaimed the chemist. "who could be writing to me? it's a big firm of dye manufacturers," he went on, as he caught a glimpse of the superscription in the upper left hand corner. quickly he read the contents of the epistle, and a moment later he gave a joyful cry. "i'm on the trail! on the trail of those scoundrels at last!" exclaimed josephus baxter. "this gives me just the evidence i needed! now i'll have them where i want them!" chapter xx a heavy load josephus baxter was so excited by the receipt of the letter which koku delivered to him that for some seconds tom swift could get nothing out of him except the statement: "i'm on their trail! now i'm on their trail!" "what do you mean?" tom insisted. "whose trail? what's it all about?" "it's about field and melling! that's who it's about!" exclaimed mr. baxter, with a smothered exclamation. "look, tom swift, this letter is addressed to me from one of the biggest dye firms in the world--a firm that is always looking for something new!" "but if you haven't anything new to give them, of what use is it?" tom asked, for he knew that the chemist had said his process, stolen, as he claimed, by field and melling, was his only new project. "but i will have something new when i get those secret formulae away from those scoundrels!" declared mr. baxter. "yes, but how are you going to do it, when you can't even prove that they have them?" asked tom. "ah, that's the point! now i think i can prove it," declared mr. baxter. "look, tom swift! this letter is addressed to me in care of field and melling at the office i used to have in their fireworks factory." "the office from which you were rescued nearly dead," tom added. "exactly. the place where you saved me from a terrible death. well, if you will notice, this letter was written only two days ago. and it is the first mail i have received as having been forwarded from that address since the fire. i know other mail must have come for me, though." "what became of it?" asked tom. "those scoundrels confiscated it!" declared the chemist. "but, in some manner, perhaps through the error of a new clerk, this letter was remailed to me here, and now i have it. it is of the utmost importance!" "in what way?" asked tom. "why, it is directed to me, outside and in, and it makes an inquiry about the very dyes of the lost secret formulae, one dye in particular." "i don't quite understand yet," said tom. "well, it's this way," went on mr. baxter. "i had, in the office of field and melling, all the papers telling exactly how to make the dyes. after the fire, in which i was rendered unconscious, those papers disappeared. "the only way in which any one could make the dyes in question was by following the formulae given in those papers. and now here is a letter, addressed to me from a big firm, asking my prices on a certain dye, which can only be made by the process bequeathed to me by the frenchman." "which means what?" asked tom. "it means that field and melling must have been writing to this firm on their own hook, offering to sell them some of this dye. but, in some way, my name must have appeared on the letter or papers sent on by the scoundrels, and this big firm replies to me direct, instead of to field and melling! even then i would not have benefited if they had confiscated this letter as i am sure, they have done in the case of others. but, by some slip, i get this. "and it proves, tom swift, that field and melling are in possession of my dye formulae, and that they have tried to dispose of some of the dye to this firm. not knowing anything of this, the firm replies to me. so now i have direct evidence--just what i wanted--and i can get on the trail of the scoundrels who have cheated me of my rights." tom looked at the letter which, it appeared, had been left with koku by a special delivery boy from the post office. it was an inquiry about certain dyes, and was addressed to mr. baxter in care of field and melling, the former fireworks firm, which now had started a big dye plant, with offices in the landmark building in newmarket. "it does look as though you might get at them through this," tom said, as he handed back the letter. "but i'm afraid you'll have to get further evidence before you could convict them in a court of law--you'll have to show that they actually have possession of your formulae." "that's what i wish i could do," said the chemist, somewhat wistfully. his first enthusiasm had been lessened. "i'll help you all i can," offered tom. and events were soon to transpire by which the young inventor was to render help to the chemist in a most sensational manner. "just now," tom went on, "i must arrange about getting a large supply of these chemicals made, and then plan for a test in some big city." "yes, you have done enough for me," said mr. baxter. "but i think now, with this letter as evidence, we'll be able to make a start." "i agree with you," tom said. "why don't you go over to see mr. damon? he's a good business man, and perhaps he can advise you. you might also call on that lawyer who does work for mr. keith and mr. blake. and that reminds me i must call mary nestor up and find out when she is coming home. i promised to fetch her in one of the airships." "i will go and see mr. damon," decided mr. baxter. "he always gives good advice." "even if he does bless everything he sees!" laughed tom. "but if you're going to see him i'll run you over. i'm going to waterfield." "thanks, i'll be glad to go with you," said the chemist. mr. damon was glad to see his friends, and, when he had listened to the latest developments, he exclaimed with unusual emphasis: "bless my law books, mr. baxter! but i do believe you're on the right trail at last. come in, and we'll talk this over." so tom left them, traveling on to a distant city where he arranged for a large supply of the chemicals he would need in his extinguisher. for several days tom was so busy that he had little time to devote to mr. baxter, or even to see him. he learned, however, that the chemist and mr. damon were in frequent consultation, and the young inventor hoped something would come of it. tom's own plans were going well. he had let several large cities know that he had something new in the way of a fire-fighting machine, and he received several offers to demonstrate it. he closed with one of these, some distance off, and agreed to fly over in his aircraft and extinguish a fire which was to be started in an old building which had been condemned, and was to be destroyed. this was in a city some four hundred miles away and when ned newton called on him one afternoon he found tom busily engaged in loading his sky-craft with a heavy cargo of the newest liquid extinguisher. "you aren't taking any chances, are you, tom?" asked ned. "what do you mean?" "i mean you seem to have enough of the liquid 'fire-discourager' to douse any blaze that was ever started." "no use sending a boy on a man's errand," said tom. "i'm counting on you to go with me, ned--you and mr. baxter. we leave this afternoon for denton." "i'll be with you. couldn't pass up a chance like that. but here comes koku, and it looks as if he had something on his mind." the giant did, indeed, seem to be laboring under the stress of some emotion. "oh, master tom!" the big man exclaimed when he had got the attention of the young inventor. "rad--he--he--" "has anything happened?" asked tom, quickly. "no, not yet. but dat pill man--he say by tomorrow he know if rad ever will see sunshine more!" "oh, the doctor says he'll be able to decide about rad's eyesight tomorrow, does he?" "yes. what so pill man say," repeated koku. "um," mused tom, "i wish i were going to be here, but i don't see how i can. i must give this test." but it was with a sinking heart as he thought of poor eradicate that the young inventor proceeded to pile into his airship the largest and heaviest load of chemicals it had ever carried. chapter xxi the light in the sky "well, what do you say, tom?" asked ned, in a low voice. "she's all right as far as i can see, though she may stagger a bit at the take off." "it's a pretty heavy load," agreed the young manager, as he and tom swift walked about the big fire-fighting airship lucifer, which had been rolled outside the hangar. "but still i think she'll take it, especially since you've tuned up the motor so it's at least twenty per cent. more powerful than it was." "perhaps you'd better leave me out," suggested mr. baxter, who had been helping the boys. "i'm not a feather weight, you know." "i need you with us," said tom. "i want your expert opinion on the effect the new chemicals have on the flames." "well, i'd like to come," admitted the chemist, "for it will be a valuable experience for me. but i don't want an accident up in the air." "trust tom swift for that!" cried ned. "if he says his aircraft will do the trick, it positively will." "how about leaving me out?" asked mr. damon. "i'm not an expert in anything, as far as i know." "you are in keeping us cheerful. and we may need you to bless things if there's a slip-up anywhere," laughed tom, for mr. damon had been invited to be one of the party. "i don't so much mind a slip-up," said mr. damon, "as i do a slip down. that's where it hurts! however, i'll take a chance with you, tom swift. it won't be the first one--and i guess it won't be the last." the work of getting the big airship ready for what was to be a conclusive test of her fire-fighting abilities from the clouds proceeded rapidly. as has been related, tom had perfected, with the help of mr. baxter, a combination of chemicals which was effective in putting out a fire when dropped into the blaze from above. quantities of this combination had been stored in metal containers which tom had at first styled "bombs," but which he now called "aerial grenades." the manner of dropping the grenades was, on the whole, similar to the manner in which bombs were dropped from airships during the great war, but tom had made several improvements in this plan. these improvements had to do with the releasing of the bombs, or, in this case, grenades. it is not easy to drop or throw something from a swiftly moving airship so that it will hit an object on the ground. during the war aviators had to train for some time before becoming even approximately accurate. tom swift decided that to leave this matter to chance or to the eye of the occupant of an airship was too indefinite. accordingly he invented a machine, something like a range-finder for big guns. with this it was a comparatively easy matter to drop a grenade at almost any designated place. to accomplish this it was necessary to take into consideration the speed of the airship, its height above the ground, the velocity of the wind, the weight of the grenades, and other things of this sort. but by an intricate mathematical process tom solved the problem, so that it was only necessary to set certain pointers and levers along a slide rule in the cockpit of the craft. then when the releasing catch was pressed, the grenades would drop down just about where they were most needed. "i think everything is ready," said tom, when he had taken a last look over his craft, making sure that all the chemical grenades were in place. "if you will be ready, gentlemen, we will take our places and start in about half an hour," he added. "i want to say goodbye to my father, and cheer up rad--if i can." "the doctor will know tomorrow, will he?" asked mr. damon. "yes. and i'm sorry i will not be here to listen to the report," said tom. "though i am almost afraid to receive it," he added in a low voice. "i shall blame myself if rad is to go through the remainder of his life blind." "it couldn't be helped," said ned. "we'll hope for the best." "yes," agreed tom, "that's all we can do--hope for the best. by the way," he went on, turning to mr. baxter, "are you any nearer fastening the guilt on those two rascals, field and melling?" "bless my prosecuting attorney, no!" exclaimed mr. damon. "those are the slickest scoundrels i ever tackled! they're like a flea. once you think you have them where you want them, and they're on the other side of the table, skipping around." "i've about given up," said mr. baxter, in discouraged tones. "i guess my dye formulae are gone forever." "don't say that!" exclaimed tom. "once i get this fire matter off my hands, i'm going to tackle the problem myself. we'll either make those fellows sorry they ever meddled in this matter, or we'll get up a new combination of dyes that will put them out of business!" "bless my easter eggs, i'm glad to hear you talk that way!" cried mr. damon. "well, rad, i'll expect to see you up and around when i get back," said tom to his old servant, as he stepped into the sick room to say goodbye. "oh, is yo' goin', massa tom?" asked the colored man, turning his bandaged head in the direction of the beloved voice. "yes. i'm going to try out a new scheme of mine--the fire extinguisher, you know." "de same one whut fizzed up, an'--an' busted me in de eyes, massa tom?" "yes, rad, i'm sorry to say, it's the same one." "oh, shucks now, massa tom! whut's use worryin'?" laughed rad. "i suah will be all right when yo' gits back. de doctor man--de 'pill man' dat giant calls him--says i'll suah be better." "of course you will," declared tom, but his heart sank when he saw mrs. baggert remove the bandages and he caught sight of rad's burned face and the eyes that had to be kept closed if ever they were again to look on the sunshine and flowers. "and when i come back, rad, i'll stage a little fire for your benefit, and show you how quickly i can put it out." "ha! dat's whut i wants to see, massa tom, i suah does like to see fires!" chuckled eradicate. "mah ole mule, boomerang--does yo' 'member him, massa tom?" "of course, rad!" "well, boomerang he liked fires, too. liked 'em so much i jest couldn't git him past 'em lots ob times i but run 'long, massa tom. yo' ain't got no time to waste on an ole culled man whut's seen his best days. yas-sir, i reckon i'se seen mah best days," and the smile died from the honest, black face. "oh, don't talk like that!" cried tom, as cheerfully as he could. "you've got a lot of work in you yet, rad. hasn't he, koku?" and the young inventor appealed to the giant, who seldom left the side of his former enemy. "rad good man--him an' me do lots work--next week mebby," said koku, smiling very broadly. "that's the way to talk!" exclaimed tom, and he laughed a little though his heart was far from light. and then, having seen to the final details, he took his place in the big airship with ned, mr. damon and josephus baxter. the craft carried the largest possible load of fire extinguishing chemicals. as tom had feared, the lucifer staggered a bit in "taking off" late that afternoon when the start was made for the distant city of denton, where the first real test was to be made under the supervision and criticism of the fire department. but once the craft was aloft she rode on a level keel. "i guess we're all right," tom said. but to make certain he circled several times over his own landing field, that a good place to come down might be assured if something unforeseen developed. however, all went well, and then the course was straightened for the distant city. "we'll go right over newmarket, sha'n't we, tom?" asked ned, as the speed of the lucifer increased. "yes. and i wish i had time to stop and see mary, but i haven't. it's getting dark fast, and we ought to arrive at our destination early in the morning. the test has been set by the committee for ten o'clock." they settled themselves comfortably in the big craft for a long night trip, and mr. damon was just going to bless something or other when he pointed off into the distance. "look, tom!" cried the eccentric man. "see that light in the sky!" "seems to be a fire," observed ned. "it is a fire!" shouted mr. baxter. "and it's in newmarket, if i'm any judge." tom swift did not answer, but he shoved forward the gasolene lever of his controls, and the lucifer shot ahead through the air while the red, angry glow deepened in the evening sky. chapter xxii trapped while tom swift was loading the lucifer for her trip and the fire extinguishing test to occur the next morning, quite a different scene was taking place in the home of jasper blake, the uncle of mary nestor, where she had gone to spend a few weeks. "well, are you all ready, mary?" asked her aunt, and it was about the same time that ned newton asked that same question of tom swift. only tom was in shopton, and mary was in newmarket, and tom was setting off on an air voyage, while mary was only preparing to take a car downtown to do some shopping. "yes, aunt, i'm all ready," mary answered. "but i may be a bit late getting home." "why?" asked mrs. blake. "i promised uncle barton i'd stop and call on him at his office," mary replied. "he has something he wants me to take home to mother when i go tomorrow." "i shall be sorry to see you go back," said mrs. blake. "but i imagine there will be those in shopton who will be glad to see you return, mary." "yes, mother wrote that she and dad were getting a bit lonesome," the girl casually replied, as she adjusted her veil. "yes, and some one else. ah, mary, you are a very lucky girl!" laughed her aunt, while mary turned aside so she would not see her own blushes in the mirror. "i thought tom was going to call and take you home in his airship, mary," went on her relative. "so he is, i believe, on his way back from a city where he is going to be tomorrow making a big fire test. i am to wait for him until tomorrow afternoon. but now i really must go shopping, or all the bargains will be taken. is there any word you want to send to uncle barton?" "no," answered mrs. blake. "though you might tell him to stop poking fun at your uncle jasper for having invested money in the landmark building. it's getting on your uncle jasper's nerves," she added. "uncle barton never can give up a joke, once he thinks he has one," said mary. "but i'll tell him to stop pestering uncle jasper." "please do," urged mary's aunt, and then the girl left. mary's uncle, barton keith, with whom tom swift had been associated during the undersea search, had offices in the landmark building, but his home was in an adjoining suburb. the girl was pleased with the results of her shopping, and at the close of the afternoon she stopped at the landmark building and was soon being shot up in the elevator to the floor where barton keith had his offices. though mr. keith had refrained from investing in the landmark building and though he laughed at mary's uncle jasper for having done so, this did not prevent him from having a suite of offices in the big structure which, as we already know, was owned in large part by field and melling. "ah, mary! come in!" exclaimed mr. keith, welcoming tom swift's sweetheart. "it is so late i was afraid you weren't coming, and i was about to close the office and go home." "you must blame the bargain sales for my delay," laughed mary. "i hope i haven't kept you waiting." "no, i still had a few things to do. one was to write a letter to your uncle jasper, telling him i had heard of another fire trap that was open to investors." "oh, and that reminds me i must tell you not to push uncle jasper too far!" warned mary. "ha! ha!" laughed uncle barton. "he made fun of me for going on the undersea search with tom swift. but i made good on that, and that's more than he can say about his landmark building deal!" "but don't exasperate him too much!" begged mary. "by the way, what are they doing to this building? i see the stairways and some of the elevator shafts all littered with building material." "they are trying to make it fireproof," answered her uncle. "it's rather late to try that now, but they've got either to do it or stand a big increase in insurance rates. i'm glad i'm out of it. but now, mary, take an easy chair until i finish some work, and then i'll walk out with you." mary took a seat near one of the front windows, whence she could look down into the now fast-darkening streets. she could see the supper crowds hurrying home, and out in the corridor of the big skyscraper could be heard the banging of elevator doors as the office tenants, one after another, left for the day. suddenly there was more commotion than usual, followed by the sound of broken glass. then came a cry of: "fire! fire!" mary sprang to her feet with a gasp of alarm, and her uncle rushed past her to the door leading into the hall outside his offices. as he opened the door a cloud of smoke rushed toward him and mary, causing them to choke and gasp. mr. keith closed the door a moment, and when he opened it again the smoke in the hall seemed less dense. "it probably is only a slight blaze among some of the material the workmen are using," he said. "come, mary, we'll get out." pausing only to swing shut the door of his heavy safe and to stuff some valuable papers into his pocket, mr. keith advanced and, taking mary by the arm, led her into the hall. the smoke was increasing again, and distant shouts and cries could be heard, mingled with the breaking of glass. mr. keith rang the elevator buzzer several times, but when no car came up the shaft in response to his summons he turned to his niece and said: "we'll try the stairs. it's only ten stories down, and going down isn't anything like coming up." "oh, indeed i can walk!" said mary. "let's hurry out!" they turned toward the stairway, which wound around the elevator shafts, but such a cloud of hot, stifling smoke rolled up that it sent them back, choking and gasping for breath. and then, as they stood there, up the elevator shafts, which were veritable chimneys, came more hot smoke, mingled with sparks of fire. "trapped!" gasped mr. keith, and he pulled mary back toward his offices to get away from the choking, stifling smoke. "we're trapped!" chapter xxiii to the rescue "uncle! uncle barton!" faltered mary, as she clung to mr. keith. "can't we get down the stairs?" "i'm afraid not, mary," he answered, and he closed the door of his office to keep out the smoke that was ever increasing. "and won't the elevators come for us?" "they don't seem able to get up," was his reply. "probably the fire started in the bottom of the shafts, and they act just like flues, drawing up the flames and smoke." "then we must try the fire escapes!" exclaimed mary, and she started toward the front window, pulling her uncle across the room after her. "mary, there aren't--aren't any fire escapes!" he said hoarsely. "no fire escapes!" the girl turned paler than before. "no, not an escape as far as i know. you see, this was thought to be a fireproof building at first and small attention was given to escapes. then the law stepped in and the owners were ordered to put up regular escapes. they have started the work, but just now the old escapes have been torn down and the new ones are not yet in place." "oh, but uncle barton! can't we do something?" cried mary. "there must be some way out! let's try the elevators again, or the stairs!" before mr. keith could stop her mary had opened the door into the hall. to the agreeable surprise of her uncle there seemed to be less smoke now. "we may have a chance!" he cried, and he rushed out. "hurry!" frantically he pushed the button that summoned the elevators. down below, in the elevator shafts, could be heard the roar and crackle of flames. "let's try the stairs!" suggested mary. "they seem to be free now." she started down the staircase which went in square turns about the battery of elevators, and her uncle followed. but they had not more than reached the first landing when a roll of black, choking smoke, mingled with sparks of fire, surged into their faces. "back, mary! back!" cried mr. keith, and he dragged the impetuous girl with him to their own corridor, and back into his offices which, for the time being, were comparatively free from the choking vapor. "we must try the windows, uncle barton! we must!" cried mary. "surely there is some way down--maybe by dropping from ledge to ledge!" her uncle shook his head. then he opened the window and looked out. as he did so there arose from the streets below the cries of many voices, mingled with the various sounds of fire apparatus--the whistles of engines, the clang of gongs, and the puffing of steamers. "the firemen are here! they'll save us!" cried mary, as she heard the noises in the street below. "we can leap into the life nets." "there isn't a life net made, nor men who could retain it, to hold up a person jumping from the tenth story," said her uncle. "our only chance is to wait for them to subdue the fire." "isn't there a back way down, uncle barton?" "no, mary!" he closed the window for, open as it was, the draft created served to suck smoke into the office, and mary was coughing. uncle and niece faced each other. trapped indeed they were, unless the fire, which was now raging all through the building, with the stairs and elevator shafts as a center, could be subdued. that the city fire department was doing its best was not to be doubted. "we can only wait--and hope," said mr. keith solemnly. mary gave a gasp. her uncle thought she was going to burst into tears, but she bravely conquered herself and faced him with what was meant to be a smile. but it is difficult to smile with quivering lips, and mary soon gave up the attempt. mr. keith went over to the water cooler--one of those inverted large glass bottles--and looked to see how much water it contained. "it's nearly full," he said. "what good will it do?" asked mary. "this fire is beyond a little water like that." "yes, but it will serve to keep our handkerchiefs wet so we can breathe through them if the smoke gets too thick," was his reply. "it begins to look as if we'd need to try that soon," said mary, and she pointed to thick smoke curling in under the door. "yes," agreed her uncle. "it's getting worse." hardly had he spoken when there came a rush of feet in the corridor outside his office door. then a voice exclaimed: "we're trapped! we can't get down either the stairs or the elevators!" "it can't be possible!" said another voice. "something must be done! help! help! take us out of here!" "foolish cowards!" murmured mr. keith, and then the door of his office was violently opened and two men rushed in. they were strangers to mary and her uncle. "isn't there any way out of this fire trap?" cried one of the men. "are there any fire escapes at your windows?" "none," said mr. keith. "this is all your fault, melling!" cried the smaller of the two men, whose voice, in loudness and depth of pitch, was out of all proportion to his size. "all your fault! i told you we should have those new fire escapes!" "and you were the one, field, who objected to the cost of fire escapes when you found what the charge would be," retorted the other. "you said we didn't need to waste that money, if the building was fire-proof." "but it isn't, melling! it isn't!" yelled the other. "we're finding that out too late!" came the retort. "but i'm not going to die here like a rat in a trap!" and he raised the window and leaned out and yelled, "help! help! help!" "don't do that," said mr. keith, coming over to close the casement. "they can't hear you down below, and opening the window will only fill this place with smoke. are you field and melling?" "yes, of the consolidated dye company," was the answer from the big man. "we are also part owners of this building, but i wish we weren't." "it is a pretty poor specimen of a modern building," said mr. keith. "you have offices here, haven't you?" he went on. "i remember to have seen your names on the directory." "we're on the floor above," was the answer from field. "we were in a rear room, going over some accounts, and we didn't know anything was wrong until we smelled smoke. we tried to get down, and managed to come, by way of the stairs, as far as this floor," he explained quickly. "you can't go any farther," said mr. keith. "all there is to do is to wait for the firemen." "suppose they never come?" whined melling. "oh, they'll come!" asserted mary's uncle, but he spoke more to quiet her alarm than because he really believed it, for the landmark building was a seething furnace of flame centering in and about the elevator shafts and stairs. meanwhile tom and his companions in the airship had seen the red glow in the evening sky, and in another minute the young inventor had turned his craft more directly toward it. "it surely is in newmarket," said mr. damon. "right in the center of the city, too. there's one big building there--the landmark." "looks as if that was afire," said ned quickly. "hasn't some relative of mary's an office there, tom?" "yes. mr. keith. and her other uncle, jasper blake, is also interested in the building. it's the landmark all right!" cried tom, as his craft rose higher and advanced nearer the blaze. "what are you going to do?" yelled mr. damon, as he saw the young inventor head directly toward a spouting mushroom of flame, which showed that the fire had broken through the roof. "what are you going to do?" "go to the rescue!" answered tom swift. "i couldn't ask a better opportunity to try my new extinguisher! sit tight, every one!" chapter xxiv a strange discovery once it became evident to the occupants of the airship what tom swift's plans were, they all prepared to help him. previous to the trip certain duties had been assigned to each one, duties which were to be exercised when tom gave the exhibition of his new aerial fire-fighting apparatus at the set fire before the fire department of denton. this preparation now stood the young inventor in good stead, for there was no confusion aboard the lucifer when she winged her way toward the burning landmark building, where the flames were continually spouting higher and higher as they rushed through the roof, directly above the stairway well and elevator shafts. so far the flames had confined themselves to this central part of the big structure, but it was only a question of time when they would spread out on all sides, licking up the remainder of the pile. and, for the most part, the firemen on the ground were at a great disadvantage. they had run in lines as near as they could get to the center of the blaze, and had also attached hose to the standpipes inside the building. but this last effort was wasted, as developed later, for there was no one in the building to direct the nozzle ends of the hose attached to the standpipes on the different floors. also the fierce heat fairly melted the pipes themselves in the vicinity of the elevator shafts, and there was no automatic sprinkling system in the building. this was the situation, then, when tom in his airship loaded with fire-extinguishing chemicals headed for the blaze. and this, also, was the desperate situation that confronted mary nestor and her uncle, barton keith, as well as amos field and jason melling. those unscrupulous and cowardly men were in a veritable panic of fear, which contrasted strangely with the calm, resigned attitude of mary and her uncle. "we must get out! some one must save us!" yelled field. "jump from the window!" cried melling. "no, i can't permit that!" declared mr. keith, standing in their path. "it would be sure death! as it is, there may be a chance." "a chance? how?" asked field. "listen to that!" through the closed door of mr. keith's office could be heard the roar and crackle of flames, while the very air was now stifling and hot, filled with acrid smoke. "we can only wait," said mr. keith, and he wet mary's handkerchief in the water and handed it to her to bind over her face. "is everything all right, ned?" called tom, as he turned on a little more power, so that the lucifer lunged ahead toward the great pillar of fire that now reddened the sky for miles around. "all ready," was the answer. "you only have to give the word when you want us to let go." "let go!" cried mr. damon. "bless my umbrella, tom! we don't have to jump out, do we?" "he means to let go the extinguisher grenades," said mr. baxter. "shall we let them all go at once, tom?" asked the chemist. "no, drop half when i shoot over the first time. we'll see what effect they have, and then come back with the rest." "that's the idea!" cried ned. "well, give us the word when you're ready, tom." "i will," was the answer of the young inventor, and with keen eyes he began to set the automatic gages so those in charge of the grenades would be able to drop them most effectively. the flames were mounting higher and higher above the ill-fated landmark building. it was a "land-mark" now, for miles around--a fearsome mark, indeed. "i hope every one is out of the place," said ned, as the airship approached nearer and the fierceness of the fire was more manifest. "bless my thermometer, you're right!" exclaimed mr. damon. "i don't see how any one could live in that furnace." seen from above it appeared that the fire was engulfing the whole building, while, as a matter of fact, only the central portion was yet blazing. but it was only a question of time when the remainder would ignite. and it was to this fact--that the fire was rushing up the stairway and elevator shafts as up a chimney--that mary and her uncle, as well as field and melling, owed their temporary safety. had tom known that the girl he loved was in such direful danger, it is doubtful if his hand would have been as steady as it was on throttle and steering wheel. but not a muscle or nerve quivered. to tom it was but carrying out a prearranged task. he was going to extinguish a great blaze, or attempt to do so, by means of his aerial fire-fighting apparatus. and his previous tests had given him confidence in his device. his one regret was that the fire department of the city that was contemplating the purchase of certain rights in his invention could not witness what he was about to do. "but they'll hear of it," declared ned, when tom voiced this idea to his chum. nearer and nearer to the up-spouting column of flames the airship winged her way. tense and alert, tom sat at the wheel guiding his craft with her load of fire-defying chemicals. behind him were ned, mr. damon and mr. baxter, ready to drop the grenades at the word. "getting close, tom!" called ned, as they could all feel the heat of the conflagration in the landmark building, which now seemed doomed. "you'll not dare cross it too low down, will you?" "no, i'll have to keep pretty well up," was the answer. "there's a current of air over that fire which might turn us turtle." heat creates a draft, sucking in colder air from below, and making an upward-rushing column which, in the case of a big blaze, is very powerful. tom knew he had to avoid this. it was now almost time to act. in another few seconds they would be sailing directly into the path of the up-spouting flames. realizing that to do this at too low an elevation would result in disaster, tom sent his craft upward at a sharp angle. then he turned to call to his companions. "be ready when i give the word!" "all set and ready!" answered ned, and the others signified their attention to the command that soon was to be given. having attained what he considered a sufficient elevation, tom headed the lucifer straight toward the up-spouting column of fire and smoke. if ever his craft of the air was to justify her name it was now! straight and true as an arrow she headed for the fiery pillar! hotter and hotter grew the air! the darkness of the night was lighted by the awful fire, which rendered objects in the street clear and distinct. but tom and his friends had little time for such observation. "get ready!" cried the young inventor, as he felt a rush of heat across his face, partly protected, as it was, by great goggles. "all ready!" shouted ned. "let go!" cried tom, and with a click of springs the fire extinguishers dropped from the bottom of the lucifer into the very heart of the flames in the landmark building. there was a blast as from a furnace seventy times heated, a choking and gasping for breath on the part of the occupants of the airship, a shriveling, as it seemed, of the naked flesh, and then, when it appeared that all of them must be engulfed in the great heat, the airship passed out of the zone of fire. a rush of cool air followed, reviving them all, and then, when out of the swirls of smoke, ned, looking back, cried: "good work, tom! good work!" "did we hit it?" cried the young inventor. "she's half gone!" declared mr. baxter. "can you give her the rest of the load?" "i'm going to try!" declared tom. "bless my bank balance!" shouted mr. damon, "are we going through that awful furnace again?" "it will not be so bad this time," observed ned. "the fire is half out now. tom's stuff did the trick!" indeed it was evident, as tom sent the lucifer around in a sharp turn, that the fire had been largely smothered by the gas that now lay over it like a wet blanket. but there was still some fire spouting up. "give her all we have!" yelled tom, as, once more, he prepared to cross the zone of fire. "right," sang out ned. once more the lucifer swept over the burning building. down shot the remaining grenades, falling into the mass of flames and bursting, though the reports could not be heard because of the tumult in the streets below. for the firemen and spectators had seen the sudden dying down of the fire, they had caught sight of a shadowy shape in the night, hovering over the blazing building, and they wondered what it all meant. "how is it?" asked tom, as he guided the craft back to get a view of his work. "that settles it!" answered ned. "there isn't fire enough now to broil a beefsteak!" this was not exactly true, for the blaze was not entirely subdued. but the flames had all been killed off in the higher parts of the landmark building, and what remained could easily be dealt with by the firemen on the ground. they proceeded to make short work of the remainder of the conflagration, the while wondering who had so effectively aided them from the clouds. "well," observed tom, as he saw how effectively he had smothered the great fire, "it's of no use to go on now. i haven't an ounce of chemical left on board. i can't give the demonstration that i planned for tomorrow." "you've given a better demonstration here than you ever could have in the other city," declared mr. baxter. "i fancy this will be all the test needed, tom swift!" "perhaps. i hope so. but we may as well land and see from the ground the effect of our work. i'd also like to inquire if any one was hurt. let's go down." it was rather ticklish work, making a landing in the midst of a populous city, and at night. but as it happened, there had been a number of buildings razed in the vicinity of the landmark structure, and there was a large, vacant level space. also several of the city's fire department searchlights were focused around the burning structure, and when it became evident that an airship was going to land--though as yet none guessed whose it was--the searchlights were turned on the vacant spot and tom was able to make a good landing, his own powerful searchlight giving effective aid. "what did you do that put out the fire?" demanded the chief of the newmarket department, as he rushed up with a crowd of others when tom and his friends alighted. "i dropped a few grenades down that chimney," modestly answered the young inventor. "a few grenades! say, you must have turned a whole river of them loose!" cried the delighted chief. "it doused the fire quicker than i ever saw one put out in all my life!" "i'm glad i was successful," said tom. "but was any one in the building?" "yes, a few," answered a policeman, who was trying to keep the crowd back from the airship. "they're bringing them out now." "killed?" gasped tom. "no. but some of them are badly hurt," the officer answered. "there was one young lady and a man named barton keith--" "barton keith!" shouted tom, springing forward. "was he--who was the young lady? i--i--" but at that moment there was a stir in the crowd about the building, in which only a little fire flow remained, and through the throng came a disheveled and smoke-blackened young lady and a man whose clothing was also greatly disarrayed. "mary!" cried the young inventor. "tom!" gasped mary nestor. "how did you get here?" "i came to put out the fire," was the answer, and tom cooled down now that he saw mary was unharmed. "how did you happen to be in the building?" "i was in uncle barton's office when the fire broke out," answered mary, "and we were trapped. we had to stay there, with two men from the floor above." "yes, and if they had stayed with us they wouldn't have been hurt," said mr. keith. "but, as it was, they rushed out and tried to get down the stairs. they were caught in the draft and badly burned, i believe. they are bringing them out now." two stretchers, on which lay inert forms, were borne through the now silent crowd by firemen and police officers, and taken to waiting ambulances. "that's field and melling," said mr. keith to tom. "they had offices just above me, and they were trapped, as were mary and i. they acted like big cowards, too, though i hope they're not badly hurt. we stayed inside my office, and we were just giving up the hope of rescue when the fire seemed suddenly to die down." "i should say it was sudden!" cried the enthusiastic local chief. "it was the chemicals from this young man's airship that did the trick!" "oh, tom, was it your new machine?" asked mary. "yes," was the answer. "i was on my way to give a test tomorrow in denton when i saw this fire. i didn't know you were in it, though, mary." "oh, but i'm glad you came," she said. "it was just--awful!" and she clung to tom's arm, trembling. when field and melling, whose rash conduct had caused them to be severely but not fatally burned, had been taken to a hospital and the fire was declared to be practically out, tom made arrangements to leave his airship in the city field all night. "and you and your friends can come to uncle jasper's house," said mary. "of course!" said uncle jasper himself, who had arrived on the scene, attracted to the fire by the news that his niece and mr. keith were in danger. "lots of room! come along! we'll celebrate your rescue." so the crew of the fire-fighting lucifer went with mary, while the firemen, after again thanking tom most enthusiastically, kept on playing, as a precaution, their streams of water on the still hot building. only the central portion of the structure, the stairs and elevator shafts, were burned away. the strong upward draft had kept the fire from spreading much to either side. "it certainly was a fierce blaze, and i'm glad my chemicals took such prompt effect," said tom. "i shall not fear any test after this." it was the day following the night of excitement, and tom and his friends, at the invitation of the fire department of newmarket, were inspecting what was left of the landmark building--and there was considerable left--though access to the upper floors was to be had only by ladders, down which mary and her uncle, barton keith, had been carried. "here are my offices," said mr. keith, who accompanied tom, ned, mr. damon and mr. baxter, as he ushered them into his suite of rooms. "bless my fountain pen! nothing is burned here," cried the eccentric man. "no, the flames just shot upward," explained the fire chief, who was leading the party. "but i think those chemicals of yours would have been just as effective, mr. swift, if the fire had mushroomed out more." "it was hot enough as it was," answered tom, with a grim laugh. "bless my thermometer, too hot--too hot by far!" exclaimed tom swift's eccentric friend, and to this ned nodded an amused agreement. an exclamation from mr. baxter attracted the attention of all in mr. keith's office. the chemist picked up from the floor a bundle of papers. "here is a bundle of documents that some one has dropped, mr. keith," he said. "i guess you forgot to put it in your safe. why--why--no--they aren't yours! they're mine. here are my missing dye formulae! the secret papers i've been searching for so long! the ones i thought field and melling had!" cried mr. baxter. "how--how did they get here?" and, wonderingly, he looked at the bundle of papers he had discovered in such a strange manner. chapter xxv the light of day "what's that? your dye formulae here in my office?" cried mr. keith, for he had heard something of the chemist's loss, though he did not directly associate field and melling with it. "that's what this is! the very papers, containing all the rare secrets, for which i have been so at a loss!" cried the delighted old man. "now i can give to the world the dyes for which it has long been waiting! oh, tom swift, you did more than you knew when you put out this fire!" and he hugged the bundle of smoke-smelling papers to his breast. "but how did they get here?" asked the young inventor. "i know that field and melling had offices in this building. they were starting a new dye concern, and, though mr. baxter and i suspected them of having stolen his secret, we couldn't prove it." "but we can now!" cried mr. baxter. "though i don't know that i'll bother even to accuse them, as long as i have back my previous papers. i see how it happened. they had the formulae in their office. they rushed out with the documents, and, when they found they couldn't get past this floor, they went into mr. keith's office. there, in their excitement, they dropped the papers, and you put the fire out just in time, tom, or they'd have been burned beyond hope of saving. you have given me back something almost as valuable as life, tom swift!" "i'm glad i could render you that service," said the young inventor. "and i had no idea, when i dropped the chemicals, that i was saving someone even more valuable than your secret formulae," and they all knew he referred to mary nestor. an examination of the papers found on mr. keith's office floor showed that not one of the dye secrets was missing. thus mr. baxter came into possession of his own again, and when field and melling were sufficiently recovered they were charged with the theft of the papers. the charge was proved, and, in addition, other accusations were brought against them which insured their remainder in jail for a considerable period. as mr. baxter had suspected, field and melling had, indeed, robbed him of his dye formulae papers. they learned that he possessed them, and they invited him to a night conference with the purpose of robbing him. the fire in their factory was an accident, of which they took advantage to make it appear that the chemist lost his papers in the blaze. but they had taken them, and though they did not mean to leave poor baxter to his fate, that would have been the result of their selfish action had not tom and ned come to the rescue. and it was of this "putting over" that field and melling had boasted, the time tom overheard their talk at meadow inn. as mr. baxter guessed, the letter delivered to him at tom's place was one that the two scoundrels would have retained, as they had others like it, if they had seen it. but a new clerk forwarded it, and the evidence it contained helped to convict field and melling. as for the landmark building, while badly damaged, it would have been worse burned but for tom's prompt action. and though he was more than glad that he had been on hand, he rather regretted that he could not give the test for which he had set out. eventually the building was made more nearly fire-proof and the fire-escapes were rebuilt, and mr. blake did not lose his money, as he had feared, though barton keith said it was more owing to tom swift's good luck than to mr. blake's management. but, as it developed, nothing could have been more opportune than tom's action, for word of his quenching a bigger blaze than he would have had to encounter in the official test reached the denton fire department. as a result there was a conference, and, after only a nominal showing of his apparatus, it was adopted by a unanimous vote. but this occurred some time afterward, for, following his rescue of mary nestor and her uncle and the saving of the lives of field and melling, as well as others in the building, by his prompt smothering of the fire, tom returned to shopton. he and his companions went in the lucifer, minus, now, the big load of chemicals, and on landing near the hangar tom was surprised to see koku the giant running toward him. the big man showed every symptom of great excitement as he cried: "oh, master tom! he see the light ob day! he see the light ob day now! oh, so glad! so glad!" "who sees the light of day?" asked the young inventor. "black rad! eradicate! him eyes all better now! pill man take off cloth. rad--he see light ob day!" "oh, i'm so glad! so thankful!" cried tom. "how i've wished for this! is it really true, koku?" "sure true! pill man say rad see k o now." the giant, doubtless, meant "o k," but tom understood. and it was true, as he learned more directly a little later. when tom entered the room where rad had been kept in the dark ever since the explosion, the colored man looked at his master with seeing eyes, though the apartment was still but dimly lighted. "i's all right ag'in now, massa tom!" cried rad. "see fine! i's all ready to make more smellin' stuff to put out fires!" "you won't have to, rad!" cried tom joyfully. "my chemical extinguisher is completed, and you did your share in making it a success. but i never would have felt like claiming credit for it if you had been--had been left in the dark." "no mo' dark, massa tom!" said eradicate. "i kin see now as good as eber, an' yo'-all won't hab to 'pend on dat lazy good-fo'-nuffin cocoanut!" and he chuckled as he looked at the giant. "huh! lazy!" retorted the big man. "i show you--black coon!" "by golly!" laughed rad. "him an' me good friends now, massa tom. neber i fuss wif koku any mo'! he suah was good to me when i had to stay in de dark!" of course it would be too much to hope that koku and eradicate never again quarreled, but for a long time their warm friendship was a thing at which to marvel, considering the past. "well, i guess this settles it," said tom to ned one day, after going over the day's mail. "settles what, tom?" "my aerial fire-fighting apparatus. here's word from the national fire underwriters association that they have adopted it, and there will be a big reduction of rates in all cities where it is a part of the fire department equipment. it's been as great a success as mr. baxter's new dye." "yes, and he has had wonderful success with that. but what are you going to do now, tom? what new line of endeavor are you going to aim at?" tom arose and reached for his hat. "i am now going," he said, with a grin, "to see somebody on private business." "you are going to see mary nestor!" broke out ned. "i am," said tom. and he did. the tom swift series by victor appleton uniform style of binding. individual colored wrappers. every volume complete in itself. every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. tom swift is a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make the most interesting kind of reading. tom swift and his motor cycle tom swift and his motor boat tom swift and his airship tom swift and his submarine boat tom swift and his electric runabout tom swift and his wireless message tom swift among the diamond makers tom swift in the caves of ice tom swift and his sky racer tom swift and his electric rifle tom swift in the city of gold tom swift and his air glider tom swift in captivity tom swift and his wizard camera tom swift and his great searchlight tom swift and his giant cannon tom swift and his photo telephone tom swift and his aerial warship tom swift and his big tunnel tom swift in the land of wonders tom swift and his war tank tom swift and his air scout tom swift and his undersea search tom swift among the fire fighters tom swift and his electric locomotive tom swift and his flying boat tom swift and his great oil gusher tom swift and his chest of secrets tom swift and his airline express the don sturdy series by victor appleton individual colored wrappers and text illustrations by walter s. rogers every volume complete in itself. in company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other a noted scientist, don sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures. don sturdy on the desert of mystery; an engrossing tale of the sahara desert, of encounters with wild animals and crafty arabs. don sturdy with the big snake hunters; don's uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest snakes to be found in south america--to be delivered alive! don sturdy in the tombs of gold; a fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the valley of kings in egypt. don sturdy across the north pole; a great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship of the explorers. don sturdy in the land of volcanoes; an absorbing tale of adventures among the volcanoes of alaska. don sturdy in the port of lost ships; this story is just full of exciting and fearful experiences on the sea. don sturdy among the gorillas; a thrilling story of adventure in darkest africa. don is carried over a mighty waterfall into the heart of gorilla land. the radio boys series (trademark registered) by allen chapman author of the "railroad series," etc. individual colored wrappers. illustrated. every volume complete in itself. a new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in sending and receiving--telling how small and large amateur sets can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and adventure out of what they did. each volume from first to last is so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate, we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight. each volume has a foreword by jack binns, the well-known radio expert. the radio boys' first wireless the radio boys at ocean point the radio boys at the sending station the radio boys at mountain pass the radio boys trailing a voice the radio boys with the forest rangers the radio boys with the iceberg patrol the radio boys with the flood fighters the radio boys on signal island the radio boys in gold valley the railroad series by allen chapman author of the "radio boys," etc. uniform style of binding, illustrated. every volume complete in itself. in this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great american railroad system. there are adventures in abundance--railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a "wildcat" locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board--but there is much more than this--the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through "on time" in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin. ralph of the round house; or, bound to become a railroad man. ralph in the switch tower; or, clearing the track. ralph on the engine; or, the young fireman of the limited mail. ralph on the overland express; or, the trials and triumphs of a young engineer. ralph, the train dispatcher; or, the mystery of the pay car. ralph on the army train; or, the young railroader's most daring exploit. ralph on the midnight flyer; or, the wreck at shadow valley. ralph and the missing mail pouch; or, the stolen government bonds. the riddle club books by alice dale hardy individual colored wrappers. attractively illustrated. every volume complete in itself. here is as ingenious a series of books for little folks as has ever appeared since "alice in wonderland." the idea of the riddle books is a little group of children--three girls and three boys decide to form a riddle club. each book is full of the adventures and doings of these six youngsters, but as an added attraction each book is filled with a lot of the best riddles you ever heard. the riddle club at home an absorbing tale that all boys and girls will enjoy reading. how the members of the club fixed up a clubroom in the larue barn, and how they, later on, helped solve a most mysterious happening, and how one of the members won a valuable prize, is told in a manner to please every young reader. the riddle club in camp the club members went into camp on the edge of a beautiful lake. here they had rousing good times swimming, boating and around the campfire. they fell in with a mysterious old man known as the hermit of triangle island. nobody knew his real name or where he came from until the propounding of a riddle solved these perplexing questions. the riddle club through the holidays this volume takes in a great number of winter sports, including skating and sledding and the building of a huge snowman. it also gives the particulars of how the club treasurer lost the dues entrusted to his care and what the melting of the great snowman revealed. the riddle club at sunrise beach this volume tells how the club journeyed to the seashore and how they not only kept up their riddles but likewise had good times on the sand and on the water. once they got lost in a fog and are marooned on an island. here they made a discovery that greatly pleased the folks at home. firemen and their exploits: with some account _of the rise and development of fire-brigades, of various appliances for saving life at fires and extinguishing the flames_. by f. m. holmes, author of "engineers and their triumphs," "miners and their works underground," etc. london: s. w. partridge & co., & , paternoster row. . [illustration: the new horsed fire-escape, designed by commander wells, chief officer of the metropolitan fire-brigade.] [illustration] preface. the present volume, though complete in itself, forms one of a series seeking to describe in a popular and non-technical manner the triumphs of engineers. the same style has, therefore, been followed which was adopted in the preceding volumes. the profession of engineering has exercised great influence on the work of fire extinguishment, as on some other things; and the subject is, therefore, not inappropriate to the series of books of which the volume forms part. the story of the fire-engine begins in egypt about a hundred and fifty years before christ. hero of alexandria describes a contrivance called the "siphon used in conflagrations," and some persons are of opinion that he was not unacquainted with the use of the air-chest. but it was not until nearly two thousand years later--that is, about the close of the seventeenth century--that the air-chamber and the hose seem to have been brought into anything like general use,--if, indeed, the use can be called general even then. much of the story is involved in obscurity, or it may be there was little story to tell; but by the year , newsham had constructed satisfactory fire-engines in london; and braithwaite the engineer--who with ericsson constructed the "novelty" to compete with stephenson's "rocket" at the locomotive contest at rainhill in --built a steam fire-engine about , though it was not until thirty years, or more, later that the use of the machine became general. as to fire-brigades, the insurance companies, which began to appear after the great fire of , were wont to employ separate staffs of men to extinguish fires; but by the year , the more important had united, and the london fire-brigade had been formed under the control of mr. james braidwood. many provincial towns followed the metropolitan model in forming their brigades. together with the development of the fire-engine and of efficient brigades has been the introduction of various other appliances, such as fire-escapes, chemical extinctors, water-towers, and the great improvement in the water supply. nothing is more striking in the history of conflagrations than the comparison between the dry state of the new river pipes at the great fire of and the copious flood of five million gallons poured into the city in a few hours by the same company to quench the great cripplegate fire of november, . but, indeed, the whole realm of fire extinguishment is a world of constant improvement and strain after perfection. to describe something of these efforts, and trace out the main features of their story, is the object of the present volume. [illustration] contents. chap. page i. the horsed fire-escape appears. an exciting scene ii. the beginning of the story. hero's "siphon." how the ancients strove to extinguish fires iii. in mediÆval days. an epoch-making fire iv. the pearl-button maker's contrivance. the modern fire-engine v. extinguishment by company. the beginnings of fire insurance vi. the story of james braidwood vii. the thames on fire. the death of braidwood viii. a perilous situation. captain shaw. improvements of the metropolitan board and of the london county council ix. a visit to headquarters x. how recruits are trained xi. some stories of the brigade xii. fire-escapes and fire-floats xiii. chemical fire-engines. fire-proofing, or muslin that will not flame xiv. the work of the london salvage corps. the great cripplegate fire xv. across the water [illustration: off to the fire.] firemen and their exploits. chapter i. the horsed fire-escape appears. an exciting scene. "shall we have a quiet night, jack?" "can't say," replied jack philosophically; "i take it as it comes." clang! even as he spoke, the electric fire-alarm rang through the silent station. the men sprang toward the stables, glancing at the bell-tablet as they ran. the tablet revealed the name of the street whence the alarm had been sounded; and at the clang the horses tossed their heads and pawed the ground, mad to be off. they knew the sound of the alarm as well as the men themselves. "will it be a life-saving job, d'ye think, mate?" "may be," was jack's sententious reply; "you never know." the horses were standing ready harnessed, and were unloosed at once. they were led to the engine, the traces hooked on, the crew, as the staff of firemen is called, took their places, and the doors in front of them were opened smartly by rope and pulley. "ready?" "aye, aye, sir!" "right away!" in less than two minutes from the ringing of the alarm, the engine was rushing out of the station, and tearing along london streets with exciting clatter, the firemen shouting their warning cry, and sparks flying from the funnel. soon the engine fire was roaring below, and the steam was hissing for its work. how had the firemen obtained a blazing fire and hot steam so soon? when the engine was waiting in the station, a lighted gas-jet, kept near the boiler, maintained the water at a high temperature; and while the horses were being hooked on, a large fusee, called a "steam-match," had been promptly ignited, and dropped flaming down the funnel. the match fell through the water-tube boiler to the fuel in the fire-box below; the draught caused by the rush of the engine through the air helped the fire; and the water being already so hot, steam pressure soon arose. "the new escape's close behind!" cried one of the men, as the engine hurried along. something, unusual then, to london streets was rapidly following the steamer. in the gloom, it looked like a dim spectral ladder projecting over the horses in front, and several men could be seen sitting on the carriage conveying it. "she's a-comin' on pretty fast," exclaimed one of the men; "she travels as smart as an engine." indeed, the new escape was now so near, that it could be seen more clearly. it was securely mounted on a low car, and its large wheels hung over the end at the back, not far above the ground. designed by commander wells, chief officer of the london fire-brigade, it was brought into use in the brigade in july, . but now it was nearing the fire, and cheers and cries rang loudly from the excited crowd gathered at the spot. "make way for the escape! hurrah! hurrah!" no wonder the crowd were excited. on the second-floor window of a large building appeared three white, eager faces, framed by the dark sashes, and crying eagerly for help. cheer after cheer rent the air, as the escape drew up opposite, and was slipped from its car; then, resting on its own wheels, it was pitched near the burning building, and its ladders run up to the window. the policemen could scarce keep back the thronging crowd. away go the firemen up the rungs of the ladder, and amid continued cheers, and cries, and great excitement approach the sufferers in their peril. "they've got one!" shouts an excited voice. "aye, and there's another!" cries a second spectator. "they're all three saved!" vociferates a third; and loud cheers greet the firemen's triumph. it was a smart piece of work; and with the rescued persons thrown over their shoulders in the efficient manner they are taught at drill, the firemen carefully descend the ladder one after the other, and amid shouts and plaudits arrive safely on the ground. the flames dart out of the building more fiercely than ever, as if in anger at losing their prey; the glare and heat grow more intense; the smoke rolls off in dense volumes; the fire is raging furiously. engine after engine rushes fast to the spot, the loud, alarming cries of "fire-ire! fire-ire!" echoing shrilly along the lamp-lighted thoroughfares; fireman after fireman leaps from the arriving engines, and with their bright brass helmets flashing in the glare are quickly stationed round the huge conflagration. the "brigade call" has been telephoned all round london, and from east and west, and north and south, engines and firemen have hurried to the spot. steamers with sparks flying, steam hissing, and whistles shrieking; manuals with the clatter of their handles; hose-carts with their lengths of flexible pipes; and tall ladders of fire-escapes, useful, even when no life is to be saved, as high points of vantage whence firemen can direct streams of water straight into the raging fire,--all--all are here. one after another they arrive, until the word is passed that more than twenty engines and a hundred and twenty firemen are concentrated on the spot. hydrants also are at work. they are appliances, permanently fixed under the pathway, from which firemen can obtain a powerful pressure of water, ranging from thirty-five to seventy pounds per square inch. from the steamers and the hydrants the quantity of water poured on the huge fire is now immense, and the steam and smoke roll off in immense volumes. crash! "there goes the glass!" cries a fireman; and a few moments later it is rumoured that one of the brigade has been badly cut in the hands. the skylight had broken and fallen upon him, showing that it is not only from heat and smoke that the men are likely to suffer, but also from falling parts of the burning building. the huge fire is fought at every possible point. it is prevented from spreading to surrounding buildings by deluging them with water, and strenuous efforts are made to quench it at its source. steadily in the growing light of day the firemen work on; but the morning had far advanced before the great conflagration was fully extinguished and the london salvage corps were left in possession of the ruined premises. "well, you've had your first big fire, newall; how d'ye like it?" "oh, it's all right, mate; it's pretty hard work, but i don't mind it." "'tain't all over yet," said jack cheerfully; "there's this 'ere hose to be scrubbed and cleaned, and hung up in the well to dry. i reckon it will be four or five o'clock before we can turn in." jack was right. the wet hose had to be suitably treated to keep it in good condition, and the engines carefully prepared for the next alarm that might arise; and when the men turned in to rest, they slept sound enough. this story not only illustrates the work of the london fire-brigade, but also points to a notable fact in its history. that fact is the introduction of the horsed fire-escape. the first rescue in london by this valuable appliance took place on october th, . there were, in fact, two disastrous fires raging at nearly the same time on that day, and the new appliance was used at one of these. early in the morning, a disastrous fire broke out in manresa road, chelsea. the conflagration originated in the centre of a large timber-yard, and spread so rapidly that a very serious fire was soon in progress. engines and firemen hurried up from various quarters, until sixteen steamers, three manuals, and more than a hundred men were on the spot. the fire was completely surrounded, and the enormous quantity of water poured upon the blazing wood soon took effect. but before all the engines had left, news came that a still more serious fire had broken out in oxford street. the extensive premises of messrs. e. tautz & co., wholesale tailors, were discovered to be in flames, and the alarm was brought to the fire-stations from various sources. the orchard street fire-alarm rang into manchester square station, and resulted in the horsed escape being turned out; then another fire-alarm rang into great marlborough street fire-station, and the horsed escape had hurried from this point also. the appliance was new, and for some time the men of the brigade had cherished a laudable ambition to be the first to use the escape in what they call a life-saving job. and it was only by an untoward chance, or simple fortune of war, that the men of the manchester square station, who were first on the spot, missed the coveted honour. when they arrived on the scene, no sign of fire was visible in oxford street itself, and the firemen were pointed to north row, one of the boundaries of the burning block behind. they made their way thither, searching for inmates, but were driven back by the fierce flames. meantime, the three persons sleeping on the premises--the foreman, mr. harry smith, his wife, and their little son, aged six years--had been endeavouring to escape by the staircase, but had been driven back by the fire. mr. smith had been awakened by the dense smoke filling the room, and he aroused his wife at once and took the boy in his arms. not being able to escape by the staircase, they hurried to the front of the large block of buildings, shutting the doors after them as they went. so it happened that they appeared at the second-floor windows facing oxford street just as the horsed escape from great marlborough street fire-station hurried up. a scene of great excitement followed. the firemen ran the ladders from the escape to the building, and brought down all three persons in safety; but mrs. smith unfortunately had suffered a burn on the left leg. it is probable that, but for the rapidity with which the horsed escapes arrived on the scene, the family might have suffered much more severely; for the fire was very fierce, and soon appeared in oxford street. the honour, therefore, of the first rescue by the new horsed escape rests with the great marlborough street station, though the efforts of their brave comrades of the manchester square station should always be remembered in connection therewith. commander wells appreciated this; for he telephoned a special message to superintendent smith, saying: "please let your men understand that i thoroughly appreciate and approve their action on arrival at the fire this morning, although the honour of rescue falls by the fortune of war to the second horse-escape." the fire proved very disastrous, and a large force was speedily concentrated. it was eventually subdued; but it was about two o'clock in the afternoon before the brigade were able to leave, a large warehouse belonging to messrs. peel & co., boot-makers, being also involved, and other buildings more or less damaged. the horsed fire-escape, which was found so useful on this occasion, is but one among several appliances for saving life and fighting the fire. these appliances are worked by highly-trained brigades of firemen, whose efficient organization, well-considered methods, and ingenious apparatus form one of the remarkable features of the time. they did not reach their present position in a day. indeed, a stirring story of human effort and of high-spirited enterprise lies behind the well-equipped brigades of the time. step by step men have won great victories over difficulty and danger; step by step they have profited by terrible disasters, which have spurred them on to fresh efforts. what, then, is this story of the fight against fire? how have the fire-services of the day reached their present great position? chapter ii. the beginning of the story. hero's "siphon." how the ancients strove to extinguish fires. no one knows who invented the modern fire-engine. the earliest machine, so far as is generally known, was described by hero of alexandria about a hundred and fifty years before christ. he called it "the siphon used in conflagrations"; and it seems to have been originated by ctesibius, a greek mechanician living in egypt, whose pupil hero became. it is very interesting to notice how this contrivance worked. it was fitted with two cylinders, each having a piston connected by a beam. this beam raised and lowered each piston alternately, and with the help of valves--which only opened the way of the jet--propelled water to the fire, but not continuously. the method must have proved very inefficient, especially when compared with the constant stream thrown by the modern fire-engine. indeed, it is this power to project a steady and continuous stream which chiefly differentiates the modern fire-engine from such machines as hero's siphon. how far this siphon or any similar contrivance was used in ancient times we cannot say; but no doubt buckets in some form or other were the first appliances used for extinguishing conflagrations. whenever mankind saw anything valuable burning, the first impulse would be to stamp it out, or quench the flame by throwing water on it; and the water would be conveyed by the readiest receptacle to hand; then when men had discovered the use of the pump, or the squirt, they would naturally endeavour to turn these appliances to account. in some places the use of water-buckets was organized. juvenal alludes to the instructions of the opulent licinus, who bade his "servants watch by night, the water-buckets being set ready"; the wealthy man fearing "for his amber, and his statues, and his phrygian column, and his ivory and broad tortoise-shell." then pliny and juvenal use a term--_hama_--which signifies an appliance for extinguishing fires; but the true rendering seems to be in dispute, some translators being content to describe it simply as a water-vessel. pliny the younger refers to _siphones_, or pipes, being employed to extinguish fires; but we do not know how they were used, or whether they resembled hero's siphon. in fact, the earliest references to fire-engines by roman writers are regarded by some as being merely allusions to aqueduct-pipes for bringing water to houses, rather than to a special appliance. and from seneca's remark, "that owing to the height of the houses in rome it was impossible to save them when they took fire," we may gather that any appliances that may have been in use were very inefficient. a curious primitive contrivance is described by apollodorus, who was architect to trajan. it consisted of leathern bags or bottles, having pipes attached; and when the bottles were squeezed, the water gushed through the pipes to extinguish the flames. augustus was so enterprising as to organize seven bands of firemen, each of which protected two districts of rome. each band was in charge of a _tribunus_, or captain, and the whole force was under a _præfectum vigilum_, or prefect of the watch; though what apparatus they employed--whether buckets or pipe-bags, syringes or hero's siphon--we do not know. but these appliances, or some of them, were no doubt in use at the great fire of rome in a.d. . in july of that year--the tenth of the reign of the infamous emperor nero--two-thirds of the city was destroyed. the fire broke out at a number of wooden shops built against the side of the great circus, and near to the low-lying ground between the palatine and the cælian hills. the east wind blew the flames onward to the corner of the palatine hill, and there the fire blazed in two directions. it gained such enormous power, that stonework split and fell before it like glass, and building after building succumbed, until at one point it was only stopped by the river, and at another by frowning cliffs. for six awful days and seven nights the fire raged, and then, when it was supposed to have been extinguished, it burst forth again for three more days. the sight must have been appalling. we can picture the huge sheets and tongues of flame sweeping ever onward, the fearful heat, and the immense volumes of smoke which mounted upward and obscured the sky. the panic-stricken people fled to the imperial gardens, but whispered that nero himself had originated the fire. to divert suspicion, he spread reports that the christians were the culprits; and they were treated with atrocious cruelty, some being wrapped in fabric covered with pitch and burnt in the emperor's grounds. the guilt of nero remains a moot point; but he seems to have acted with some amount of liberality to the sufferers, though his acts of humanity did not free his name from the foul suspicion. the conflagration itself stands out as one of the most terrible in history. before its furious rage the capable romans seem to have been reduced to impotence. their organization, if they had any, seems to have been powerless; and their appliances, if they used any, seem to have been worthless. we are entitled to draw the deduction that they had no machine capable of throwing a steady, continuous stream from a comparatively safe distance. no band of men, however strong and determined, could have stood their ground sufficiently near the fierce fire to throw water from buckets, pipe-bags, or even portable pumps. for small fires they might prove of service, if employed early; but for large conflagrations they would be worthless. and if rome, the mistress of the world, was so ill-provided, what must have been the condition of other places? we may infer, therefore, that the means of fire extinction in the ancient world were miserably inadequate. had mediæval europe anything better to show? chapter iii. in mediÆval days. an epoch-making fire. "prithee, good master, what's o' fire?" "a baker's house they say, name of farryner." "faith! it's in pudding lane, nigh fish street hill," quoth another spectator, coming up. "they say the oven was heated overmuch." "it's an old house, and a poor one," said another speaker. "'twill burn like touchwood this dry weather." "aye, it have been dry this august, sure enow; and i reckon the rain won't quench it to-night." and the speaker looked up to the starlit sky, where never a cloud could be seen. "have they the squirts at work, good-man?" "aye, no doubt. 'twill be quenched by morning, neighbour. faith! 'tis just an old worm-eaten house ablaze, and that's the tale of it." but it was not "the tale of it." a strong east wind was blowing, and the hungry flames spread quickly to neighbouring buildings. these houses were old and partly decayed, and filled with combustible material, such as oil, pitch, and hemp used in shipwright's work. in a comparatively short time the ward of billingsgate was all ablaze, and the fierce fire, roaring along thames street, attacked st. magnus church at bridgefoot. before the night was far spent, fire-bells were clashing loudly from the steeples, alarming cries of "fire! fire!" resounded through the streets, and numbers of people in the old narrow-laned city of london were rushing half dressed from their beds. it was the night of saturday, september nd, , a night ever memorable in the history of london. about ten o'clock, any lingerers on london bridge--where houses were then built--might have seen a bright flame shoot upward to the north. they probably conversed as we have described, and retired to bed. but the fire spread from the baker's shop, as we have seen, and the confusion and uproar of that terrible night grew ever more apace. half-dazed persons crowded the streets, encumbered with household goods, and the narrow thoroughfares soon became choked with the struggling throng. but the flames seized upon the goods, and the panic-stricken people fled for their lives before the fierce attack. the lurid light fell on their white faces, and the terrible crackling and roaring of the flames mingled with their shrieks and shouts as they hurried along. now the night would be obscured by dense clouds of thick smoke, and anon the fire would flash forth again more luridly than ever. to add to the alarm, the cry would ring through the streets, or would be passed from mouth to mouth, that the pipes of the new river company--then recently laid--were found to be dry. with the suspicion of romanist plots prevailing, the scarcity of water and the origin of the fire were put down to fanatical incendiaries; or, as an old writer quaintly expressed it, "this doth smell of a popish design." when the next morning dawned, the terrible conflagration, so far from having been extinguished, was raging furiously; the little jets and bucketsful of water, if any had been used, proved of no avail; and the narrow streets became, as it were, great sheets of flame. but was nothing done to extinguish the fire? what appliances would the londoners have had? here, perhaps, in the early hours of the conflagration, you might have seen a group of three men at the corner of a street working a hand-squirt. this instrument was of brass, and measured about feet long. two men held it by a handle on each side; and when the nozzle had been dipped into a bucket or a cistern near, and the water had flowed in, they would raise the squirt, while the third man pushed up the piston to discharge the water. the squirt might hold about four quarts of water. [illustration: a city fire two hundred years ago.] if one man worked the squirt, he would hold it up by the handles, and push the end of the piston, which was generally guarded by a button, against his chest. but, at the best, it is obvious that the hand-squirt was a very inadequate contrivance. not far distant you might also have seen a similar squirt, mounted in a wheeled reservoir or cistern, the pistons, perhaps, worked by levers; and, possibly, in yet another street you might have noticed a pump of some kind, also working in a cistern; while here and there you might have come upon lines of persons passing buckets from hand to hand, bringing water either from the wells in the city, or from the river, or actually throwing water on the fire. such were the appliances which we gather were then used for extinguishing fires. but such contrivances as were then in the neighbourhood of fish street hill appear to have been burnt before they could be used, and the people seem to have been too paralyzed with terror to have attempted any efforts. the suggestion was made to pull down houses, so as to create gaps over which the fire could not pass; and this suggestion no doubt indicates one of the methods of former days. but the method was not at first successful on this occasion. thus, pepys, in his diary, tells us, under date of the sunday: "at last [i] met my lord mayor in canning street, like a man spent, with a handkercher about his neck. to the king's message [to pull down houses before the fire] he cried, like a fainting woman, 'lord! what can i do? i am spent: people will not obey me. i have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it.'" this is a graphic little picture of the bewilderment of the people; and pepys goes on to say that, as he walked home, he saw "people all almost distracted, and no manner of means used to quench the fire." [illustration: the great fire of london (from a contemporary print).] in a similar manner, another famous eye-witness, john evelyn, notes in his diary that "some stout seamen proposed, early enough to have saved nearly the whole city," the destruction of houses to make a wide gap; "but this some tenacious and avaricious men, aldermen, etc., would not permit, because their houses must have been of the first." the main idea, therefore, of extinguishing the fire seems to have lain in the pulling down of houses to produce a wide gap over which the fire could not pass. but at first the civic authorities shrank from such bold measures. on sunday, then, the flames were rushing fiercely onward, the ancient city echoing to their roaring and to the cries and shrieks of the populace. the houses by london bridge, in thames street, and the neighbourhood were but heaps of smouldering ruins. the homeless people sought refuge in the fields outside the city by islington and highgate, and the city train-bands were placed under arms to watch for incendiaries; while, as if the horror of the terrible fire was not enough, numbers of ruffians were found engaged in the dastardly work of plunder. the clanging of the fire-bells, the crackling of the huge fire, the cries and curses of the people, made such a frightful din as can scarce be imagined; while many churches, attended on the previous sunday by quiet worshippers, were now blazing in the fire. that night the scene was appalling, and yet magnificent. an immense sheet of fire rose to the sky, rendering the heavens for miles like a vast lurid dome. the conflagration flamed a whole mile in diameter, hundreds of buildings were burning, and the high wind bent the huge flames into a myriad curious shapes, and bore great flakes of fire on to the roofs of other houses, kindling fresh flames as they fell. for ten miles distant the country was illumined as at noonday, while the smoke rolled, it is said, for fifty miles. evelyn describes the scene in his diary, under date september rd: "i had public prayers at home. the fire continuing, after dinner i took coach with my wife and son and went to the bankside in southwark, where we beheld the dismal spectacle, the whole city in dreadful flames near the water-side; all the houses from the bridge, all thames street, and upwards towards cheapside, down to the three cranes, were now consumed: and so returned exceeding astonished what would become of the rest. "the fire having continued all this night (if i may call that night which was light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner) when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very dry season; i went on foot to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the city burning from cheapside to the thames and all along cornhill.... here we saw the thames covered with goods floating, all the barges and boats laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other [side], the carts, etc., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strewed with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seen the like since the foundation of it, nor be outdone till the universal conflagration of it! all the sky was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, and the light seen above forty miles round about for many nights. god grant mine eyes may never behold the like, who now saw above ten thousand houses all in one flame; the noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like a hideous storm, and the air all about so hot and inflamed that at the last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forced to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for near two miles in length and one in breadth. the clouds also of smoke were dismal, and reached, upon computation, near fifty-six miles in length. thus i left it this afternoon burning, a resemblance of sodom or the last day." on monday the royal exchange perished in the sea of flame. by evening cheapside had fallen, and beside the water's edge it was blazing in fleet street; while it had also burned backward, even against the wind, along the eastern part of thames street, toward tower hill. the heat was so terrible that persons could not approach within a furlong, while the very pathways were glowing with fiery heat. some persons chartered barges and boats, and, filling them with such property as they could save, sent them down the thames. others paid large sums for carts to convey property far beyond the city walls. a piteous exodus of sick and sound, aged and young, crawled or fled to the spacious fields beyond the gates. the ground was strewn with movables for miles, and tents were erected to shelter the burned-out multitude. at length st. paul's succumbed. it had stood tall and strong in the space of its churchyard, lifting its head loftily amid the billows of flame; but at last the terrible fire, driven toward it by the east wind, lapped the roof, and seized some scaffold-poles standing around. the lead on the roof melted in the fierce heat, and ran down the walls in streams; the stones split, and pieces flew off with reports like cannon-shots; and beams fell crashing like thunder to the ground. evelyn notes, under date september th: "the burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the inner temple; all fleet street, the old bailey, ludgate hill, warwick lane, newgate, paul's chain, watling street now flaming, and most of it reduced to ashes; the stones of paul's flew like granados, the melting lead running down the streets in a stream, and the very pavements glowing with fiery redness, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopped all the passages, so that no help could be applied. the eastern wind still more impetuously driving the flames forward. nothing but the almighty power of god was able to stop them, for vain was the help of man." on the eastern side of st. paul's, the old guildhall fell to the fire. on tuesday night, it was, says a contemporary writer, the rev. thomas vincent, in a little volume published a year afterwards, "a fearfull spectacle, which stood the whole body of it together in view, for several hours together, after the fire had taken it, without flames (i suppose because the timber was such solid oake), in a bright shining coale as if it had been a pallace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass." the fire had now become several miles in circumference. it had reached the temple at the western end of fleet street by the river, and was blazing up by fetter lane to holborn; then backward, its course lay along snow hill, newgate street--newgate prison being consumed--and so past the guildhall and coleman street, on to bishopsgate street and leadenhall street. it seemed as though all london would be burnt, and that it would spread westward even to whitehall and westminster abbey. but now the king (charles ii.) and his brother the duke of york and their courtiers were fully aroused; and it must have become clear to even the meanest intelligence that houses must be blown down on an extensive scale, in order to create large gaps over which the fire could not pass. all through tuesday night, therefore, the sound of explosions mingled with the roaring of the fire. by the assistance of soldiers, and by the influence of the royal personages, buildings were blown up by gunpowder in the neighbourhood of temple bar, which then, of course, spanned the western end of fleet street; at pye corner near the entrance to smithfield, and also at other points of vantage. these bold means, together, no doubt, with the falling of the wind, and also the presence of some strong brick buildings, as by the temple, checked and stopped the fire. some began now to bestir themselves, "who hitherto," remarks evelyn, "had stood as men intoxicated with their hands across." on the wednesday, therefore, the fire extended no farther west than the temple, and no farther north than pye corner near smithfield; but within this area it still burned, and the heat was still so great that no one would venture near it. during the wednesday, the king was most energetic. he journeyed round the fire twice, and kept workers at their posts, and assisted in providing food and shelter for the people. orders were sent into the country for provisions and tents, and also for boards wherewith to build temporary dwellings. on thursday the great fire was everywhere extinguished; but on friday the ruins were still smouldering and smoking, and the ground so hot that a pedestrian could not stand still for long on one spot. from st. paul's churchyard, where the ground rises to about the greatest height in the old city, the eye would range over a terrible picture of widespread destruction, from the temple to the tower and from the thames to smithfield. two hundred thousand homeless persons were camping out, or lying beside such household goods as they had been able to save, in the fields by islington and highgate. it has been computed that no fewer than , houses, churches, including st. paul's, streets, and several public buildings, together with four stone bridges and three of the city gates, etc., were destroyed, while the fire swept over an area of acres. now, in connection with this great calamity, we cannot find any appliance at work corresponding to our modern fire-engine. the inhabitants of london seem to have been almost, if not quite, as badly provided against fire as rome in the days of nero. in fact, the chief protection in early days in england seems to have been a practice of the old proverb that prevention is better than cure, care being exercised to regulate the fires used for domestic purposes: we see an instance in the arrangement of the curfew-bell, or _couvre-feu_, a bell to extinguish all fires at eight at night. still, when conflagrations did occur, we may suppose that buckets and hand-squirts, as soon as mankind came to construct them, were the appliances used. entries for fire-extinguishing machines of some sort have been found in the accounts of many german towns: for instance, in the building accounts of augsburg for , "instruments of fire" or "water-syringes" are mentioned. fires appear to have been very frequent in germany in the latter part of the fifteenth and in the sixteenth century. and though we do not know much of the contrivances used in europe in the middle ages, it is not until that we have any reliable record of a machine at all resembling hero's siphon on the one hand, or the modern fire-engine on the other. this record is given by caspar schott, a jesuit, and tells of an engine constructed by hautsch of nuremberg, a city long famous for mechanical contrivances. the machine was really a large water-cistern drawn on a wheeled car, or sledge; and the secret of its propulsive power, schott supposes was a horizontal cylinder containing a piston and producing an action like a pump. the cistern measured feet long by feet high, and feet wide; its small width being probably designed for entering narrow streets. it was operated by twenty-eight men, and it forced a stream of water an inch thick to a height of about eighty feet. hautsch desired to keep the methods of its construction secret; but, apparently, it was not furnished with the important air-chamber, and does not seem to have differed very materially from hero's siphon. schott also says he had seen one forty years before at königshofen. notwithstanding, therefore, the danger of great conflagrations, mankind does not seem to have made much progress in the construction of fire-engines from the days of ctesibius until the time of charles ii., a period of about eighteen hundred years. on the other hand, we must remember that syringes and water-buckets can be of very great service when promptly and efficiently used. even to-day london firemen find similar appliances of great value for small conflagrations in rooms. but we get a vivid little picture of the helplessness of even the seventeenth-century public before a fire of any size, in a description left by wallington of a fire on old london bridge in . houses were then built on the bridge, and wallington says: "all the conduits near were opened, and the pipes that carried the water through the streets were cut open, and the water swept down with brooms with help enough; but it was the will of god it should not prevail. for the three engines which are such excellent things that nothing that ever was devised could do so much good, yet none of them did prosper, for they were all broken, and the tide was very low that they could get no water, and the pipes that were cut yielded but littel. some ladders were broke to the hurt of many; for several had their legges broke, some their arms; and some their ribes, and many lost their lives." more than fifty houses, we may add, were destroyed by this fire. of what character were the engines to which he refers we cannot tell. we do not know whether any engine like hautsch's was established in london at this time, or at the date of the great fire; but if so, it was not apparently much in vogue. it must be remembered that the term "engine" was applied indiscriminately to any sort of mechanical contrivance, and even to a skilful plan or method (shakespeare uses the word to designate an instrument of torture); if, therefore, the word is used for a fire-extinguishing appliance by any old writer, it does not follow that the so-called engine would resemble hautsch's machine or a modern fire-engine. [illustration: fire-extinguishing appliances, squirts, buckets, etc., a.d. .] judging from some instructions of the corporation after the fire, hand-squirts and ladders and buckets were still chiefly relied upon in . the instructions are, moreover, interesting, as showing what action the corporation took after the great fire. the city was divided into four districts, each of which was to be furnished with eight hundred leathern buckets, fifty ladders varying in sizes from to feet long, also "so many hand-squirts of brass as will furnish two for every parish, four-and-twenty pickaxe-sledges, and forty shod shovels." further, each of the twelve companies was to provide thirty buckets, one engine, six pickaxe-sledges, three ladders, and two hand-squirts of brass. again, "all the other inferior companies" were to provide similar appliances; and aldermen were likewise to provide buckets and hand-squirts of brass. the pickaxes and shovels were for use in demolishing houses and walls if necessary, or dealing with ruins; and though some kind of engine is mentioned, we know not whether it was a hand-squirt mounted in a cistern, or some sort of portable pump. we may regard these regulations, however, as fixing for us the hand-squirt and the bucket as the principal means of fire extinguishment in britain up to that date. but now a great development was at hand, and a new chapter was to commence in the story. chapter iv. the pearl-button maker's contrivance. the modern fire-engine. how to force a continuous stream of water on the fire! that was the problem which puzzled an unknown inventor about the year . he probably saw that hitherto the appliances for extinguishing conflagrations failed at this point, and we may suppose that he cudgelled his brains to hit upon the right remedy. then one day, no one seems to know when, he thought of inventing, or adapting, the compressed air-chamber to a sort of portable pump, and, behold!-- the modern fire-engine was born! the invention was introduced, probably, after the great fire, because authorities describe it as first mentioned in the french _journal des savans_ in , and perrault states that an engine with an air-chamber was kept at paris for the protection of the royal library in . if, therefore, hero knew of the air-chamber, as some assert, it does not appear to have been much used. but probably the great disaster in london stirred invention, and the addition of the air-chamber was the result. it may not, however, have been a distinct invention, for an air-chamber had been found of great value in various hydraulic machines. what, then, is this invention, and what is its great value to a fire-engine? briefly, it enables a steady and continuous stream of water to be thrown on a fire. it is the vital principle of the modern fire-engine, and renders it distinctly different from all squirts, syringes, and portable pumps preceding it. instead of an unequal and intermittent supply, sometimes, no doubt, falling far short of the fire, we have now a persistent stream, which can be continuously directed to any point, in reach, with precision and efficiency. how, then, are these results obtained? how does the air-chamber work? it depends on the elasticity and power of compressed air. the water, when drawn from the source of supply by two pistons, working alternately, is driven into a strong chamber filled with air. the air becomes compressed, and is driven to one part of the chamber; but when it is forced back to occupy about one-third of the whole space, the air is so compressed that, like the proverbial worm which will turn at last, it exerts a pressure on the water which had been driving it back. if the water had no means of escape, the chamber would soon burst; but the water finds its way through the delivery-hose. if the hose issue from the top of the chamber, it is fitted with a connecting pipe reaching nearly to the bottom to prevent any escape of air. now, as long as the pumps force the water into the air-chamber to the necessary level--that is, to about two-thirds of the space--the pressure is practically continuous, and thus a constant jet of water is maintained through the hose. the ordinary pressure of air is about · pounds per square inch; and when compressed to one-half its usual bulk, its elasticity or power of pressure is doubled, and of course is rendered greater if still further compressed. this power, then, of the compressibility and elasticity of air is the secret of the fire-engine air-chamber; but though introduced about , it was not until that such engines seem to have become more general. about that date, leupold built engines in germany with a strongly-soldered copper chest, and one piston and cylinder, the machine throwing a continuous and steady jet of water some twenty or thirty feet high. in the meantime, what was being done in england? here again the story is obscure; but we imagine the course of events to have been something like this: in the dismal days after the great fire, people began to cast about for means to prevent a recurrence of so widespread and terrible a calamity. fire-insurance offices were organized, and they undertook the extinguishment of fires. it is not unreasonable to suppose that in some form--perhaps by offering prizes, perhaps by simply calling attention to the need for improvement, perhaps by disseminating information such as of the engine mentioned by perrault at paris--these offices stimulated invention; perhaps the memory of the great fire was enough to stir ingenious effort without their aid. now, there was a pearl-button maker named newsham, at cloth fair, not far distant from pye corner, who obtained patents for improvements in fire-engines in , and again in ; while the _daily journal_ of april th, , gives a report of one of his engines which discharged water as high as the grasshopper on the royal exchange. this apparently was not only due to the great compression of air in the air-chamber, but also to the peculiar shape he gave to the nozzle of the jet; and it is said he was able to throw water to a height of a hundred and thirty feet or more. in france a man named perier seems to have been busy with fire-engines, though how far he worked independently of others we cannot tell. the hose and suction-pipe are said to have been invented by two men named van der hide, inspectors of fire-extinguishing machines at amsterdam about . the hose was of leather, and enabled the water to be discharged close to the fire. it is worthy of note that this invention also appears to have been after the great fire of london. remembering, therefore, that newsham was probably indebted to others for the important air-chamber and flexible leathern hose--though how far he was indebted we cannot say--we must regard him as the father of the modern fire-engine in england. especially so, as his improvements have been regarded as in advance of all others in their variety and value. it is also worthy of note that the first fire-engines in the united states were of his construction. little is known of newsham's life. the reasons leading him, a maker of pearl buttons, to turn his attention to fire-engine improvement are not clear. at his death in , the undertaking passed by bequest to his son. the son died about a year after his father, and the business then came into the hands of his wife and cousin george ragg, also by bequest; and the name of the firm became newsham & ragg. one of newsham's engines may be seen in the south kensington museum to-day, having been presented to that institution by the corporation of dartmouth. the pump-barrels will be found to measure ½ inches in diameter, with a piston-stroke of ½ inches. the original instructions are still attached, and are protected by a piece of horn. the general construction of newsham's engines appears to have been something like this: the body, which was long and narrow, measured about feet by feet broad; this shape enabled it to be wheeled in narrow streets, and even through doorways. along the lower part of the body, which was swung on wheels, ran a pipe of metal, which the water entered from a feed-pipe. the feed-pipe was intended to be connected with a source of supply; but if this failed, a cistern, attached to the body of the engine, could be filled by buckets, while a strainer was placed at the junction between the cistern and the interior pipe to prevent dirt or gravel from entering it. [illustration: early manual fire-engine.] on the top of the body was built a superstructure, which looked like a high box--greater in height than in breadth, and larger at the top than at the bottom. this box contained the all-important air-chamber and the pumps. the water in the interior pipe was forced into the air-chamber by the two pumps, and then thrown on the fire through a pipe connected with a hose of leather projecting from the top of the air-chamber. this pipe descended within the chamber almost to the bottom, so that when water was pumped into the air-chamber it flowed round the bottom of the pipe, and prevented any ingress or egress of air. as the water rose, the air already in the chamber became compressed in the top part of the chamber, and in turn exerted its power on the water. the pumps were worked by levers, one on each side of the engine, and alternately raised and lowered by the men operating the machine; while this manual-power was much increased by one or two men working treadles connected with the levers, and throwing the weight of the body on each treadle alternately. the principle of the force-pump may be thus briefly explained: when a tight-fitting piston working in a cylinder is drawn upward, the air in the cylinder is drawn up also, and a partial vacuum created; if the cylinder is connected with water not too far distant by a pipe, the water will then rush upward to fill the vacuum. then, if the bottom of the cylinder be fitted with a valve opening upward only, it is closed when the piston is pushed down again; and the water would burst the cylinder, if enough power were applied to the piston, but escape is afforded along another pipe as an outlet, which in the case of the fire-engine opens into the air-chamber, and which is opened and closed by another valve. thus is the water not only raised from the source of supply, but is forced along another channel. and the modern fire-engine--which we date from newsham's engines in england about --is a combination of the principles of the force-pump and of the air-chamber, which acts by reason of the great elasticity of compressed air. other inventors made improvements as well as newsham, namely, dickenson, bramah, furst, rowntree, and others, though the differences were chiefly in details. an engraving mentioned in an old work of reference sets forth that a london merchant named john lofting was the patentee and inventor of the fire-engine. his invention must have been since the great fire, because the monument is depicted in one corner of the engraving and the royal exchange in another. rowntree made an engine for the sun and some other fire-offices, which protected the feed-pipe more efficiently from mud and gravel; and bramah devised a hemispherical perforated nozzle, which distributed water in all directions, so that the ceilings, sides, and floor of a room would become equally drenched. bramah also applied the rotary principle to the fire-engine. he studied the principles of hydraulics, and introduced many improvements into machinery for pumping, a rotary principle being one of them. he attained this object by changing the form of the cylinder and piston, the part acting directly on the water being shaped as a "slider," and working round a cavity in form of a cylinder, and maintained in its place by a groove. he applied the rotative principle to many objects, one being the fire-engine. his fire-engine was patented in ; but we cannot discover that it changed any vital principle of the machine, which, as we have seen, consists in essence of a movable force-pump, steadied and strengthened by a compressed air-chamber and a flexible delivery-hose. joseph bramah, however, is doubtless best known to fame as the inventor of the hydraulic press, though he is also celebrated for the safety-lock which bears his name. he was a farmer's son, and was born at stainborough in yorkshire in ; but an accident rendering him lame, he was apprenticed to a carpenter. engaging in business as a cabinet-maker in london, he was employed one day to fit up some sanitary appliances, and their imperfections led him to devise improvements. he took out his first patent in and this contrivance proved to be the first of a long series. his lock followed, and then, assisted in one detail by henry maudslay, he introduced his hydraulic press, a machine which he foresaw was capable of immense development. several of his improvements are concerned with water, such as contrivances connected with pumps and fire-engines, and with building boilers for steam-engines. it is also said he was one of the first proposers of the screw-propeller for steamships. altogether, he was the author of eighteen patents; though it has been pointed out that he improved and applied the inventions of others, rather than originated the whole thing himself. while he contributed improvements to the fire-engine, the vital principle of the air-chamber and the flexible hose remained the same. up to about the year , the larger engines generally in use in london seem to have thrown some eighty-eight gallons a minute from fifty to seventy feet high. the next notable development was the application of steam to work the force-pumps. but this addition, which was made about by john braithwaite, also did not alter the principle of the air-chamber. john braithwaite came of an engineering family. he was born in , the third son of john braithwaite, the constructor of one of the first diving-bells. the ancestors of the braithwaites had conducted an engineer's business, or something analogous to it, at st. albans ever since the year . the younger john entered his father's business, and from , after his father and brother died, conducted it alone. those were the days when steam was coming into vogue, and he began to manufacture high-pressure steam-engines. together with ericsson, he constructed the "novelty," the locomotive which competed in the famous railway-engine contest at rainhill in , when stephenson's "rocket" won the prize. braithwaite's engine, though it did not fulfil all the conditions of the competition, yet is said by some to have been the first locomotive to run a mile a minute--or rather more, for it is held to have covered a mile in fifty-six seconds. he used a bellows to fan the fire; and in his steam fire-engine, he also employed bellows, though on one day of the rainhill contest the failure of the bellows rendered the locomotive incapable of doing work. in the fire-engine, the bellows were worked by the wheels of the machine, and eighteen or twenty minutes were required to raise the steam. at the present time, a hundred pounds of steam can be raised in five minutes in the biggest engine of the london brigade, this result being due, in one respect at least, to the use of water-tube boilers. braithwaite's engine of was fitted with an upright boiler, and was of scarcely six horse-power; but, nevertheless, it forced about fifteen gallons of water per minute from eighty to ninety feet high. the pistons for the steam and water respectively were on opposite ends of the same rod, that for steam being inches in diameter, and for the water ½ inches, and both having a stroke of inches. the engine was successful in its day. during an hour's work, it would throw between thirty and forty tons of water on a fire; while another engine, also made by braithwaite, threw the larger quantity of ninety tons an hour. the steam fire-engine was first used at the burning of the argyle rooms in london in ; it was also used at the fire of the english opera-house in the same year, and at the great fire at the houses of parliament in . but, curiously enough, a great prejudice existed against it, and the engine was at length destroyed by a london mob. the fire-brigade were also against it. so braithwaite gave it up; but he built a few others, one at least being for berlin, where it seems to have given great satisfaction. braithwaite, who became engineer-in-chief to the eastern counties railway, also applied steam to a floating fire-engine, and constructed the machinery so that the power could be rapidly changed from propelling the vessel to operating the pumps. the brigade could not long disregard the use of steam. in , their manual-float was altered to a steamer, the alterations being made by messrs. shand & mason. six years later, the firm made a land steam fire-engine, which, however, was sent to st. petersburg; and then in --thirty years after braithwaite had introduced the machine--the london brigade hired one for a year. the experiment was successful, and a steam fire-engine was purchased from the same makers. but only two steam fire-engines were at work at the great tooley street fire. then, in july, , a steam fire-engine competition took place at the crystal palace, the trials lasting three days. lord sutherland was chairman, and captain shaw, who was then chief of the london brigade, was honorary secretary of the competition committee. in the result, merryweather & son won the first prize in the large-class engine, and shand & mason the second prize. shand & mason also took the first prize in the small class, and lee & co. the second prize in the small class. the value of the steam fire-engine was fully established. at the present time, messrs. shand & mason have an engine capable of throwing a thousand gallons a minute; while one of the water-floats of the london brigade will throw thirteen hundred and fifty gallons a minute. these powerful machines form a striking development of newsham's engine of , and afford a remarkable contrast to the old fire-quenching appliances of former times. but while the development of the modern fire-engine had been proceeding, a not less remarkable organization of firemen had been growing. it arose in a very singular, and yet under the circumstances a not unnatural, manner. and to this part of the story we must now turn our attention. chapter v. extinguishment by company. the beginnings of fire insurance. "cannot provision be made against loss by fire?" looking at the terrible ruin caused in , prudent men would naturally begin to ask this question. and some enterprising individual declared that a scheme must be launched whereby such provision might be made. so, although proposals and probably attempts for fire insurance had been made before, by individuals or clubs, and by anglo-saxon guilds; yet we read that "a combination of persons"--which, in the words of to-day, we suppose means a company--opened "the first regular office for insuring against loss by fire" in . of course, another speedily followed. that is our english way. but both of these have disappeared. one, however,--the appropriately named hand-in-hand, which was opened in ,--still survives, and added life-insurance business in . the sun was projected in and started in , the union followed four years later, the westminster in , the london in , and the royal exchange in the same year. [illustration: london fireman in .] therefore, the close of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth centuries saw the practice of fire insurance well established in britain as an organized system. now, these offices not only undertook to repay the insurers for losses, but also to extinguish the fires themselves. this latter, indeed, was fully regarded as an integral part of their business. thus, one of the prospectuses of an early fire-office states that "watermen and other labourers are to be employed, at the charge of the undertakers, to assist at the quenching of fires." and it is worthy of note that, while the earliest men employed were watermen, the london fire-brigade to-day will only accept able-bodied sailors as their recruits. [illustration: fire-insurance badges.] the offices dressed their men in livery, and gave them badges; the men dwelt in different parts of the city, and were expected to be ready when any fires occurred. even to-day the interest of the companies in the extinguishment of fires is recognized, and their early connection therewith maintained; for they pay the london county council £ , annually toward the support of the brigade. by the beginning of the nineteenth century, the fire-offices had notably increased in numbers. thus, in there were sixteen, and some of their names will be recognized to-day. in addition to the hand-in-hand and the sun, were the phoenix ( ), the royal exchange, the north british ( ), the imperial ( ), and the atlas, dating from ; there was also the caledonian, dating from . each company fixed its badge to the building insured, a course which appears to have been suggested by the sun, and adopted so that the firemen of the different companies might know to which office the burning house belonged. the badge was stamped in sheet-lead, and was painted and gilded; but the badges for the firemen appear usually to have been of brass, and were fixed to the left arm. each company not only kept its own engines and its staff of firemen, but also clad its men in distinctive uniforms. the dress for the sun office consisted of coat, waistcoat, and breeches of dark-blue cloth, adorned with shining brass buttons. the brass badge represented the usual conventional face of the sun, with the rays of light around, and the name placed above. the helmet was of horse-hide, with cross-bars of metal. it was made of leather inside, but stuffed and quilted with wool. this quilting would, it was hoped, protect the head from falling stones or timbers, dangers which are still the greatest perils threatening firemen at their work. by-and-by, parliament made some effort towards organizing fire extinction. in , a law was passed, providing that the parish overseers and churchwardens should maintain an engine to extinguish fires within their own boundaries. these engines were doubtless manned in many parishes, especially in rural districts, by voluntary workers, who sometimes were probably not even enrolled in an organized voluntary brigade; the police also in certain places undertook fire duty. but "what is every one's business is no one's business," and for various reasons numbers of these parish fire-engines fell into disuse. in short, the organization for the extinguishment of fires was thoroughly unsatisfactory. the men belonging to the different companies were too often rivals, when they should have been co-workers; each naturally gave special attention to the houses bearing their badges. we obtain a remarkable picture of the inefficiency prevailing in a letter from an eye-witness, sir patrick walker, in no. of the _scots magazine_ in . it refers to edinburgh, but doubtless is true of other places. [illustration: royal exchange fireman. (_from a portrait._)] sir patrick had taken an active part in endeavouring to arrest a conflagration, and he remarks on "a total absence of combined and connected aid, which must often render abortive all exertions." the chief defect, he declares, lies "in having company engines, which creates a degree of jealousy among the men who work them." when all success depended on their united efforts, then they were most discordant. there were often more engines than water to adequately supply them, consequently no engine had probably enough to be efficient. the remedy, he held, was to abolish all names or marks, and form the whole into one body on military principles. curiously enough, the brigade that was formed in london has come to be regulated rather on naval than on military principles; but the essence of sir patrick's suggestion was undoubtedly sound. he also complained greatly of the waste of water by hand-carrying, which, moreover, created great confusion. these grave defects were, no doubt, also felt keenly by the london fire-offices, and in some of them combined to form one brigade. they were the sun, the phoenix, the royal exchange, the union, and the atlas; and seven years later, in the memorable year , all the more important companies united. in this action they were led by mr. r. bell ford, director of the sun fire-office. the organization then formed was called the london fire-engine establishment, and had nineteen stations and eighty men. it was placed under the superintendence of mr. james braidwood, a name never to be forgotten in the story of fire-brigades and their work. but to learn something of this great man and his daring deeds and noble career, we must change the scene to edinburgh. chapter vi. the story of james braidwood. "something must be done!" many an edinburgh citizen must have expressed this decision in the memorable year . several destructive fires had occurred, and at each catastrophe the need of efficient organization was terribly apparent. it seemed as though the whole city would be burned. then the police took action. the commissioners of the edinburgh police appointed a committee, and a fire-engine corps, as it was called, was established, on october st of the same year. the new organization was to be supported by contributions from various companies, from the city of edinburgh, and from the police funds. "but who was to superintend it?" now, a gentleman had become known to the commissioners, perhaps through being already a superintendent of fire-engines; and though only twenty-four years of age, he was appointed. his name was james braidwood. he was born in in edinburgh, and was the son of a builder. receiving his education at the high school, he afterwards followed his father's business. but in , he was appointed superintendent of the fire-engines, perhaps owing to his knowledge of building and carpentry; and when the corps was established, he was offered the command. he proceeded to form his brigade of picked men. he selected slaters, house-carpenters, plumbers, smiths, and masons. slaters, he said afterwards, become good firemen; not only from their cleverness in climbing and working on roofs--though he admitted these to be great advantages--but because he found them generally more handy and ready than other classes of workmen. they were allowed to follow their ordinary occupations daily; but they were regularly trained and exercised every week, the time chosen being early in the morning. method was imparted to their work. instead of being permitted to throw the water wastefully on walls or windows where it might not reach the fire at once, they were taught to seek it out, and to direct the hose immediately upon it at its source. this beneficial substitution of unity, method, skill, and intelligent control for scattered efforts, random attempts, lack of organization, and discord in the face of the enemy, was soon manifest. five years after the corps had been established under mr. braidwood, the _edinburgh mercury_ wrote: "the whole system of operations has been changed. the public, however, do not see the same bustle, or hear the same noise, as formerly; and hence they seem erroneously to conclude that there is nothing done. the fact is, the spectator sees the preparation for action made, but he sees no more. where the strength of the men and the supply of water used to be wasted, by being thrown against windows, walls, and roofs, the firemen now seek out the spot where the danger lies, and, creeping on hands and feet into the chamber full of flame or smoke, often at the hazard of suffocation, discover the exact seat of danger, and, by bringing the water in contact with it, obtain immediate mastery over the powerful element with which they have to contend. in this daring and dangerous work, men have occasionally fainted from heat, or dropped down from want of respiration; in which case, the next person at hand is always ready to assist his companion, and to release him from his service of danger." not only exercising great powers of skilful management, braidwood showed remarkable determination and presence of mind in the face of danger. hearing on one occasion that some gunpowder was stored in an ironmonger's shop, which was all aflame, he plunged in, and, at imminent risk of his life, carried out first one cask from the cellar, and then, re-entering, brought out another, thus preventing a terrible explosion. in , mr. braidwood issued a pamphlet dealing with the construction of fire-engines, the training of firemen, and the method of proceeding in cases of fire. in this work he declared he had not been able to find any work on fire-engines in the english language--a state of things which testifies to the lack of public interest or lack of information in the matter in those days. the book is technical, but useful to the expert before the era of steam fire-engines. but in a volume, issued a few years after his death, mr. braidwood takes a comprehensive glance at the condition of fire extinguishment in different places. the date is not given; but it was probably about . in substance he says: "on the continent generally, the whole is managed by government, and the firemen are placed under martial law, the inhabitants being compelled to work the engines. in london, the principal means ... is a voluntary association of the insurance companies without legal authority; the legal protection by parish engines being, with a few praiseworthy exceptions, a dead letter. in liverpool, manchester, and other towns, the extinction of fires by the pressure of water only, without the use of engines, is very much practised. in america, the firemen are generally volunteers enrolled by the local governments, and entitled to privileges." from this bird's-eye view, it will be seen that organization for fire extinction and the use of efficient appliances for fighting the flames were still in a very unsatisfactory state; yet the increasing employment of lucifer-matches and of gas in the earlier years of the nineteenth century tended to increase conflagrations. moreover, it is curious that the public seemed but little aroused to this unsatisfactory condition of affairs. perhaps they saw their way to nothing better; perhaps, if they took precautions, they regarded a fire as unlikely to occur in their own house, even if it might happen to their neighbour. whatever the cause, they seem to have been but little stirred on the subject. it was probably mr. braidwood's pamphlet of that led to his appointment as chief of the newly-formed london fire-engine establishment. the publication showed him to be an authority on the subject, and one likely to succeed in the post. he came with the cordial good wishes of his edinburgh friends. the firemen presented him with a gold watch, and the committee with a piece of plate. he was ever careful of his men. he watched their movements, when they were likely to be placed in positions of peril; and he would not allow any man to risk unnecessary danger. yet he was himself as daring as he was skilful, and never shrank from encountering personal risk. this was the sort of man who came to lead the london fire-engine establishment. he found it a small force, composed of groups of men accustomed formerly to act in rivalry, and having between thirty and forty engines, throwing about ninety gallons a minute to a height of between seventy and eighty feet, and also several smaller hand-hauled engines, comparatively useless at a large fire. in addition to the establishment of the associated companies, there were about three hundred parish engines and many maintained at places of business by private firms. by his energy and skill, mr. braidwood kept the fires in check, and came to be regarded as a great authority on fire extinguishment and protection from fire. on these subjects, he was consulted in connection with the royal palaces and government offices, and held an appointment as a chief fire inspector of various palaces and public buildings. he became an associate of the institute of civil engineers, and read several papers before that body, and also before the society of arts, on the subject of the extinction and prevention of fires. the force under his command was increased from eighty to a hundred and twenty men; but it still remained the establishment of the fire-offices. throughout the country, the extinguishment of fire continued largely in the hands of voluntary workers, assisted by various authorities, even the fire-brigades being sometimes supplemented by the police and the water companies, as well as the general public. and then an event occurred, which not only thrilled london with horror, but probably led to one of the most remarkable developments in the efforts for fire extinction that england had known. chapter vii. the thames on fire. the death of braidwood. about half-past four o'clock in the afternoon of june nd, , an alarm of fire reached the watling street station. the firemen turned out to the call; but little did they think, as they hurried along, that the fire to which they were summoned would burn for a whole month, and would become known as one of the most serious in the history of london. the call came from tooley street, on the south side of london bridge. some jute in the upper part of a warehouse had been discovered smouldering, and bucketsful of water had been thrown upon it; but the smoke became so thick and overwhelming, that the men were compelled to desist, and the flames grew rapidly. by this time the alarm had been sent to watling street. quickly the fire-engines arrived on the spot, and the men found dense masses of smoke pouring from buildings at cotton's wharf. a number of tall warehouses, rising up to six stories high, and filled with inflammable goods, stood here and near by, among the goods being oil, tallow, tar, cotton, saltpetre, bales of silk, and chests of tea. in spite of all efforts, the fire burned steadily on, and dense volumes of smoke poured forth. mr. braidwood had speedily arrived, and two large floating-engines, in addition to others, were got to work. he stationed his men wisely, and huge jets of water were speedily playing on the fire. great excitement soon rose in the neighbourhood. surging crowds of eager people thronged the streets approaching the wharf, and a dense assemblage pressed together on london bridge. even the thoroughfares on the opposite side were blocked. but the spectators could see little just then, except thick clouds of smoke and great jets of water. on the river, vessels struggled to escape from the proximity of the burning building; while on land, the police forced back the people from the surrounding streets, so as to give greater freedom to the firemen. [illustration: james braidwood.] then, about an hour after the alarm had been given, a loud explosion startled the people; a bright tongue of flame shot upward through the smoke, and seemed to strike downward also to the ground, while the whole building became a sheet of fire. the neighbouring buildings became involved; rivers of fire burst out of windows, ran down walls, and actually flowed along the streets. it even poured on to the waters of the thames itself. melted tallow and oil flowed along as they burned, like liquid fire. no wonder the conflagration spread rapidly. less than two hours after the call had been received--that is, at about six o'clock--the fire had extended to eight large warehouses. the heat now became overpowering. drifting clouds of smoke obscured the calm evening sky, and spread like a pall overhead. in spite of all efforts, the fierce conflagration gained continually on the men; it leaped over a space between the buildings, and attacked a block of warehouses on the opposite side. the roaring of the flames, the thick smoke, and the curious, disagreeable smells arising from the various goods which were burning, became almost unbearable. the men suffered greatly from exhaustion; and mr. braidwood, seeing their distress, procured refreshments. he was dividing them among the men as he stood near the second building which had caught fire, when again a loud explosion rent the air, and the wall of the warehouse was seen to be falling. "run for your lives!" was the cry; and the men, seized for once with panic, rushed away. mr. braidwood and a gentleman with him followed; but unhappily they were not in time, and with a loud crash the huge wall fell upon them, and crushed them to the ground with tons of heavy masonry. "let us save them!" cried the men; and a score hurried to the spot. but again a third explosion occurred, a mass of burning material was hurled on the fatal heap, all around fell the fire, and rescue was seen to be hopeless. [illustration: the tooley street fire, .] as if in triumph, the flames swept on and mounted higher. wharf after wharf was involved, and warehouse after warehouse. the depôt wharf, chamberlain's wharf, and others caught fire. night seemed turned into day by the blaze. ships near the wharves, laden with the same inflammable materials of oil, and tar, and tallow, became ignited; and the blazing liquids poured out on the river, forming a lake of fire a quarter-mile long by a hundred yards wide. people crowded everywhere to see the sight. they thronged house-tops and church-steeples. boatmen ventured near to pick up such goods as they might be able to find, and were threatened with dire peril. some fainted from the heat. a barge drifted near with three men aboard, who were so overcome that they could not manage their cumbersome craft; a skiff approached sufficiently near to rescue the men, after which the barge drifted nearer still, and was burnt. though greatly dispirited by the loss of their captain, the firemen fought doggedly on. but still their efforts seemed unavailing. flakes of fire fell in all directions, and huge volumes of flame flashed upward to the sky. the whole of bermondsey seemed in peril, and at one period the fire blazed for close upon a quarter-mile along the river-bank. through the night more engines clattered up from distant stations, and the firemen fought the flames at every step of their destructive career. tons of water were poured upon each building as it became threatened, only, however, to yield in course of time. the wind saved the old church of st. olave's, and also london bridge station; but the fire raged along the wharves. sometimes great warehouse walls fell into the river with a gigantic splash, revealing the inferno of white-hot fire raging behind them. at length the fire reached hay's wharf, which was supposed to be fireproof, and for long it justified the name. but at last it also yielded; the upper part began to blaze, and, in spite of the quantities of water thrown upon the roof and walls, the fire gradually increased. now beyond the building lay a dock, in which were berthed two ships. the tide had been too low to allow of their removal. if they could not be towed out in time, the fire would probably seize them, and thus be wafted over the dock to the other side. would the tide rise in time to allow the ships to be hauled out? it was a critical moment, and the firemen must have worked their hardest to keep the building from flaming too quickly. gradually the tide flowed higher and higher. no matter what happens in the mighty city, twice in the day and night does the thames silently ebb and flow; and now the quiet flowing of the tide helped to save the great city on its bank. just in time two tugs were able to enter the dock. the towing-ropes were thrown aboard; but even as the vessels were passing out, the flames, as if determined not to lose their prey, darted from the building, and set the rigging of one ship aflame. but the firemen were as quick as their enemy. an engine threw a torrent of water on the burning ship, and promptly quenched the flames. and so, amid the plaudits of the huge crowds on both sides of the river, the two ships were slowly towed to a place of safety, and the fierce fire was left face to face with the empty dock. the quiet dock was successful. the wide space filling up with water from the flowing tide stopped the progress of the fire. this stoppage must have occurred about five o'clock on the following morning; but within the area already covered by the conflagration, fire continued to burn for a month. even after the first seven days, a fresh explosion and flash of flame showed the danger of the conflagration, now fortunately confined within limits. in fact, july nd had dawned before it was entirely extinguished, the total loss being estimated at about two millions sterling. nearly all the goods destroyed were of the most inflammable description. there were nine thousand casks of tallow and three hundred tuns of olive oil, beside thousands of bales of cotton, two thousand parcels of bacon, and other valuable merchandise. the tallow, no doubt, burned the fiercest and the most persistently. melting with the intense heat, it poured out into cellars and streets, where much of it speedily caught fire. the floors of nine vaults, each measuring by feet, were covered two feet deep with melted tallow and palm oil, and all helped to feed the fire. no wonder it burned for days, if such material fed the flames, although the firemen continued to pour water on the ruins. some of the tallow, found floating on the river, was collected, and sold at twopence per pound. mr. braidwood's body was found on june th, so charred as to be scarcely recognizable. he was buried at abney park cemetery, and was accorded the honour of a great public funeral. the london rifle-brigade attended, as well as large bodies of firemen and of the police, and an immense concourse of the general public. so large a multitude, it was said, had not attended any funeral since the obsequies of the duke of wellington. a proposition was made to raise a public fund for the benefit of mr. braidwood's widow and six children, and a large sum was subscribed; but it was announced that the insurance companies had amply provided for his family. the neighbourhood of southwark, where the fatal fire occurred, has been the scene of many remarkable conflagrations. in the same year as the famous tooley street fire, davis's wharf at horselydown was burnt, involving a loss of about £ , ; while at a large fire at dockhead two or three years later, vast quantities of saltpetre, corn, jute, and flour were consumed. a brisk wind favoured the flames, and hundreds of tons of saltpetre flashed up into fire. bright sparks and flame-coloured smoke floated over the conflagration, and were wafted by the wind, accompanied by deafening reports and great flashes of fire. numbers of other conflagrations have occurred in this neighbourhood. the streets were narrow, and the district was full of warehouses, containing all kinds of merchandise, which burnt like tinder when fairly ignited. imagine coffee and cloves, sulphur and saltpetre, oil, turpentine, and tallow all afire! what a commingling of odours and of strange-coloured flame! the bacon frizzles; the corn parches and chars; the flour mixes with the water, then dries and smoulders in the great heat, and smells like burning bread; the preserved tongues diffuse an offensive odour of burning flesh; while the commingling of cinnamon and salt, mustard and macaroni, jams and figs and liquorice, unite to make a hideous combination of coloured flames, sickening smells, and thick and lurid smoke. the huge warehouses built in this district since the closing years of the eighteenth century are filled with all kinds of goods from various parts of the world; but of all the disastrous fires which have ravaged the district, the great tooley street fire of has been the worst. moreover, it will always be memorable for the death of braidwood. even now you may hear men in the london fire-brigade speak of braidwood or braidwood's time, and his memory has become a noble tradition in the service. so great an authority had he become on the subject of fire extinction, and so highly was he held in public esteem, that his terrible death in the performance of his duty was regarded as a national calamity. but the conflagration also revealed with startling clearness the inadequacy of the companies' fire establishment. more appliances and more men were wanted. the companies were asked, "will you increase your organization?" and their answer, put briefly, was, "no." thereupon, in , a parliamentary commission was instituted to enquire into the matter, and in due time the commission reported. it recommended that a brigade should be established; the companies consulted with the home secretary and the metropolitan board of works; and in an act was passed placing the brigade under the metropolitan board, the change to take place as, and from january st, . this was practically the establishment of a municipal fire-brigade, though it was also provided that every company insuring property for loss by fire in london should contribute to the cost of the brigade at the rate of £ for every million pounds of the gross amounts insured, except by way of reassurance; the government were also to pay £ , a year for the protection of public buildings; while the metropolitan board itself was empowered to levy a rate not exceeding a halfpenny in the pound in support of the organization. in , the fire-engine establishment had increased to a hundred and thirty men with twenty stations; but the metropolitan board were given power to construct further engines and stations, to act in conjunction with a salvage corps, to obtain the services of the men, and to divide the metropolis into suitable districts. such powers would enable the board greatly to strengthen the brigade. the act also provided that the firemen should be placed under command of an officer, to be called the chief officer of the metropolitan fire-brigade; and a gentleman was appointed who had had experience of similar duties at belfast, and who was for long to be popularly known in london as captain shaw. and on the very day when the new arrangements came in force a great fire occurred, as if to roughly remind the organization of its responsibilities and test its powers. chapter viii. a perilous situation. captain shaw. improvements of the metropolitan board and of the london county council. "the dock is on fire!" on new year's day, , some hours after st. katherine's dock had been opened for work, several persons came running to the gates from the adjoining streets, crying loudly, "the dock is on fire!" at first the policemen would not believe the report. "we can see nothing," said they. "but flames are bursting from the roof! look! look!" and before long the policemen were convinced that a serious fire was, indeed, in progress. it was in the upper floors of a division of a block of warehouses named f, six stories high, and by eleven o'clock they were blazing fast. "fire! fire!" the alarming cry rang through the dock, and superintendents, dock managers, and policemen hurried to the spot; while gangs of dock labourers were taken off their work, and set to quench the fire with buckets. the conditions were somewhat similar to those of the great tooley street fire of five years or so before. the fire broke out on a floor where bales of jute and coir fibre were stored; and a huge heap of these goods was seen to be burning, and sending forth such a suffocating and blinding smoke, that the men were compelled to retreat. "shut the iron doors!" shouted the officers; and one after another the iron doors between the different warehouses were closed, though with one exception. this was the door connecting the fifth floor of f warehouse with the fifth floor of h warehouse. it was open wide, and one man after another endeavoured to close it by crawling towards it on the floor. but the smoke was so suffocating that the men had to be dragged back almost unconscious before they could reach the door. meantime, the dock fire-engines and hydrants had been got to work, and the dock engineer was able to turn on full pressure, so that soon powerful jets of water were thrown on the flames. a hydrant is, briefly, an elbow-shaped metal pipe, permanently fixed to a main water-pipe; and when the fireman attaches his hose to it, he can get at once a stream of water through the hose at about the same pressure as the water in the main. the flames were spreading furiously, and the two upper floors of f warehouse were blazing fast, throwing out such dense clouds of smoke, that the neighbourhood was darkened as by a thick fog. the block of warehouses on fire towered up six stories high, and occupied half of the northern side of the dock next to east smithfield. they formed a huge pile about feet long by about feet deep, the import part of the dock lying on the south side with its ships. the block was built in a number of divisions or bays, each measuring about by feet, and separated by strong walls, which rose from basement to roof. happily, the communication between these divisions was afforded by double folding-doors of iron, a space of about three feet existing between the double doors; they were believed to be fireproof; and with the one exception they were closed. but, like the tooley street buildings, these warehouses were chiefly stored with very combustible materials. tallow was here, which played such a bad part in ; spirits were here also, palm oil, tons of dyewood, flax, jute, and cotton. labourers had been at work for some hours when the alarm was given, and men were busy on every floor. they were receiving the goods from the quays, and wheeling them along through the building, when the fire was discovered. and now captain shaw, the chief who succeeded braidwood as the head of the fire-brigade, dashed up with a steamer from watling street, which was then the headquarters of the brigade. he had received the alarm at about twenty minutes to twelve o'clock, and had telegraphed to all subsidiary stations. captain shaw, who afterwards became sir eyre massey shaw, k.c.b., was born the same year as the steam fire-engine was first used--_viz._, in . he was the son of mr. b. r shaw, of monkstown, county cork, and in due time entered the army. retiring in , he became chief of the belfast borough forces, including police and fire-brigade, being appointed in the next year the chief of the london fire-brigade. [illustration: the first complete floating steam fire-engine, .] not only did he telegraph for land steam fire-engines to the conflagration; but a large steam-float, usually kept off southwark bridge, was also quickly under way. soon he had eight land steamers and from seventy to eighty men on the spot, while he himself directed in person. mr. collett, one of the dock company's secretaries, worked hard, and often at great peril; mr. graves and mr. stephens, also officials of the company, were busily engaged in directing removal of valuable materials; while about seventy men employed by cubitt & co. in rebuilding a warehouse, destroyed by fire in the previous october, rendered assistance. the little army found themselves face to face with a difficult task. the fire was now burning furiously, and the smoke was well-nigh overpowering. the flames had reached the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors, and seemed working downward; while the burning jute sent forth such dense volumes of smoke, that the men were forced back again and again. but bravely they returned to their task; and taking advantage of the moments when the clouds cleared, they directed the hose to the most needful points. for six hours the fire raged, until all the three upper floors were destroyed, and the third floor seriously damaged. the scene in the waning winter afternoon was sufficiently striking as the smoke gradually cleared and the blackened ruins became dimly visible. they were very dangerous, for the walls appeared likely to topple over at the slightest provocation. about five o'clock, the firemen seemed to have gained the mastery, and captain shaw returned home; but later in the evening he was summoned again. most mysteriously the flames had burst forth once more in fresh places, the upper parts of two adjacent warehouses of the same block had caught, and were in flames. by eleven o'clock the fire was blazing as furiously as ever. captain shaw returned with new relays of men to assist those on the spot; and during the night and all the next day the force was busily at work. on the monday night two firemen were so overcome by the smoke that they had to be removed, being nearly suffocated; but happily they recovered, and no life was lost during the fire. the streams of melted grease flowed from the burning warehouse into the quay, and thence to the dock basin, where by-and-by they cooled and solidified, looking something like snow on a frozen lake. thirteen steam fire-engines and one float continued to throw immense quantities of water on the burning building; but the fire was not really subdued until the morning of january rd. a few engines remained on the wednesday and the thursday, and threw water on the heated ruins, to cool them down and quench any latent fire; while on january th, men were busy skimming the dock basin,--which was thickly covered with the solid tallow and oil,--and loading the mass into barges. after the conflagration, engines were employed in pumping water out of the vaults where it had collected, and as much jute was found injured by water as destroyed by fire. no doubt, it was the jute and the tallow and oil which rendered the conflagration so obstinate; but it was also found that while water collected to a great extent in some parts, yet it did not penetrate to other parts of even the same floor--a result which, perhaps, was due to the method of packing the jute. in the end, about three-parts of the block of warehouses was burned. the amount of tallow in the four burning buildings was calculated to range between two and three thousand casks, some of which appear to have been saved; but several hundred barrels of cocoanut oil and palm oil were lost as well, and the coir fibre, flax, and jute burnt reached to a very large quantity, the total pecuniary loss being estimated at over £ , . this great fire proved a terrible object-lesson. for about two days and nights the engines and appliances of the brigade, with some two-thirds of the men, were engaged at this one conflagration. what if another great fire had broken out in those dark january days? the situation was fraught with the gravest peril. no doubt, voluntary aid at fires used often to be relied upon, and in payment was given to assistants. but the metropolitan board now had the means of strengthening the brigade, and they proceeded to use it. in marked contrast to the men and stations of the fire establishment of , were the firemen and land fire-engine stations of the brigade in , when it passed over to the london county council--figures which show a notable development. [illustration: sir eyre m. shaw, k.c.b.] further, there were also coachmen and pilots, horses, engines ( being worked by steam), fire-escapes, and other ladders, with miles of hose. by this time ( ) many provincial towns had established a fire-brigade on the london plan. the london county council, having no restriction as to powers of rating, adopted captain shaw's recommendations--made in april, --of a large increase in the brigade, and resolved to add firemen, new stations, with steamers and manuals, and fire-escapes, and to raise the number of electrical fire-alarms to over . since then, the increase has still continued, until in the brigade had an authorized fire-staff of nearly , men, with a certain number of store-keepers, etc.; while the telegraphic arrangements and distribution of stations were rendered so complete, that men could be concentrated within fifteen minutes at any dangerous area for large fires. furthermore, out of the authorized staff, men are on watch by day, and at night, giving a total of constantly on duty during the twenty-four hours--a force that compares wonderfully with the total strength of about men at braidwood's death in . this brigade strength of , included about officers, firemen, coachmen, pilots, and men under instruction. to these must be added seventeen licensed watermen for navigating tug-boats, river-engines, etc., and also stores and office clerks. but twenty-four additional firemen, however, have been sanctioned, so that the complete staff would reach to about , men--a remarkable development of the staff of men of the london fire-engine establishment of . these figures are only given to show how greatly the brigade has grown; for in the course of a few years, it is not improbable that the numbers may be still further increased. the number of stations has also been remarkably augmented. the stations of have grown into nearly for divers uses. thus, there are fire-escape stations, stations with engines, with hose-carts, with hose- and ladder-trucks, permanently established in centres of wide streets with fire-extinguishing and life-saving appliances, and river stations. the appliances of the brigade have also greatly increased. there are fire-escapes and police-ladders, land steam fire-engines, six-inch manuals, small manuals called curricles, horses which we may rank as most useful appliances, and , hydrants. these last-named are very important. they not only afford a ready and efficient means of throwing water on conflagrations, a means which is fast rendering the manual-engines of less and less importance; but they also yield a quick and ready method of water supply. thus, in the year there were only three cases of unsatisfactory water supply. in addition to , hydrants of the london county council, the corporation of the city have hydrants, which are used for watering the streets as well as for extinguishing fires. in the year , no fewer than fires were put out by hydrants and stand-pipes. the increase of hydrants has been very conspicuous under the county council. thus, in march, , the number was but , , showing that no fewer than , were added during the first eight years of the council's existence. no doubt, still more will follow. on march st, , hydrants had been fixed or ordered in ½ square miles of the county area, leaving a comparatively small space unprovided with these appliances. this space will doubtless be shortly supplied, and it is not unreasonable to suppose that, with the in the city, the metropolis will ere long be sown with a total of about , hydrants, which, as the twentieth century dawns, may be regarded as among the most effectual means of fighting the fire at the disposal of the brigade. [illustration: fire-hydrant placed under the pavement.] the establishment of these excellent appliances dates from , and is bound up with the system of constant water supply. by the metropolis water act of that year, it was provided that a water company, after giving a constant supply, must notify the fact to the local authority--now the county council--which must then specify the fire-plugs or hydrants required, and the council has the power under the act of requiring water companies to provide a constant supply within parts of their districts. hydrants are fully charged from the main, and have a commanding cock or tap attached, so that a supply of water can be obtained at once. the use of these appliances is very important. planted at convenient and commanding spots,--often at the corners of streets or roadways, and at varying distances apart, ranging from fifty to about four hundred feet, according to the circumstances of the locality, and marked also, not only by the plate in the pavement, but by the letter h, placed in a conspicuous position near,--the fireman can now, at almost a moment's notice, find the hydrant, and obtain an ample supply of water for his engine, or even a jet of water for the fire, before an engine is on the spot. very different from the troublesome and hindering work of floundering about, possibly in fog or rain or snow, to find the fire-plug, and then to find the turncock which governed the plug. on snowy or foggy nights, the difficulty and delay were sometimes very great; and the substitution of an extensive system of hydrants, with their quickly-obtained water-jets for the old fire-plugs, may rank as one of the most efficient means of fire extinction in the closing years of the nineteenth century. firemen being thus interested in the pressure of water in the mains, an apparatus for recording the pressure automatically was fixed up at the fire-brigade headquarters at southwark bridge road in november, . a clock stands at the top of the instrument, and under the clock is a roll of paper, having the hours of day and night marked upon it, and divided into sections. a small pipe connected with the main runs under the big engine-room, and acts upon mechanism beneath the paper roll, and the clock and the column of water, and its pressure per inch, are marked in red ink upon the sheet, varying perhaps from forty up to seventy-five or even eighty pounds per square inch. at noon each day the sheet can be removed, and forms a permanent record of the variation in water pressure in the mains of the neighbourhood. but if the number of hydrants is large, the area to be protected by the brigade is also very large. including the ancient city of london, which is estimated to cover about a square mile, the area measures about square miles. of these, twelve are estimated by the fire-brigade committee to be covered by parks and open spaces, where fire-hydrants will probably never be needed. this leaves, however, a net area of square miles, extending from sydenham to highgate, and from plumstead to roehampton, to be efficiently protected by the brigade. another means of water supply has been suggested. in his evidence at the cripplegate fire enquiry, mr. john f. dane, an ex-officer of the metropolitan fire-brigade, suggested that at the centre of the junction of the most important streets surrounded by large buildings underground tanks should be placed, and supplied by the main water-pipes. the tanks would be empty until required, and would be under the control of the brigade, while the hydrants should still be maintained for service. such tanks were in use at leeds and at salford. the objection is raised, however, that the streets of the city are already too crowded with pipes, while advantage of the pressure from the water-main is lost, and also the vacuum caused by the engine. noticing other improvements, we observe that the number of fire-alarm posts has also been greatly increased. the alarm consists of a red post in the street, with a glass face at the top front. the glass is readily broken, and the handle within it pulled, when a loud electric bell rings at the nearest fire-station. the post-office provides and maintains the fire-alarms; and commander wells, chief officer of the brigade, has devised a portable telephone, which can be plugged into a fire-alarm post, and a message sent by it from a fire to the station. arrangements have been made with the post-office to supply the telephones and make the plug-holes. over , fire-alarms were raised in , of which were maliciously-given false alarms. practical jokes of this kind have been heavily punished, as they richly deserve. many false alarms are also given which cannot be regarded as malicious, but are genuine mistakes, such as of supposed chimney fires. over of these were recorded in one year. in , the number of malicious false alarms was happily less--_viz._, ; while the full record of false alarms reached . the total number of fires in the metropolis in that year was , --an average of nearly ten per day. this total gives an increase of above the average; but only out of the whole , were serious. there seems no doubt but that the public are learning to use the fire-alarms more readily and to give earlier intimation of fires. but, as the chief officer points out, while everybody knows the nearest letter-box, very few comparatively even now seem to know the nearest fire-alarm. lamp-posts near the alarms are now painted red, and are fitted with a red pane of glass in order to attract attention; and we imagine the probability is that the alarms will be increasingly used at even the slightest appearance of fire. not only is each fire-station connected with a dozen or more fire-alarms in its neighbourhood, but it is also in electric communication with other fire-stations. there are lines of telephone between the stations, and sixteen between brigade- and police-stations; while electric communication exists between stations and ninety-eight public or other buildings. in fact, the whole fire-brigade establishment is bound together by a web of electric wire, the centre being the headquarters at southwark. the remarkable organization of the brigade, famous for its leaders, famous for the bravery and skill of its men, and famous for the number and variety of its efficient appliances, has been a growth of comparatively few years. starting in with the union of a few fire-office companies, it grew in seventy-three years to a remarkably strong and increasing force, with a multitude of hydrants, stations, horsed escapes, fire-alarms, and other appliances. the development attained in these seventy-odd years, as compared with the hundreds of years before, is surely marvellous, though doubtless some seeds of the development--as in the introduction of the modern fire-engine--were sown before. but step by step it has proceeded, utilizing now the discoveries of science and now the work of the engineer, until it has reached its great position of usefulness and of high esteem. it would be tedious to mark every detail of development. the work begun by his predecessors was carried still further by captain shaw, and under him the london brigade became one of the most efficient in the world. [illustration: commander wells.] he retired with a well-deserved pension in , after about thirty years of service, and was succeeded by mr. j. sexton simonds. five years later mr. simonds retired; and in november, , commander lionel wells, r.n., was appointed chief officer. the brigade has also a second officer--mr. sidney g. gamble; and in january, , a third officer was appointed--lieutenant sampson sladen, r.n. a few months after his accession, and in answer to the request of the fire-brigade committee of the county council, the chief officer submitted a scheme for additional protection, including certain regulations of brigade management. of this scheme, the more prominent features were the introduction of horsed fire-escapes, and the distribution of the men in small stations, with horses, whence they can be speedily concentrated wherever required. in short, the chief officer's object is that, at any call, the firemen may be able, if the machine leave the station at once, to arrive at the fire within five minutes' time; while the principle of station-work should be that each station is responsible for a certain area in its neighbourhood. the committee agreed with the opinions of the chief officer, and on february th, , the full council adopted the committee's proposals. steps were forthwith taken to carry out the scheme, which thus marks another stage of development. but let us visit the headquarters, and see for ourselves something of this great organization actually at work. chapter ix. a visit to headquarters. "we light our fires differently from everybody else," says the foreman. "we put shavings on top, the wood next, and the coal at the bottom; then we strike a steam-match, and drop it down the funnel, and, behold! the thing is done." it was the engine fire of which the foreman spoke, and he was pointing to one of the magnificent steam fire-engines at the headquarters of the london brigade. [illustration: headquarters, metropolitan fire-brigade, southwark.] "here is a steam-match," he continued, "kept in readiness on the engine. it is like a very large fusee, and is specially made for us. water won't put it out." he strikes the match, and it burns with a large flame. he plunges it into some water near by, and it still continues to burn. it evidently means to flame until the engine fire is burning fast. the wood also is carefully prepared, being fine deal ends, specially cut to the required size; while the coal is welsh--the best for engine-boilers. these details may seem trivial; but they assist in the rapid kindling of the engine fire, which is not trivial. but the rapid kindling of the fire is not the only reason why the brigade raises steam so quickly in its engines; in addition, a gas-jet is always kept burning by the boiler, and maintains the water at nearly boiling-point before the fire is lighted. this was a method adopted by captain shaw. but even this arrangement does not explain everything. [illustration: section of a steam fire-engine boiler.] to fully understand the mystery, we must leave this smart engine, shining in scarlet and flaming with brass, and go upstairs to the instruction-room for recruits. here we can see a section of the engine fire-box and boiler. it is very interesting and very ingenious. but probably a novice would ask, "where is the boiler? i see little else but tubes." that is the explanation. the tubes chiefly form the boiler; for they are full of water, and they communicate with a narrow space, or "jacket," also full of water, and which reaches all round the fire-box. this fire-box is held in a hollow below the tubes, which are placed in rows, one row across the other, just at the bottom of the funnel and above the fire-box. when, therefore, the flaming steam-match is dropped down the funnel, it finds its way straight down between the crossed mass of tubes to the shavings beneath; and the tubes full of the hot water are at once wrapped in heat from the newly-kindled and rapidly-burning fire. every particle of heat and smoke and flame that rises must pass upward between the tubes. furthermore, the hot water rises and the colder falls, so that there is a constant circulation maintained. the colder water is continually descending to the hottest tubes; and when bubbles of steam are formed, they rise with the hot water to the top. a space is reserved above the tubes, and around the funnel, called the "steam-space" or "steam-chest," where the steam can be stored; the steam pressure at which the engine frequently works being a hundred and twenty pounds to the square inch. the result of all these ingenious arrangements is that, starting with very hot water, a hundred pounds of steam can be raised in five minutes. "but," it may be asked, "why is a fire not always kept burning, and steam constantly at high pressure?" the answer is that a constant fire, whether of coal or of oil, would cause soot or smoke to accumulate; while the bunsen gas-burner affords as clear a heat as any, and maintains the water at a great heat, or even at boiling-point. near the funnel, but not so high, rises a large, gleaming metal cylinder, closed and dome-shaped. this is the indispensable air-chamber, without which even the powerful force-pumps could not yield so steady and persistent a stream. a small air-chamber is now added to the suction-pipe by which the water is drawn to the engine. the use of the air-chamber in connection with this pipe greatly steadies the engine, the vibration caused by the throbbing of the powerful machinery as it draws and forces along such a quantity of water being very great. the nozzle of the hose belonging to one of the largest steam fire-engines measures ¼ inch in diameter, some nozzles being as small as ¾ inch; and a large column of water is being constantly driven along the hose at a pressure of a hundred and ten pounds to the square inch, and forced through the narrow nozzle; here it spurts out, in a large and powerful stream, to a distance of over a hundred feet. it is obvious, therefore, that the power exerted by the steam-driven force-pumps and air-chamber is very high; and although such an engine may be in some folks' opinion only a force-pump, it is a force-pump of a very elaborate character; and not inexpensive, the average price being about £ , . every steam fire-engine carries with it five hundred feet of hose. the hose is made in lengths of a hundred feet, costing about £ a piece, without the connections. if you examine a length, you will find it made of stout canvas, and lined with india-rubber, the result being that, while it is very strong, it is yet very light. miles of it are used in the service; and upstairs in the hose-room you will find a large stock kept in reserve. every piece is tested before being accepted. [illustration: powerful steam fire-engine for the metropolitan fire-brigade. _capacity, - gallons per minute. delivered to the brigade, february th, , by messrs. shand, mason, & co._] water is forced through it by hydraulic power at a pressure of three hundred pounds to the square inch, so that when at work, with water rushing through at a hundred and ten pounds' pressure, it is not likely to split and spill the liquid on the ground. the splitting of hose in the face of a fierce fire would be a great calamity. when charged with water, its weight is very heavy; and to enable it to be carried more easily, a loop called a "becket" is attached at distances of about ten feet. the greatest care is taken of the hose. when it is brought back, drenched and dripping, from a fire, it is cleaned and scrubbed, and then suspended in the hose-well to dry. the hose-well is a high space, like a glorified chimney-shaft, without the soot, where the great lengths of canvas pipe can be hung up to dry. they are, in fact, not used again until they are once more in the pink of perfection. the outside public see the fire-brigade and their appliances smartly at work at big fires, but little know of the numerous details of drill and of management which are instrumental in producing the brilliant and efficient service. look, for another instance, at the manuals' wheels. you will find them fitted with broad, wavy-shaped iron tyres, which extend over the side of the wheel and prevent it from tripping or slipping over tramway-lines in the headlong rush through the streets. and should a horse fall as he is tearing to the fire, that swivel-bar, which you will find at the end of the harness-pole, can be quickly turned, and in a moment the fallen steed is unhooked and helped to his feet again. the horses are harnessed quite as quickly. behind the engine-room and across a narrow yard you will find five pairs of horses, and, like the men, some are always on the watch. here they stand, ready harnessed, their faces turned round, and looking over the strip of yard to the engines. the harness is light, but efficient; and the animal's neck is relieved from the weight of the collar, as it is suspended from the roof. [illustration: in the stables ready for action.] directly the fire-alarm clangs, the rope barring egress from the stall is unswivelled, the suspender of the collar swept aside, and the horse, eager, excited, and impatiently pawing the ground, is led across the narrow strip of yard, hooked on to the engine, and is ready for his headlong rush through the streets. horses stand thus ready harnessed at all stations where they may be kept; and when their watch is over, they are relieved by others, even though they may not have been called out to a fire. so intelligent have some of these animals become, that they have been wont to trot out themselves, and take their places by the engine-pole without human guidance; and so expert are the men and so docile the horses, that the whole operation of harnessing to the engine occupies less than a minute, sometimes, indeed, only about fifteen or twenty seconds. every man knows exactly what to do, and has his place fixed on the engine. there is consequently no confusion and no overlapping of work. a steam fire-engine has a "crew"--as the brigade call it--of one officer, one coachman, and four firemen. the officer no. stands on the "near side" of the engine by the brake; no. stands on the other side by the brake; no. stands behind the officer, and no. behind no. ; no. attends to the steam, and rides in the rear for that purpose; while the coachman handles the reins on the box. the positions are taken in a twinkling, the shed-doors open as swiftly, and away rush the impatient steeds, while the loud and exciting cry of "fire! fire!" rings from the firemen's throats as they speed along. wonderfully that cry clears the way through the crowded streets. when the men arrive at the scene of action, the preparations proceed in the same orderly manner. nos. and brake the wheels, and proceed to the fire; while the coachman, if necessary, removes the horses, and is prepared to take back any message with them, no. charging no. to convey the message to the coachman. by the chief officer's plan, however,--whereby a portable telephone, carried on a fire-engine, can be plugged into a fire-alarm post,--a message can be sent back from a fire by telephone instead of by a coachman. meanwhile, no. is opening the engine tool-box, and passing out the hydrant-shaft, hose, etc.; and no. receives the hose, and connects it up with the water-mains, and places the dam or tank in which water is gathered from the hydrant. no. is then busy with the delivery-hose, which is to pour the water on the flames; and no. connects the suction-pipe. when ready, no. hurries away with the "branch," as the delivery-pipe with nozzle is called; no. helping with the hose attached to it--until sufficient is paid out--and connecting the lengths as required. then, when all is finished, every one except the steam-man is ready to proceed to the fire, unless otherwise instructed. every engine, it may be added, carries a turncock's bar, useful for raising the cover from the hydrants. so each one has his recognized duties in preparing the apparatus, all of which duties are duly set forth in the neat and concise little pocket drill-book prepared by commander wells. the most complete organization must be in operation, otherwise a force of a hundred or a hundred and fifty men, no matter how brave and zealous, gathered at one fire would only be too likely to get in one another's way. and in a similar manner the crews of manual-engines and horsed escapes have all their duties assigned in preparing the machines. during a conflagration, the superintendent of the district in which the fire occurs controls the operations under the superior officers; for london is divided, for fire purposes, into five districts, which are known to the brigade by letters. a district is the west end, and the superintendent's station is at manchester square; b district is the central, and the superintendent's station is at clerkenwell; c district is the east and north-east, with district superintendent's station at whitechapel: all of these three being north of the thames. the d district is the south-east of london, with superintendent's station at new cross; and the e district in the south-west, with superintendent's station at kennington. the headquarters, which are known as no. , and which used to be at watling street in the city, now occupy a central position in southwark bridge road, and thence the chief officer can readily reach the scene of a fire. [illustration: a turn out from headquarters at southwark.] all these stations are in electric communication, and all telegraph their doings to no. . the lines stretch from no. to the five district superintendents' stations; from there they extend to the ordinary stations in each district; and from these stations again they reach to points such as street stations, and even in some cases to hose-cart stations. the consequence is, that superintendents and superior officers can speedily arrive on the spot; and that, if necessary, a very large force can be concentrated at a serious outbreak in a short time. thus headquarters knows exactly how the men are all engaged, and the character of the fire to which they may be called. electric bells seem always clanging. messages come clicking in as to the progress of extinguishing fires, or notifying fresh calls, or announcing the stoppage of a conflagration. and should an alarm clang at night, all the other bells are set a-ringing, so that no one can mistake what's afoot. a list is compiled at headquarters of all these fires, the period of each list ranging from a.m. to the same hour on the next morning. this list, with such details as can be supplied, is printed at once, and copies are in every insurance-office by about ten o'clock. the lists form, as it were, the log-book of the brigade. some days the calls run up to seventeen or more, including false alarms; on other days they sink to a far fewer number; the average working out in to nearly ten calls daily. the log also shows the causes of fires, so far as can be ascertained; and the upsetting of paraffin-lamps bulks largely as a frequent cause. the overheating of flues and the airing of linen also play their destructive part as causes of fires. the airing of linen is, indeed, an old offender. evelyn writes in his diary, under date january th, : "this night was burnt to the ground my lord montague's palace in bloomsbury, than which for painting and furniture there was nothing more glorious in england. this happened by the negligence of a servant airing, as they call it, some of the goods by the fire in a moist season; indeed, so wet and mild a winter had scarce been seen in man's memory." and now, more than two hundred years later, the same cause is prevalent. [illustration: the chief's office at southwark, metropolitan fire-brigade.] but the upsetting and exploding of lamps is now, perhaps, the chief cause, especially for small fires; and more deaths occur at small fires than at large. this is not surprising, when we remember that such lamps are generally used in sitting or bedrooms, where persons might quickly be wrapped in flames or overwhelmed with smoke. smoke, indeed, forms a great danger with which firemen themselves have to contend. at a fire in agar street, strand, in november, , a fireman was killed primarily through smoke. he was standing on a fire-escape, when a dense cloud burst forth and overpowered him. he lost his grasp, and, falling forty feet to the earth below, injured his head so severely that he died. again, several men nearly lost their lives through smoke at a fire about the same time at the london docks. the firemen were in the building, when thick smoke, pouring up from some burning sacks, nearly choked them. ever ready of resource, the men quickly used some hose they had with them as life-lines, and slipped from the windows by means of the hose to the ground below. nevertheless, dense smoke is not the greatest danger with which firemen are threatened. their greatest peril comes from falling girders and walls, from tottering pieces of masonry, and burning fragments of buildings, shattered and shaken by the fierce heat. helmets may be seen in the museum at headquarters showing fearful blows and deep indentations from falling fragments of masonry, and firemen would probably tell you that they suffer more from this cause than any other. for small fires in rooms, little hand-pumps, kept in hose-carts, are most useful. they can be speedily brought to bear directly on the flames and prevent them from spreading. these little pumps can be taken anywhere; they are used with a bucket, which is kept full of water by assistants, who pour water into it from other buckets. the fire, large or small, being extinguished, a message to that effect is sent to headquarters, and the firemen return, with the possible exception of one or two men to keep guard against a renewed outbreak. in the case of larger fires, perhaps half a dozen men and an engine will remain; while on returning, the various appliances have all to be prepared in readiness to answer another alarm. it sometimes happens that a fireman may be on duty for many hours at a stretch, or may only have time to snatch an hour's sleep with clothes and boots on; for nearly every hour a fresh alarm comes clanging into the station, telling of a new fire in some part of busy london. and for any real need, there is, i trow, no grumbling or complaint from the brave men. but the miscreant detected in raising a malicious false alarm would have scant mercy. he would be promptly handed over to the police, and the magistrate would punish him severely--perhaps with a month's imprisonment. when not actually engaged at fires, the men find plenty to do in painting and repairing appliances, attending to horses, and keeping up everything to the pink of perfection. the hours on duty and for specified work are all marked down in the brigade-station routine, general work commencing at a.m., and ending at one, while allowing for a "stand easy" of fifteen minutes at eleven. the testing of all fire-alarms once in every twenty-four hours, excepting sundays and before six o'clock at night, also forms part of the brigade-station routine. every fireman, however, has a spell of twenty-four hours entirely off duty in the fortnight; but at all other times he is ready to be called away. indeed, men on leave are liable to be summoned in case of urgent necessity; but such time is made up to them afterwards. now, before being drafted into the effective ranks, all the men have to pass through a three months' daily drill at headquarters. the buildings are very extensive, affording accommodation for about a hundred men, thirty-five or so being the recruits. in the centre, enclosed by the buildings, stretches a large square, in which the drill takes place. to see the combined drill is something like seeing the brigade actually at work; and this being wednesday afternoon, and three o'clock striking, here come the squad of men marching steadily into the yard. the evolutions are about to begin. chapter x. how recruits are trained. tramp, tramp, tramp! two lines of wiry, muscular young men march into the centre of the yard. "halt! right about face!" quick as thought the men pause and wheel around. indian clubs and dumb-bells! the opening of the drill this afternoon is a course of exercises with these familiar appliances; but they soon give place to other evolutions, such as jumping in the sheet, practise with the engines, rescue by the fire-escape, and the chair-knot. round and round whirl the clubs. every day some section of the drill is taken; but on wednesday afternoons, the whole or combined drill is practised. all candidates must have been sailors; no one need apply who has not been at least four years an a.b. further, they must be between the ages of twenty-one and thirty, and able to pull over the escape; that is, they must be able to pull up a fire-escape ladder from the ground by the levers. the height of the ladder is about feet, and the pull is equal to a weight of about pounds. it is a hard pull, and a severe test of a man's strength; but after the first twelve feet, the weight seems lessened, as the man's own weight assists him. in this test, as in some other things, it is the first step that costs. should the candidate pass this test successfully, he is examined by the doctor; finally, he comes to headquarters for his probationary drills. [illustration: tests of strength for men entering the fire-brigade: pulling up the escape.] "open order!" the men break off from their gymnastic exercises, and in obedience to instructions some of them run for large canvas sheets, and spread them out, partly folded on the ground. then others calmly lie themselves down on these sheets. what is going to happen? the recruits approach the recumbent figures, which lie there quite still, and apparently heavy as lead; the lifeless feet are placed close together, and the limp, inanimate arms arranged beside the body. then, at a word or a sign, the bodies are picked up as easily as though they were tiny children, and carried over the recruits' shoulders--each recruit with his man--some distance along the yard. the men are practising the art of taking up an unconscious person, overcome may be by smoke, or heat and flame, and carrying him in the most efficient manner possible out of danger. there is more in this exercise than might at first appear. it might seem a comparatively easy task--if only you had sufficient strength--to throw a man over your shoulder and carry him thus, even leaving one of your hands and arms quite free; but you would find it not so easy in the midst of blinding flame and choking smoke; you would find it not so easy to pick your uncertain way through a burning building and over flaming floors, over a sloping roof or shaky parapet, and even down a fire-escape. hence the urgent necessity that the fireman should be so well practised, that in a moment he can catch up an insensible, or even conscious person in exactly the most efficient manner, and, with hand and arm free, be able to find his way quickly out of the fire. he must be cool and clear-headed, dexterous, and sure-footed, ready of resource, and quick yet reliable in all his movements; and to these ends, as to others, the drill is directed. captain shaw's advice to those beginning "in the business of extinguishing fires" may be quoted here from his volume on "fire and fire-brigades." "go slowly," he says, "avoid enthusiasm, watch and study, labour and learn, flinch from no risk in the line of duty, and be liberal and just to fellow-workers of every grade." but shouts of laughter are rising, as presently two or three of the recruits at the drill appear in a long flowing skirt, and look awkward enough in their unaccustomed garments as they stride along. they imitate women for the nonce, and are rescued in a similar manner, the men also carrying apparently lifeless figures down the ladders of the escapes. [illustration: escape-drill.] the sheets, however, are used for other purposes of drill. see! a group of men are opening one out, and carrying it below an open window some twenty-five feet above the ground. there are fourteen or so of these men, and they grip the sheet firmly all round, and spread it out a little less than breast-high. a man appears at the window, twenty-five feet or so above. he is about to jump into the sheet far below. at the cry he leaps, or rather drops, down plump into the sheet; and the force of the fall is so great, that, unless these men were all leaning well backward, it would drag them toward the ground, and the rescued man sustain injury. as it is, they are all dragged pretty well forward by the impact of the fall. a person jumping like this into a sheet should drop down into it, not spring, as though intending to cover a great space. and the persons holding the sheet should lean as far backward as possible. if they simply held the sheet, standing upright in the ordinary way, no matter how firm the grip, they would probably all be dragged to the ground in a heap. the jumping-sheet is made of the best strong canvas about feet square, and strengthened with strips of webbing fastened diagonally across. the sheet is also bound round at the edges with strong bolt-rope, and is furnished with about a score of hand-beckets, or loops. if at a fire all other means of rescue be unavailable, the sheet should be brought into use. volunteers, if necessary, should be pressed into the service, and instructed to stretch out the sheet by the beckets, holding it about two feet or so from the ground. they should grasp the becket firmly with both hands, the arms being stretched at full length, their feet planted well forward, but their heads and bodies thrown as far back as possible. even then the volunteers will probably find great difficulty in maintaining the sheet, and preventing it from dashing on the ground. if possible, a mattress or pile of straw or some soft object should be placed on the ground beneath the sheet. the uninitiated have no idea of the weight of a body suddenly falling or jumping on to the sheet from a great height, and this occasion is one for the putting forth of all the strength of body and determination of will of which a man may be capable. but, now the sheet is being folded, and men are appearing on the roofs of the buildings above. a new exercise is beginning. rescue by rope is now to be practised, and long threads of rope begin to appear. imagine yourself a fireman on the top of a burning house, with smoke and flame belching out of the windows below, and agonizing screams for help ringing in your ears. no fire-escape is near, or, if near, not available; for it sometimes happens that persons cannot be rescued by ladders, and the staircase is a mass of flames. what would you do? it is then that the firemen use the chair-knot, or, speaking popularly, they try rescue by rope. every engine carries excellent rope of tanned manilla, and the fireman carries a rope about his body. quickly the ends of the rope are fastened to two points, one on either side of the window--to a chimney-stack, if possible; then, as sailors know how, by means of what is called a "tomfool's knot," loops and knots are made in the rope--one loop to be slung under the arms, and the other to support the knees, and together forming a sort of chair. speedily the loops are adjusted round the person to be rescued, and then he is gradually lowered to the ground. a guiding-rope has been attached, and thrown to the men below, and is used by them to steady the person's descent, to prevent him from bobbing hither and thither, or to draw him out of reach of the flame and smoke. this exercise being over, there is a rattle and a clatter, and into the yard dashes a horsed fire-escape. the men pounce upon it at once, and in a trice whip it off its carriage and wheel it to the building. the present escapes are great improvements on the old forms, and two men can extend it with ease. the first or main ladder of the escape reaches about feet high; and in the pattern the -feet ladders having one extension. other escapes have extending-ladders rising to a height of feet, and even feet, these being in three lengths. but an act of parliament now provides that all buildings above a certain height must have means of exit attached; this generally takes the form of iron ladders or stairways outside the building. all parts of an escape are as far as possible interchangeable, and the ladder-vans are designed to carry any ladders in the brigade. and now the escape-drill is about to commence. the machine is placed against the building, which we must suppose to be burning. up runs a fireman, with hands and feet on the rungs, to the window where the top of the ladder rests. if the window will not open readily, he may, in case of real need, smash it with his axe to obtain ready entrance. then, if you watched him closely, you would see he did something which you would never think of doing. he fastens the end of his rope to the rung of his ladder, and, with the rest of the rope coiled over his arm, disappears into the room. the rope easily runs out as he moves, and affords him a means of speedily finding his way back to the window through the smoke; a very valuable arrangement it may prove to be, when the fireman finds an insensible person or a couple of children to rescue. one child he carries in his arm, and the other he throws across his shoulder, in the recognized brigade manner; and loaded thus, he gropes his way, guided by his one free hand, along the rope. or there may be more than one adult to save. then the rescued person is carried over the shoulder to the top of the trough, or shoot of netting, with which some escapes used to be fitted at the back of the escape-ladder, and is slipped down it feet first to the firemen waiting below; while the plucky fireman above returns for the next person in peril. the fireman will probably follow the last down the shoot by turning a somersault and coming down head first; meantime, holding the other's hands, and regulating the speed of the descent by pressing his knees and elbows against the sides of the netting. but without the shoot he descends by the ladder. should the fire occur at a house surrounded by garden-wall, shrubs, or forecourt, the machine is wheeled as close as possible, and the extension or additional ladders can be placed at a somewhat different angle from the first, so as to bridge over the intervening space and reach the farthest window. the ladders of fire-escapes may also be useful substitutes for water-towers. a water-tower is a huge pipe, running up beside the ladder, or tower; and as three or four steamers play into the base of the huge pipe, the water is forced up it, and the jet at the top can then be directed anywhere into the burning building. "but we don't want any water-towers," exclaimed a fireman; "we can make one ourselves, if we need one." that is, by using the fire-escape ladders to obtain points of vantage. we soon see this accomplished. with a rush of horses and a whiz of steam, a fire-engine tears into the yard, the steam raising the safety-valve at a pressure of a hundred and twenty pounds to the square inch. off leap the men, as though actually at a fire; each one attends to his prescribed duty; and ere long you see one of the men hurrying up the escape-ladder bearing the branch in his hand--_i.e._, the heavy nozzle end of the hose. in a second the engine whistles, there is a spurt of water, and the fireman directs the jet from the distant head of the ladder to a tank in the centre of the yard. the beckets on the hose, placed at intervals of seventeen and then twenty feet, over a hundred-feet length, are made of leather; and are most useful for fastening it to a chimney or any point of vantage by means of the fireman's rope. the weight of a hundred-feet length when complete ranges from sixty to sixty-five pounds, and when full of water much more. the hose for the london brigade is woven seamless, of the best flax; and the interior india-rubber lining is afterwards introduced, and fastened by an adhesive solution. unlined hose is used by some provincial brigades; and it is contended that the water passing through it keeps it wet, and therefore not liable to be burned by the great heat of the conflagration. on the other hand, the leakage is said to be a very objectionable defect. the internal diameter of the hose is two inches clear at the couplings, but a little larger within. the steam-man is taught to remember the great power he rules; otherwise he may, by neglecting to give the warning whistle, endanger his brother-fireman's life by suddenly sending the water rushing through the hose, or bringing a great strain upon it, when the men controlling it are not prepared. it may appear an easy thing to stand on a ladder or a house-top, and direct the jet on the fire; but it is not so easy to carry and to guide the long, heavy, and to some extent sinuous pipe, full of the heavy water throbbing and gushing through it at such tremendous pressure, especially when your foothold is none too secure. a fireman lost his life one night, when holding the hose on the parapet of a roof in the greenwich road. he overbalanced himself, and fell crashing, head downward, sixty feet or more below, and met a terrible death. whether this fearful accident was entirely due to the heavy hose, we cannot say; but unless hose be laid straight, it is apt to struggle like a living thing. the reason is obvious. the water rushes through it at great pressure; and if the hose be not quite straight, the pressure on the bent part of the hose is so great that it struggles to straighten itself. consequently, a fireman turning a stream will probably have to use a great deal of strength. the increase in velocity of the water by the use of a branch and nozzle is, of course, very great. a branch-pipe is defined by commander wells as "the guiding-pipe from hose to nozzle." some branches are made of metal; but leather branches are being substituted for long metal pipes. some of these latter measured from to feet long, and were not only very cumbersome to carry, but often impracticable to use with efficiency inside buildings. leather branch-pipes are sometimes longer, and are tapered from inches in diameter to ½ inch at the nozzle. when, therefore, a stream of water from two to two and a half inches in diameter, forced along at a great pressure, and distending the hose to its utmost capacity, is driven through the narrowing path of the branch-pipe, it spurts out from the nozzle at a much higher velocity; and it is just this narrowing part of the hose which the fireman has to handle, and whence he directs the jet. some nozzles are like rose watering-can pipes, and are furnished with a hundred holes to distribute the water. these nozzles are useful in interior conflagrations and smoky rooms. yet, all important as is the engine-drill, and invaluable as are the engines for serious conflagrations, it is interesting to read in the brigade report that in no fewer than fires were extinguished by buckets, and by hand-pumps, while were extinguished by engines, and, as we have said, by hydrants and stand-pipes. the brigade bucket carried on the engine holds about ½ gallons, and is made of canvas; it is collapsible, cane hoops being used for the top and bottom rings. drill is maintained even for bucket and hand-pump; and the latter appliance is so portable, that the whole of the gear pertaining to it, including two ten-feet lengths of hose, is carried in a canvas bag. hand-pumps are often used for chimney fires. two men usually attend, and expect to find a bucket in the house. they pour small quantities of water on the fire in the grate, and allow as large a quantity of steam as possible to pass up the flue. when the fire in the grate is quenched, the men use the hand-pump on the fire in the lower part of the chimney, and then, mounting to the roof, pour water down the chimney. as sometimes the ends of wooden joists are built into the flues, an examination should be made to discover if the lead on the roof or in any place shows signs of unusual heat, and the joists have caught fire; for outbreaks of fire have been known to occur from this obscure cause. a comparatively simple but effective means of dealing with a chimney fire is to block up both ends of the chimney with thoroughly wet mats or sacks; while one of the easiest methods is to throw common salt on the fire. the heat decomposes the salt, and sets free chlorine gas--common salt being chloride of sodium, and chlorine being a gas which very feebly supports combustion, and tends to choke and dull a fire, if not to extinguish it entirely. and so the drill goes on, with scaling-ladders and long ladders, hose-carts and horsed escapes, steamers and manual-engines, the object of the whole being, not alone to perfect the men in their knowledge of the gear and machines, and skill in using them, but also to develop quickness of eye, and readiness and firmness of hand. a systematic routine is followed by fully-qualified instructors, part of the course being theoretical and part practical; while about the year a new syllabus of instruction came into use. among other alterations, it was arranged that a selected officer should take charge of the recruits' drill for about two years, instead of engineers appointed at comparatively short intervals. further, it was decided to permanently increase the authorized number of recruits, with the anticipation that never fewer than thirty men will be under instruction; and to prohibit them, if possible, from being called away to engage in cleaning or other work, so that their instruction drill should never be interrupted. when the men have passed through a three months' course of instruction, they should be ready to be drafted into the ranks as fourth-class firemen. the men in the brigade are divided into four classes; in addition to which, there are coachmen, and licensed watermen for the river-craft, also engineers, foremen, and superintendents, the whole being in charge of a chief officer and a second and third officer. first aid to the injured is also included in the instruction of the men; and the recruits instruction-room and museum contains a beautifully-jointed skeleton, kept respectfully in a case, for anatomical lessons. [illustration: relics of the brave.] further, if you search the indispensable boxes on the engines, you will find among the mattocks and shovels, the saws and spanners and turncock's tools, a few medical and surgical appliances. every engine carries a pint of carron oil, which is excellent for burns. carron oil is so called from the carron ironworks, where it has long been used, and consists of equal parts of linseed oil and limewater; olive oil may be used, if linseed oil be not procurable. carron oil may be used on rags or lint; and triangular and roller bandages are carried with the oil, also a packet of surgeon's lint and a packet of cotton-wool. accidents which are at all serious are, of course, taken as soon as possible to the hospital. but, alas! some accidents occur which no carron oil can soothe, or hospital heal; and on that roll of honour in the little room beside the big engine-shed, and in the blackened bits of clothing and discoloured, dented helmets in the museum in the instruction-room, you find ample demonstration that a fireman's life is often full of considerable risk. these are the mute but touching memorials of the men who have died in the service; to each one belongs some heroic tale. let us hear a few of these stories; let us endeavour to make these charred memorials speak, and tell us something of the brave deeds and thrilling tragedies connected with their silent but eloquent presence here. listen, then, to some stories of the brigade. chapter xi. some stories of the brigade. here are two tarnished and dented helmets of brass. they belonged respectively to assistant-officer ashford and to fourth-class fireman berg, who both lost their lives at the same great conflagration. about one o'clock in the early morning of december th, , the west london policemen, stepping quietly on their beat about leicester square, discovered that the alhambra theatre was on fire. a fireman on watch within the building had made the same discovery, and with his comrade was working to subdue the flames. but they proved too strong for the men. the nearest brigade station was speedily aroused, the news telegraphed to others, and ere long several fire-engines had hurried to the spot. quickly they were placed at different points about the building, and streams of water were thrown on the fire. but in spite of all efforts, it gained rapidly on the large structure. the position was fairly high and central, and the flames and ruddy glow in the sky were visible in all parts of london; even at that hour spectators rushed in numbers to the scene and crowded the surrounding streets. it was with difficulty that the police could prevent them from forcing themselves into even dangerous situations. the heat was intense, and as far off as the other side of the spacious square it struck unpleasantly to the face. the flames darted high in the air as if in triumph, and the huge rolling clouds of smoke became illumined by the brilliant light. several notable buildings in the neighbourhood stood out clearly in the vivid glow as though in the splendour of a gorgeous sunset, while high amid the towering flames stood the picturesque oriental minarets of the building as though determined not to yield. the firemen endured a fearful time. some stood in the windows, surrounded, it seemed, by sparks of fire. mounting fire-escapes also, they poured water from these points of vantage into the burning building. by half-past one twenty-four steam fire-engines were at work, and at that time the brigade had only thirty-five effective steamers in the force. at about two o'clock the minarets and the roof fell in with a tremendous crash, and still the flames shot upward from the basement. crash now succeeded crash; girders, boxes, galleries, all fell in the general ruin. moreover, the fire leaped out of the building, and began to attack other houses at the back. a number of small and crowded tenements existed here, and the danger of an extended and disastrous fire became very great. but the efforts of the firemen were happily successful in preventing its increase to any considerable extent. it was while working on an escape-ladder that berg met with his death. an escape had been placed against the building next to the front of the theatre, and he was engaged in directing the jet of water from the extended or "fly" ladder fifty feet high, when from some cause--probably the slipperiness of the ladder-rungs--he lost his footing, and crashed head-foremost to the ground. when taken up, he was found to be insensible; and while the fearful flames were still raging, and his comrades were still at work, he was conveyed to the charing cross hospital. among other injuries which he had received was a fracture of the head; and after lingering a few days, and lapsing into long fits of unconsciousness, he died. not long after berg was admitted to the hospital on that fearful night, another fireman was carried thither from the same place. this sufferer was assistant-officer ashford, who arrived at the fire in charge of an engine from southwark. he was standing behind the stage, when a wall fell upon him and crushed him to the ground. his comrades hurried to rescue him, and he was quickly taken to the hospital; but his back was found to be broken, and he had also sustained serious internal injuries. after lingering for a few hours in great pain, he died. he had been thirteen years in the brigade, and was married. several other accidents occurred at this great fire. at the same time that ashford was stricken down, engineer chatterton, who was standing near him, was stunned, and narrowly escaped with his life. four other firemen were also injured, one suffering from burns, one from sprain and contusions of the legs, one from falling through a skylight and cutting his hands, and one from slipping from a steam fire-engine on returning to rotherhithe and breaking his arm. these incidents show how various are the heavy risks the firemen run in the course of their work. when any member of the brigade dies in the execution of his duty, it has been customary to accord the body a public funeral, and ashford's obsequies proved a very solemn and imposing ceremony. at eleven o'clock on december th, a large crowd assembled in southwark bridge road, and detachments of officers and men had been drawn from various fire-stations, until nearly three hundred representatives of the brigade were present. a large number of policemen also joined the procession. it had a long way to traverse to highgate cemetery, where the burial took place. the coffin, of polished oak, was carried on a manual-engine, and covered by a union jack, the helmet of the deceased and a beautiful wreath subscribed for by members of the brigade being placed upon the flag. three police bands preceded the coffin, and after it came mourning-coaches with the relatives of the deceased. captain shaw followed, leading, with mr. sexton simonds, the second officer and the chairman of the brigade committee of the board of works; then came the large body of firemen with their flashing brass helmets; superintendents and engineers were also present, and the large contingent of police. finally, followed six manual-engines in their vivid scarlet, and representatives of the salvage corps and of volunteer brigades. the procession marched slowly and solemnly, the bands playing the dead march in "saul." and thus, with simple yet effective ceremony, the crushed and broken body was borne through london streets to its last resting-place. it may be interesting to trace here the chief particulars of the fire, to illustrate the working of the brigade. of the firemen watching on the premises, one had gone his round, when about one o'clock, on going on the stage, he saw the balcony ablaze. he aroused hutchings, another fireman who slept at the theatre, and the two got a hydrant to work, there having been several fitted in the building; they also despatched a messenger to chandos street station, which is quite near. the fire proved too strong for the hydrant to quench it; and when the manual-engine from the station arrived, a fairly fierce fire was in progress. meantime, directly the alarm had been received at chandos street, it was, as is customary, sent on to the station of the superintendent of the district, and thence it was circulated to all the stations in the district, and also to headquarters. captain shaw was soon on the spot, and directed the operations in person. of course, such a call as "the alhambra theatre alight!" would cause a number of engines to assemble; and in truth, they hurried from all points of the district: they came from holloway and islington, from st. luke's and holborn. but soon "more aid" was telegraphed for; and then engines came flying from westminster and brompton, from kensington and paddington, even from mile end and shadwell in the far east, and from rotherhithe, deptford, and greenwich across the thames. in rapid succession, they thundered along the midnight streets, waking sleepers in their warm beds, and paused not until the excited horses were pulled up before the furious fire. in fact, just within half an hour of the first call at chandos street station, twenty-four steamers were at work on the fire, and throwing water upon the flames from every possible point. captain shaw was assisted by his lieutenant, mr. sexton simonds, and superintendents gatehouse and palmer. the contents of the building were so inflammable, or the fire had obtained such a firm hold, that the enormous quantities of water thrown upon it appeared to exercise little or no effect. but at length, when the roof had fallen, the firemen seemed to gain somewhat on their enemy; and they turned their attention to the dwellings in castle street, and prevented the flames from spreading there. finally, three hours after the outbreak, that is, about four in the morning, the fire was practically suppressed. several of the surrounding buildings were damaged by fire and heat, and by smoke and water. in the dim wintry dawn, the scene that slowly became revealed presented a remarkable spectacle. looking at it from the stage door, the blackened front wall could be seen still standing, though the windows had gone, and within yawned a huge pit of ruin. scorched remains of boxes and galleries, dressing-rooms and roof, all were here; while huge girders could be seen twisted and rent and distorted into all manner of curious shapes, which spoke more eloquently than words of the fearful heat which had been raging. the value of strong iron doors, however, was demonstrated; for the paint-room had been shut off by these doors from the rest of the building, and the flames had not entered it. but to turn to other relics in the museum. here lies a terrible little collection,--a part of a tunic, a belt-buckle, an iron spanner, part of a blackened helmet, and part of a branch-pipe and nozzle. they are the memorials of a man who was burnt at his post. early in the afternoon of september th, , an alarm was sent to the wandsworth high street fire-station. the upper part of a very high building in bell lane, occupied by burroughs & wellcome, manufacturing chemists, was found to be on fire. the time was then about a quarter-past two, and very speedily a manual-engine from the high street station was on the spot. a stand-pipe was at once utilized, and engineer howard, with two third-class firemen, named respectively jacobs and ashby, took the hose up the staircase to reach the flames. unfortunately, the stairs were at the other end of the building, and the men had to go back along the upper floor to arrive at the point where the fire was burning. having placed his two men, engineer howard went for further assistance. amid suffocating smoke, jacobs and ashby stood at their post, turning the water on the fire; and their efforts appeared likely to be successful, when suddenly, a great outburst of flame occurred behind them, cutting off their escape by the staircase. it was a terrible position,--fire before and behind, and no escape but the window! both men rushed to a casement, and cried aloud, "throw up a line!" the crowd below saw the men tearing at the window-bars and endeavouring to break them, while the fire rapidly spread towards them. could no help be given? howard had endeavoured to rejoin the two men, and, finding this impracticable, turned to obtain external aid. the ladders on the engine were fixed together, but they fell far short of the high window. a builder's ladder was added; but even this extension would not reach the two men caged up high above in such fearful peril. a moment or two of dreadful suspense, and then the crowd burst forth into loud cheers. ashby was seen to be forcing his way through the iron bars. he was small in stature, and his size was in his favour. by some means, perhaps scarcely known to himself, he dropped down to the top of the ladder and clung there, and finally, though very much burned, he reached the ground in safety. but the other? alas! his case was far different. it is supposed that the smoke overcame him, and that he fell on his face; but he was never seen alive again. engines rattled up from all parts of london, and quantities of water were thrown on the flames, but to no effect so far as he was concerned. when the fire was subdued, and the men hastily made their way to the upper floor, they found only his charred remains. he had died at his post, the smoke suffocation, it may be hoped, rendering him insensible to pain. but an even more terrible accident happened to a fireman named ford, in october, . his death, after saving six persons, remains one of the most terrible in the annals of the brigade. [illustration: fireman ford at the gray's inn road fire.] about two in the morning of october th, , an alarm of fire reached the holborn station. the call came from gray's inn road; and ford, who had charge of the fire-escape, was soon at the scene of action. he found a fire raging in the house of a chemist at no. in the road, and the inmates were crying for help at the windows. placing the escape against the building, he hurried to a window in one of the upper floors, and, assisted by a policeman, brought down five of the inhabitants in safety. still there was one remaining, and frantic cries from a woman in a window above led him to rush up the escape once more. he had taken her from the building, and was conveying her down the escape, when a burst of flame belched out from the first floor and kindled the canvas "shoot" of the escape. in a second, both the fireman and the rescued woman were surrounded by fire. unable to hold her any longer, he dropped her to the ground, where she alighted without suffering any serious injury. but the fireman became entangled in the wire netting of the machine, and it held him there in its cruel grasp, in spite of all his struggles, while the fierce fire roasted him alive. at length, by a desperate effort, he broke the netting, apparently by straining the rungs of the ladder; but he himself fell to the ground so heavily, that his helmet was quite doubled up, and its brasswork hurt his head severely. his clothes were burning as he lay on the pavement; but, happily, they were soon extinguished, and he was removed, suffering great agony, to the royal free hospital in the gray's inn road. he lingered until eight o'clock on the evening of the same day, when he died. he was only about thirty years of age, and had been four years in the brigade, where he bore a good character. a subscription was raised for his widow and two children, and his funeral was an imposing and solemn ceremony. the coffin was borne on a fire-engine drawn by four horses to abney park cemetery, and was followed by detachments of firemen and of police. it is a peculiarly sad feature of this case that, after saving so many lives, he should himself have succumbed, and that the very machine intended to save life should have been the cause of his death. at the inquest the jury added to their verdict the remark that, had the canvas been non-inflammable (means having been discovered to render fabrics non-inflammable), and had the machine been covered with wire gauze instead of the netting, ford's life might have been saved. considerable improvements have been made in fire-escapes since then, and machines of various patterns are in use in the brigade; but, speaking generally, it may be said that the shoot, when used, is made of copper netting, which is, of course, non-inflammable. happily, all the brave deeds of the firemen do not meet with personal disaster. one brilliant summer afternoon in july, , the duke and duchess of york were present at the annual review of the brigade on clapham common, and the duchess pinned the silver medal for bravery on the breast of third-class fireman arthur whaley, and the good service medal was given to many members of the brigade. whaley had saved two little boys from a burning building, and his silver medal is a highly-prized and honourable memorial of his gallant deed. about one o'clock on the early morning of april th, , a passer-by noticed that a coffee-house in caledonian road, north london, was on fire. several policemen hurried to the spot; but in three minutes from the first discovery the place was in flames. the house was full of people. mr. bray, the occupier, was apparently the first inmate to notice the fire from within, and the others were soon aroused. the terrified people appeared at the windows, and, impelled by the cruel fire, threw themselves one after the other into the street below. they numbered mr. and mrs. bray and four daughters; all except mr. bray appeared to be injured, and were taken to the hospital. some one also threw a child into the street, and he was caught by one of the persons passing by. and now up came the firemen with their escape from copenhagen street. pitching it against the house, they hurried to the upper windows. from one of these they brought down a young woman, who was sadly burnt about the face, and she was sent also to the hospital. penetrating still farther amid the smoke and flame, arthur whaley groped about, and found two lads asleep, and, bearing them out, saved their lives by means of the escape. the fire did considerable damage before it was finally extinguished; but when the stand-pipes were got fully to work, the flames were quickly subdued. one of the daughters died from severe burns soon after her admission to the hospital, and it was afterwards found that a girl of fifteen had been unhappily suffocated in bed. but for the bravery of whaley, the two little boys might have suffered the same sad fate. these true stories of work in the brigade show how various are the perilous risks to which firemen are liable. danger, indeed, meets them at every turn, and in almost every guise. to cope with these risks requires instant readiness of resource as well as knowledge and skill. in times when seconds count as hours, it is not enough to know what to do, but how to do it with the utmost smartness and efficiency. improved appliances will greatly assist the men; and commander wells's horsed escape fully justified expectations soon after its introduction. it can be hurried through the streets at twelve miles an hour, and the wonder is that the brigade used the old hand-driven machine with its slow pace so long. in december, , a horsed escape reached a fire in goswell road in a minute from the alarm signalling in st. john's square fire-station, and saved three lives,--an instance of very smart work that might establish a record, except that great smartness is everywhere the characteristic of the brigade. let us, then, look at the story of the fire-escape a little more closely, and also at some of the new improved appliances, such as the new fire-engine floats and the river-service. chapter xii. fire-escapes and fire-floats. "very smart indeed." the speaker was watching a light van, which had just been whirled into a yard. light ladders projected horizontally in front of the van, and large wheels hung behind, a few inches above-ground. the machine was glowing in brilliant red paint. off jump five men in shining brass helmets. "stand by to slip!" cries one of the men, who is known as no. . thereupon, another man casts off some fastenings at the head of the van, and controls the ladders until the large wheels touch the roadway; another man eases away certain tackle; and yet another, as by a magical touch, brings the ladder to an upright position directly the big red wheels come in contact with the ground, no. man assisting him. the whole operation is performed with great smartness, and the escape--for the machine is one of commander wells's new horsed escapes--is whipped off its van and reared against the house in the proverbial twinkling of an eye. such a scene may be witnessed any afternoon at the london fire-brigade headquarters, when the horse-escape drill is being practised; and the superiority of the new machine over the old seems so obvious, that you exclaim: "i wonder it has not been done before!" the men's positions are all assigned to them. the "crew," as it is called, consists of four firemen and a coachman. when hurrying to a fire, no. takes his place on the near side in front, no. is at the brake on the off side, no. at the brake on the near side, while no. takes his seat on the off side. arrived at the scene of the fire, each man springs to his appointed duty. when the escape is quite clear, no. goes to the fire, no. is seen busy with the gear, and the coachman is occupied with his horses. he removes them from the van if necessary, and is ready to ride with a message if required to do so. moreover, the van carries five hundred feet of hose, and all the necessary gear for using a hydrant at once; so that water can be thrown on a fire directly, even without the arrival of an engine. life-saving is, however, the special use of the escape itself; and looking at it superficially, you will say that the ladder of this machine is not nearly long enough to reach the upper windows of a high house. but if you watch the men at work, you will see that the ladder can be cleverly and quickly extended to a much greater height. you will observe that the escape is made on the telescopic principle, and on a sliding carriage; and though when not extended it only measures about feet over all,--as when riding on the van,--yet when the extending gear is set to work, it can be made to reach a height of feet, or more than double its usual length. this gear for extending the ladder is fitted to the levers on each side, and is easily worked by two men. the -feet escapes are in three lengths, the middle ladder being worked by two separate wires, and the top ladder by one wire. the van carrying the escape is specially built for the purpose; and, as we have seen, the machine can be instantaneously detached, the van being thus free for other uses if necessary. not long after his appointment as chief officer in november, , commander wells submitted plans which he had designed for new escapes and feet in length, and ladders feet in length. the -feet escape was in two lengths, and the others in three lengths; and all of them were designed to be carried on a van of new pattern. the county council authorized the chief officer to obtain patents for his invention, and also ordered experimental machines to be made. these proving satisfactory, it was determined to use them; and a considerable number were ordered, the horsed escape being introduced into the brigade in july, . the appliance is lighter than those hitherto in use, and can be manipulated by fewer men with even greater ease. it has no shoot, or trough, down which a rescued person can be slipped; and bearing in mind that this operation may prove hazardous, unless the person have sufficient presence of mind to raise and press his arms against either side of the shoot so as to break his fall, there is no reason to regret its absence. further, the machine will now be able to reach the scene of action so speedily, and is so amply manned, that the firemen should be able to effect a rescue without the need of a shoot. at the same time, it must be borne in mind that instruction for various patterns of fire-escapes is given at headquarters, and the shoot may be seen in use on some machines there. the new horsed escape follows a series of life-saving appliances, extending over many years. ladders of various kinds, of course, form an important feature; but the necessity of some arrangement whereby the height of the ladders could be rapidly and efficiently extended would, no doubt, stimulate invention; and various contrivances were devised for this purpose. further, the need for conveying the machine rapidly to the fire would lead to the ladders being placed on wheels. without specifying the various kinds of portable ladders in use, it may be stated that the metropolitan brigade came to use one, consisting of a main ladder varying from to feet high, and furnished with a canvas trough along its length. it was doubtless a machine of this sort which was in use when fireman ford lost his life at the gray's inn road fire in . a second ladder, jointed to the first, extended the height feet; while other ladders in some escapes raised the height to and in some cases to feet. the escape in general use by the brigade in consisted of a main ladder, having the sides strengthened by patent wire-rope, and finished at the back with a shoot or a trough of uninflammable copper-wire netting. a fly-ladder lay along the main ladder, to which it was jointed, and was raised, when needed, by levers and ropes. a third ladder, known as the "first floor," which could be jointed to the fly-ladder, was placed under the main ladder; while a fourth could be added, bringing the height up to feet. the fly-ladder could also be instantly detached for separate use if required. the carriage on which this arrangement of ladders was mounted was comparatively light, and was fitted with springs and high wheels, and two men could move it anywhere. as we have said, drill for various descriptions of escapes is practised at headquarters; but the general instructions are that, when running the machine, two men are to be "on the levers," to prevent accident. there used to be a society to organize the use of fire-escapes. it was called the royal society for the protection of life from fire, and was first established in . about seven years later its object was more fully attained, when it was reorganized, and had six escape-stations in the metropolis. in , it possessed no fewer than eighty-five stations, while many lives had been saved, and numerous fires had been attended. but next year, a municipal fire-brigade having been established, the society handed over its works, and practically made a present of all its plant to the metropolitan board of works, the fire-brigade act having been passed in . and so once more municipal organization took up and developed what voluntary effort had begun. various devices have also been employed to afford escape from the interior of the building. perhaps the simplest, and yet one of the most effectual, consists of a rope ladder fastened permanently to the window-sill, and rolled up near it; or a single cord may be used, knotted at points about a foot apart all along its length. like the rope ladder, the cord may be permanently fastened to the window-sill, and coiled up under the toilet-table, or in any place where it may be out of the way, and yet convenient to hand. persons may be lowered by this rope, by fastening them at the end--as, for instance, by tying it under their arms, or placing them in a sack and fastening the rope to it--and then allowing the rope to gradually slip through the hands of the person lowering them. better still, the rope should be bent round the corner of the window-sill, or round the corner of a bed-post, when the friction on the hands will not be so great, and the gradual descent will be safe-guarded. in descending alone, a person will find the knots of great assistance in preventing him from slipping down too fast; and he may increase the safety of his descent by placing his feet on the wall as he moves his grip, one hand after the other, on the rope; this arrangement prevents the friction on the hands, which hurried sliding might cause, with its attendant danger of falling. permanent fire-escapes are provided in large buildings by means of iron ladders or staircases at the back or sides of the structure, with balconies at each story; while poles having baskets attached, ropes with weights so that they may be thrown into windows, and various contrivances and combinations of ladders, baskets, nets and ropes, etc., have all been recommended or brought into use during a long course of years. they are designed to afford escape, either from within, or from without, the burning building; several, however, being for private installation. [illustration: stern of yarrow's fire-launch.] returning, then, to the public improvements in fire extinction, a new and remarkable floating fire-engine was designed about the year , by messrs. yarrow & co. of poplar, in conjunction with commander wells, chief of the london brigade. it was intended for use in very shallow water. the plan was cleverly based on the lines of the _heron_ type of shallow-draught gunboats constructed for use on tropical rivers. six of these vessels were built by messrs. yarrow for the admiralty, and two went to the niger and four to china. the new fire-float design provided for twin-screw propellers fitted in raised pipes, or inverted tunnels, to ensure very light draught combined with high speed, and the consequent power of manoeuvring quickly quite near to the shore. the difficulty of working fire-floats close to the shore in all states of the tide had long troubled the london brigade, and rendered the best type of vessel for this purpose a matter of much concern. originally, vessels of comparatively large size were used, containing machinery both for throwing water and for propelling the boat. these vessels, however, were costly to maintain, and could not be effectively used at all states of the tide. captain shaw, therefore, separated the fire-engine from the propelling power, using tug-boats which would float in a few feet of water to haul along fire-engine rafts, which could be used quite near to the scene of the fire. the last of the large vessels disappeared from the brigade in , and the river-service consisted of tugs and floats, the fire-engines or rafts being familiarly called by the latter name. this system, however, did not prove satisfactory; for, as the chief engineer pointed out, just before the appointment of commander wells, tugs being necessary to haul the floats, double the number of river-craft were employed, and there was a consequent increase in cost of maintenance. he suggested that both the propelling and the fire-engine machinery should be united on one vessel, but that it should be of light draught. the new chief officer was consulted. now, commander wells, who was then thirty-seven years of age, had enjoyed a long experience in the navy; and, moreover, had been used to torpedo-boats, which of course are comparatively light craft. entering the service in , he was second in command of a torpedo-boat destroyer in the egyptian campaign of , and for three years was second in command of the torpedo school at devonport. at the time of his election to the chief officer's post of the london fire-brigade, he was senior officer of a torpedo-boat squadron. he had also been second in command of two battleships, and had partly organized the london naval exhibition of . he was, therefore, likely to be thoroughly conversant with all the latest types of light-draught navy vessels. he pointed out the great disparity existing between the brigade's tugs, which required nine feet of water, and the fire-engine floats, which needed only about two feet; and he prepared a rough plan of a craft on the model of shallow-draught gunboats. the chief engineer approving the plan, a design was prepared by messrs. yarrow & co., in conjunction with commander wells. this design, or one similar to it, is probably destined to revolutionize river fire-engine service. the class of material used would be the same as that employed for building light-draught vessels for her majesty's government; and the method of raising the steam would be, of course, by yarrow's water tube-boilers, having straight tubes, and raising steam from cold water in fifteen minutes. the design shows a vessel about feet long by feet beam, and the draught only about foot inches--_i.e._, five inches less than the previous floats, though containing its own propelling power. the engines, twin-screw and compound, would develop about horse-power, and the speed range from nine to ten knots an hour, while no doubt much higher speed could be obtained if desired. but the main feature is the ingenious use of the propellers. how can they work in such shallow water? briefly, the propellers operate in the two inverted tunnels, the upper parts of which are considerably above the water-line. when the propellers commence to work, the air is expelled from the tunnels, and is immediately replaced by water. thus, a large propeller can be fully immersed, while the vessel itself is only floating in half or may be a third of the amount of water in which the propeller is actually working. the design thus combines maximum speed with minimum draught. sooner or latter, it seems likely that some such system must be adopted for fire-floats used in protecting water-side premises; and so far the design promises to inaugurate a new era. the boilers in the design also operate the fire-engine pumps, which would probably consist of four powerful duplex "worthingtons," each throwing five hundred gallons a minute. they discharge into a pipe connected with a large air-vessel, whence a series of branches issue with valves connected with fire-hose. but at the top of the large air-vessel stands a water-tower ladder, the two sides consisting of water-pipes. at the heads of the pipes are fitted two-inch nozzles, the direction of which can be varied by moving the water-ladders from the deck. branch-pipes can also be led underneath the deck to either side of the vessel. suitable accommodation is provided for the crew, and ample deck space is available for working the craft. she seems likely to give a good account of herself at any water-side fire to which she might be called. concurrently with this new design, arrangements were made to alter the london river-stations, and to some extent remodel the river organization. previously, there had been five river-stations; but usually between fifteen and twenty minutes elapsed after a fire-alarm was received before a tug got under way with its raft or float. this delay was partly owing to the fact that the men lived at some distance, and also that a full head of steam was not kept on the tugs. the chief officer advised that the staff and appliances of the a and b stations, and also of the c and d stations, should be amalgamated, and thus a crew could be always on board and ready to proceed to a fire at a moment's notice. there would be four river-stations--_viz._, at battersea, blackfriars, rotherhithe, and deptford--from any of which a crew with appliances could steam at once. the value of the new arrangement is obvious. moreover, the staff of the blackfriars post are lodged in the large new fire-engine station at whitefriars, opened july st, , and which is not far from the north of blackfriars bridge. as, therefore, the nineteenth century closes, we see the london brigade, which has formed the model of so many others in the kingdom, straining every nerve, not only to maintain its high reputation, but to develop and to improve its elaborate organization and its numerous appliances for coping with its terrible enemy. but, in the meantime, invention has been busy in other directions. fire is so terrible a calamity, and its risks so great, that ingenuity has been taxed to the utmost to master it in every way; and not only to extinguish it, but to prevent it from occurring at all. of a fire, indeed, it may be said that prevention is better than cure. what think you of muslin that will not flame, of ceilings that will pour forth water by themselves, of glass bottles that break and choke the fire? what think you of chemical fire-engines, some so small as to be easily carried on a man's back? or of curtains and screens and fabrics that stubbornly refuse to yield? all kinds of contrivances, in short, have been cleverly designed. let us now see some in operation. have you ever seen a fire choked in a minute? and how is it done? chapter xiii. chemical fire-engines. fire-proofing, or muslin that will not flame. which structure will be first extinguished? imagine yourself gazing at two wooden sheds, both quite filled with combustible materials, and drenched with petroleum and tar. these are to be fired, and then one is to be extinguished by water, and the other by an extinctor, or chemical fire-engine. "ready!" at the word, the torch is applied, and the first shed bursts into flames. it soon blazes furiously. a man steps forward, armed with a hand-pump, such as is used by the metropolitan fire-brigade, and turns a jet of water upon it. hiss! squish! a cloud of steam rises as the water dashes upon the fire, and still the stream pours on. now the fireman pauses to refill his pump with water, and then again the jet plays on the burning pile. the fire dims down to a dull red, the flames cease to shoot upward and outward, and after about five minutes the conflagration is extinguished. bravo! a very smart piece of work! but now the second shed is lighted, and blazes fast. another man hurries forward. he has a steel cylinder slung on his back, and in a second, without any pumping, he directs a jet of fluid upon the fire. the flames die down, the red gives place to blackness, and, in about half the time taken by the other method, the extinctor has completely quenched the fire. how is it done? [illustration: chemical extinctor.] [illustration: section of chemical fire-engine.] within the steel cylinder is suspended a bottle charged with a powerful acid, probably sulphuric acid--but the secrets of patents must not be revealed. the bottle can be instantaneously broken by a lever or weight, and the acid is precipitated into the cylinder, which is filled with an alkaline fluid--perhaps a solution of carbonate of soda. the mixture of these fluids rapidly produces large quantities of carbonic acid gas, which is a great enemy to fire. moreover, water absorbs the gas easily; and when generated in the cylinder, the expansion of the gas causes a propelling power, varying from seventy to a hundred pounds per square inch. consequently, a jet of water propelled by the gas shoots out a distance varying from thirty to fifty feet; and when it reaches the fire, the heat evaporates the water, and liberates the gas held in solution, which chokes the fire. this is the general principle of most chemical fire-engines. there are several varieties; but they are, no doubt, chiefly based on the rapid evolution of carbonic acid gas. if you find the principle difficult to understand, imagine a soda-water bottle bursting, or the contents spurting forth if the cork be suddenly removed, and you will not be so surprised at the stream jetting forth from an extinctor. soda-water is, of course, aërated by being charged with carbonic acid gas. these chemical extinctors are of all sizes; they range from small bottles upward, to large double-tank machines, and drawn by horses. the small bottles contain the necessary materials, so arranged that, when the bottle is thrown down, the gas is generated and the fire choked. both germany and the united states make large use of chemical fire-engines, some of which are capable of giving a pressure of a hundred and forty pounds, and perhaps more, to the square inch. cases filled with sulphur, saltpetre, and other chemicals are sometimes used, which, being ignited, send forth a choking vapour, stifling all fire in a confined space; again, other contrivances discharge ammoniacal gases and hydrochloric acid. extinctors, or fire-annihilators, have been invented or introduced by several persons. mr. t. phillips was responsible for one in , which generated steam and carbonic acid. two or three persons seem to have had a hand in an apparatus developed by mr. w. b. dick about twenty years later, and patented april, . this consisted of an iron cylinder furnished with tartaric acid, bicarbonate of soda and water, and generating the carbonic acid gas. the first inventor of this appliance was a dr. carlier, who suggested it, or something like it, a few years previously. about the same time, mr. james sinclair introduced his chemical appliance, the firm now being the harden star, lewis, & sinclair company. british fire-brigades would not touch the extinctors; but the americans seized upon them rapidly, and manufactured them largely. at the present time, it is said that there is scarcely a fire-brigade in the states that does not use a chemical fire-engine in some shape or form. in britain, the extinctor, either as the hand-grenade bottle or portable cylinder, which latter contains about eight gallons, is largely used by private persons, and is kept in many large establishments. several provincial fire-brigades have also adopted the appliances in some form or other; but, as a rule, the chemical fire-engine has not been used by the public fire-brigades of the country. perhaps one reason is, that it is regarded as more suitable for private use, and not as superior to the powerful steam-engines, hydrants, etc., operated so efficiently by trained firemen. it will be seen that the claims for chemical fire-engines are twofold in character: first, that they themselves supply propelling power for the fluid without pumps--a great consideration for private persons; and, secondly, that the liquid thrown has far greater fire-quenching powers than water. to the first of these claims, it is possible that fire-brigades, with their numerous hydrants and powerful steam-engines, would pay but little regard; while as to the second claim, only accomplished chemists and impartially-minded persons of wide and varied experience can form a fully-reliable opinion. at the time of the great cripplegate fire in london, november, , americans were very keen in their criticism, much of which was unjust and inaccurate; but one of their points was the absence of chemical appliances in the london brigade. it is, however, fairly open to argument whether the use of such apparatus would have mended matters. even americans have by no means abolished the steam fire-engine; and they have sometimes found that the fire has obtained so firm a hold, that the best they could do was to prevent the flames from spreading. when quantities of inflammable substances are crowded in high and comparatively frail buildings in narrow thoroughfares, you have all the elements of serious fires; and when once fairly started, it remains to be proved whether a gas-propelled and gas-laden stream would be more efficient than powerful and copious jets of water. the difficulty would appear to be rather that of directly and quickly reaching the seat of the fire, than of the more or less fire-quenching properties of rival fluids. from the evidence of mr. john f. dane at the cripplegate fire enquiry, we may gain some idea why the brigade dislike the chemical fire-engine. he had been twenty-eight years in the brigade--though he had then left the service, and was a consulting fire engineer--but at one fire, where he had found a dense smoke, an hour was occupied in tracing the fire to its source, it being worked upon by hand-buckets. had he used a chemical fire-engine, it would, no doubt, have been played into the dense smoke, and damaged a thousand pounds' worth of goods, while, after having exhausted the charge, they would not have found the fire subdued. chemical fire-engines could not be trusted to discharge where wanted. many modern structures at the cripplegate fire were comparatively frail. iron girders and stone were, no doubt, largely used, and you would naturally think that iron would be fireproof; but, as a matter of fact, iron may be worse than wood. that is, cast-iron is very liable to split, if suddenly heated or cooled; and a jet of water playing on a hot cast-iron girder would most likely cause it to collapse at once, and bring down everything it supported in a terrible ruin. the truth is, therefore, that light iron and stone structures are not nearly so fireproof as they might appear. the difficulty of building fireproof structures has not yet been fully solved, though many suggestions to that end have been made. wood soaked in a strong solution of tungstate or silicate of soda is rendered uninflammable and nearly incombustible. silicate of soda is, perhaps, the best. it fuses in the heat, and forms a glaze over the wood, preventing the oxygen in the air from reaching it. but intense heat will overcome it. whichcord's plan of fire-proofing encases metal girders in blocks of fire-clay; other systems make great use of concrete. walls, of course, should be built of brick or stone; while double iron doors are of great value, as in the case of the warehouses burning at the docks on january st, . at the enquiry into the cripplegate fire of , mr. hatchett smith, f.r.i.b.a., declared that the well-holes or lighting-areas in the warehouses involved, were a source of danger as constructed, and he recommended that such lighting-areas should be confined by party walls, and sealed with rolled plate-glass or pavement-lights. windows facing the street should be glazed with double sashes, and external walls should be built with a hollow space of about two inches between them and their plastering, with an automatic water-sprinkler at the top of the hollow space. such a plan of construction would, he contended, confine the fire to the apartment in which it originated, though it would not extinguish the fire in that room. the flooring mr. smith seemed to take for granted would be of concrete and fireproof. among other fire precautions, the introduction of the electric light in place of gas may operate as a valuable precautionary measure, especially in theatres and public places; while a strong iron curtain, to be quickly dropped down between the stage and the auditorium, is also a most valuable precaution. but all such measures may be largely neutralized by the inflammable contents of the buildings. some manufactures are remarkably dangerous in this respect, and the extensive storage of certain goods renders even spontaneous combustion probable. thus, if a well-built fireproof structure contain large quantities of combustible materials, and these burn furiously, the heat evolved may be so great as to conquer almost everything in the building. indeed, the heat in huge fires is sufficient to melt iron. nevertheless, the liability to fire and its destructiveness is much decreased by wise precautionary measures in building, the idea underlying them being that walls, floorings, doors, or what not should be so made as to localize the fire to the apartment in which it originated. as with buildings, so with clothing. here is a piece of muslin. light it: it will not flame; it slowly smoulders. but even as the problem of building completely fireproof structures has not been solved, so also the question of fireproof fabrics has not been completely answered. progress, however, has been made in that direction. methods have been adopted whereby the flaming of fabrics can be prevented, and their burning reduced to smouldering. a solution of tungstate of soda is, perhaps, one of the best chemicals to use for this purpose, for it is believed not to injure the fibre; but for articles of clothing, borax is better suited, as it does not injure the appearance of the clothes, and it is very effectual in its operation, though it weakens the fibre. alum, common salt, and sulphate of soda will also diminish or entirely prevent flaming; but they tend to weaken the fibre. a simple experiment illustrates the principle. any boy who has made fireworks, or dabbled in chemistry, knows that paper--one of the most inflammable of substances--after being soaked in a solution of saltpetre, will not flame, but smoulders quickly at the touch of fire; hence the name touch-paper, which is used to ignite fireworks. some of these salts, then, prevent the fabric from flaming, and also reduce the burning to slow smouldering, the explanation being apparently this,--when the fabric is dipped in solutions of certain salts, tiny crystals are deposited among the fibres on drying, and the inflammability is diminished; but the effect of the salt upon the fabric has to be considered, and some, such as sulphate of ammonia, will decompose when the goods are ironed with a hot iron. this necessary operation of the laundry, however, does not affect tungstate of soda; and all the dresses of a household could be rendered non-inflammable and largely incombustible by dipping them in a solution of this salt. the proportions would be about one pound of the tungstate to a couple of gallons of water. for starched goods, the best way to use the tungstate would be to add one part of it to three parts of the starch, and use the compound in the ordinary manner. various methods have been adopted for fire-proofing wood, the strong solution of silicate of soda being one of the best. asbestos paint is also useful, if it does not peel off, a little trick to which it seems addicted. by another method, the wood is soaked for three hours in a mixture of alum, sulphate of zinc, potash, and manganic oxide, with water and a small quantity of sulphuric acid. but while the inflammability of wood may be removed, it is questionable if it can be rendered entirely incombustible. in short, the problem of absolutely preventing fires by rendering substances perfectly fireproof has yet to be solved, if, indeed, it is capable of solution. but if fire cannot be entirely prevented, could not some method be devised of automatically quenching the flames directly they break forth? such a method would appear like the prerogative of the good genii of a fairy fable, and beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. but science and human ingenuity which tell so many true "fairy tales" have made some approach to this also. the device is known popularly as "sprinklers," and is contrived somewhat in this way:-- lines of water-pipes are conducted along the ceilings of the building, and are connected with the water supply through a large tank on the roof. to these pipes, the sprinklers are attached at distances of about ten feet. they are, in some cases, jointed with a soft metal, which melts at a temperature of about degrees; the valve then falls, and the water is sprayed forth into the apartment. other sprinklers are said to act by a thread, which, it is claimed, will burn when the heat reaches a certain temperature and release the water. the essential idea, therefore, is that the heat of the fire shall automatically set free the water to quench it. such great importance is attached to the use of sprinklers by some insurance-offices, that they offer a large reduction of premiums to those employing them. again, other sprinklers are not automatic, but require to be set in operation by hand. nevertheless, in spite of all these varied precautions, it is unfortunately a platitude to say that fires do occur; but the point to be noted is, that but for these efforts, they would probably be greater in number and more destructive in their results. even when the flames are raging in fury, much may be done by courageous and well-trained men to preserve goods from injury; and, indeed, much is done by a body of men whose work is perhaps too little known. they pluck goods, as it were, out of the very jaws of the fire, and often while the flames are burning above them. would you like to know them, and see them at work? behold, then, the black helmets and the scarlet cars of the london salvage corps. chapter xiv. the work of the london salvage corps. the great cripplegate fire. "where is the fire?" "city, sir; warehouses well alight." "off, and away!" the horses are harnessed to the scarlet car as quickly as though it were a fire-engine; the crew of ten men seize their helmets and axes from the wall beside the car, and mount to their places with their officers; the coachman shakes the reins; and away dashes the salvage-corps trap to the scene of action. the wheels are broad and strong; they do not skid or stick at trifles; the massy steel chains of the harness shine and glitter with burnishing, and might do credit to the horse artillery; the stout leather helmets and sturdy little hand-axes of the men look as fit for service as hand and mind can make them. everything was in its right place; everything was ready for action; and at the word of command the men were on the spot, and fully equipped in a twinkling. the call came from the fire-brigade. the brigade pass on all their calls to the salvage corps, and the chiefs of the corps have to use their discretion as to the force they shall send. the public do not as a rule summon the salvage corps. the public summon the fire-brigade, and away rush men and appliances to extinguish the flames and to save life. the primary duty of the salvage corps is to save goods. there is telephonic connection between the brigade and the corps, and the two bodies work together with the utmost cordiality. we will suppose the present call has come from a big city fire. the chief has to decide at once upon his mode of action. no two fires are exactly alike, and saving goods from the flames is something like warfare with savages--you never know what is likely to happen; so he has to take in the circumstances of the case at a glance, and shape his course accordingly. should the occasion require a stronger force, he sends back a message by the coachman of the car; and in his evidence concerning the great cripplegate fire, major charles j. fox, the chief officer of the salvage corps, stated that he had seventy men at work at that memorable conflagration. but see, here is the fire! streams of water are being poured on to the flames, and the policemen have hard work to keep back the excited crowd. they give way for the scarlet car, and the salvage men have arrived at the scene of action. entrance may have to be forced to parts of the burning building, and doors and windows broken open for this purpose. crash! crash! the axes are at work. and a minute more the men step within amid the smoke. the firemen may be at work on another floor, and the water to quench the fire may be pouring downstairs in a stream. the noises are often extraordinary. there is not only the rush and roar of the flames, the splashing and gurgling of the water, but the falling of goods, furniture, and may be even parts of the structure itself. walls, girders, ceilings may fall, ruins clatter about your ears, clouds of smoke suffocate you, tongues of flame scorch your face; but if you are a salvage man, in and out of the building you go, while with your brave brethren of the corps you spread out the strong rubber tarpaulins you have brought with you in your trap, and cover up such goods as you find, to preserve them from damage. under these stout coverlets, heaps of commodities may lie quite safe from injury from water and smoke. overhead you still hear terrible noises. safes and tanks tumble and clatter with dreadful din; part of the structure itself, or some heavy piece of furniture, falls to the ground; dense volumes of water poured into the windows rain through on to your devoted head. but you stick to your post, preserving such goods as you can in the manner that the chief may direct. may be you have to assist in conveying goods out of reach of the hungry fire, and your training has taught you how to handle efficiently certain classes of goods. sometimes quantities of water collect in the basement, doing much damage; and down there, splash, splash, you go, to open drains, or find some means of setting the water free. on occasion, the men of the salvage corps find themselves in desperate straits. at the cripplegate fire, one of the corps discovered the staircase in flames, and his retreat quite cut off. with praiseworthy promptitude, he knotted some ladies' mantles together into a rope, and by this means escaped from a second-story window to the road below. on another occasion, major fox himself, the chief of the corps, was rather badly hurt on the hip, when making his way about a burning building at a fire in the borough. the probability of accident is only too great, and it was no child's play in training or in practice which enabled the corps to attain such proficiency as to carry off a handsome silver challenge cup at an international fire tournament at the agricultural hall in the summer of . the duties of the salvage corps do not end even when the fire is extinguished. they remain in possession of the premises until the fire-insurance claims are satisfactorily arranged. they do not, however, know which office is paying the particular claims, and all offices unite in supporting the corps. it is, in fact, their own institution, though established under act of parliament; and it is not, therefore, like the london fire-brigade, a municipal service. when the brigade was handed over to the metropolitan board of works by the act of , provision was made for the establishment of a salvage corps, to be supported by the fire-insurance companies, and to co-operate with the brigade. the corps has now five stations, the headquarters--where the chief officer, major fox, resides--being at watling street in the city. the eastern station is at commercial road, whitechapel; the southern, at southwark; the northern, at islington; and the western, at shaftesbury avenue. the force consists of about a hundred men. their uniform somewhat resembles that of the fire-brigade, being of serviceable dark blue cloth, but with helmets of black leather instead of brass. they are nearly all ex-navy men, excepting the coachmen, some of whom have seen service in the army; indeed, candidates now come from the royal navy direct, but receive a special training for their duties, such as in the handling of certain classes of goods. their ranks are divided into first, second, and third-class men, with coachmen, and foremen, five superintendents, and one chief officer. their work lies largely outside the public eye. they labour, so to speak, under the fire; and it is difficult to estimate the immense quantity of goods they save from damage during the course of the year. thousands of pounds' worth were saved at the great cripplegate fire alone in november, . that huge conflagration, which was one of the largest in london since the great fire of , may well serve to illustrate the work of the corps. the alarm was raised shortly before one o'clock mid-day on november th, and an engine from whitecross street was speedily on the spot. as usual, the salvage corps received their call from the brigade; and in his evidence at the subsequent enquiry at the guildhall, major fox stated he received the call at headquarters from the watling street fire-station, a warehouse being alight in hamsell street. he turned out the trap, and with the superintendent and ten men hurried to the fire. he also ordered other traps to be sent on from the other four stations of the corps, and left the station at two minutes past one. the watling street fire-engine had preceded him; and when he turned the corner of jewin street out of aldersgate street, he saw "a bright cone of fire with a sort of tufted top." it was very bright, and he was struck by the absence of smoke. he thought the roof of one of the warehouses had gone, and the flames had got through. perceiving the fire was likely to be a big affair, he at once started a coachman back to watling street with the expressive instructions to "send everything." the coachman returned at thirteen minutes past one, so the chief and his party must have arrived at the fire about five minutes past one; that is, they reached the scene of action in three minutes. the major and superintendent walked down hamsell street, and found upper floors "well alight," and the fire burning downward as well. it was, in fact, very fierce; so fierce, indeed, that he remarked to his companion what a late call they had received. the firemen were getting to work, and he himself proceeded with his salvage operations. believing that some of the buildings were irrevocably doomed, he did not send his men into these, for the sufficient reason that he could not see how he could get the men out again; but they got to work in other buildings in hamsell street and well street, though the fire was spreading very rapidly. many windows were open, which was a material source of danger, causing, of course, a draught for the fire. they shut some of the windows, and removed piles of goods from the glass, so that the buildings might resist the flames as long as possible. eventually, the staff of men, now increased to seventy in number, cleared out a large quantity of goods, and stacked them on a piece of vacant ground near australian avenue. in spite of the heat and smoke and flame, in spite of falling tanks and safes and walls, the men worked splendidly, and were able to save an immense quantity of property. meantime, the firemen had been working hard. on arrival, they found the fire spreading with remarkable rapidity, and the telephone summoned more and more assistance. commander wells was at st. bartholomew's hospital examining the fire appliances when he was informed of the outbreak. he left at once, and reached jewin street about a quarter past one. superintendent dowell was with him; and on entering the street, they could see from the smoke that the fire was large, and that both hamsell street and well street were impassable, as flames even then were leaping across both the streets. steamers, escapes, and manuals hurried up from all quarters, until about fifty steamers were playing on the flames. early in the afternoon, the girls employed in a mantle warehouse hastened to the roof in great excitement, and escaped by an adjoining building. a staff of men soon arrived from the gas company's offices; but the falls of ruins were already so numerous and so dangerous, that they were not able to work effectually. in fact, the whole of hamsell street was before long in flames; and in spite of all efforts, the fire spread to redcross street, jewin crescent, jewin street, and well street. the brigade had arrived with their usual promptitude; but before their appliances could bring any considerable power to bear, the conflagration was extending fast and fiercely. the thoroughfares were narrow, the buildings high, and the contents of a very inflammable nature, such as stationery, fancy goods, celluloid articles (celluloid being one of the most inflammable substances known), feathers, silks, etc., while a strong breeze wafted burning fragments hither and thither. windows soon cracked and broke, the fire itself thus creating or increasing the draught; the iron girders yielded to the intense heat, the interiors collapsed, and the flames raged triumphantly. in jewin crescent, the firemen worked nearly knee-deep in water, and again and again ruined portions of masonry crashed into the roadway. through the afternoon, engines continued to hurry up, until at five o'clock the maximum number of about fifty was reached. the end of jewin street resembled an immense furnace, while the bare walls of the premises already burnt out stood gaunt and empty behind, and portions of their masonry continued to fall. [illustration] firemen were posted on surrounding roofs and on fire-escape ladders, pouring immense quantities of water on the fire, while others were working hard to prevent the flames from spreading. all around, thousands of spectators were massed, pressing as near as they could. they responded readily, however, to the efforts of the police, and order was well maintained. this was the critical period of the fire. it still seemed spreading; in fact, it appeared as though there were half a dozen outbreaks at once. but after six, the efforts of the firemen were successful in preventing it from spreading farther. as darkness fell, huge flames seemed to spurt upward from the earth, presenting a strikingly weird appearance; they were caused by the burning gas which the workmen had not been able to cut off. crash succeeded crash every few minutes, as tons of masonry fell; while in well street, at one period a huge warehouse, towering high, seemed wrapped in immense flame from basement to roof. an accident occurred by bradford avenue. some firemen, throwing water on the raging fire, were suddenly surprised by a terrible outburst from beneath them, and it was seen that the floors below were in flames. to the excited spectators it seemed for a moment as though the men must perish; but a fire-escape was pitched for them, and amid tremendous cheering the scorched and half-suffocated men slid down it in safety. cripplegate church, too, suffered a narrow escape, even as it did in the great fire of . on both occasions, sparks set fire to the roof, the oak rafters on this occasion being ignited. but the special efforts made by the firemen to save it were happily crowned by success, though it sustained some damage. also mr. nein, one of the churchwardens, assisted by mr. morvell and mr. capper, posted on the roof, worked hard with buckets to quench the flames. it was late at night before the official "stop" message was circulated, and eight o'clock next morning before the last engine left. it was found that the area affected by the fire covered four and a half acres, two and a half being burnt out; and no fewer than a hundred and six premises were involved. fifty-six buildings were absolutely destroyed, and fifty others burnt out or damaged. seventeen streets were affected; but happily no lives were lost, though several firemen were burnt somewhat severely. the total loss was estimated at two millions sterling, the insurance loss being put at about half that amount. the verdict, on the termination of the enquiry at the guildhall on january th, , attributed the conflagration to the wilful ignition of goods by some one unknown. the quantity of water used at this fire was enormous. mr. ernest collins, engineer to the new river water company, in whose district the conflagration took place, said that, up to the time when the "stop" message was received, the total reached to about five million gallons. no wonder that the firemen were working knee-deep in jewin street. the five million gallons would, he testified, give a depth of about five feet over the whole area. but, further, a large quantity was used for a week or so afterwards, until the conflagration was completely subdued. in addition to the engines, it must be remembered that there were fifty hydrants in the neighbourhood. these hydrants can, of course, be brought into use without the turncock; but, as a matter of fact, that official arrived at two minutes past one, the same time as the first engine; while the fire was dated in the company's return as only breaking out at four minutes to one, and the brigade report their call at two minutes to one. the water used came from the company's reservoir in claremont square, islington. but this receptacle only holds three and a half million gallons when full. it is, however, connected with another reservoir at highgate having a capacity of fifteen million gallons, and with yet another at crouch hill having when full twelve million gallons. as a matter of fact, these two reservoirs held twenty-five million gallons between them on the day of the fire, and both were brought into requisition, as well as the islington reservoir. the drain was, however, enormous. in the course of the first hour, the water in the islington reservoir actually fell four feet. it never fell lower, however; for instructions were telegraphed to the authorities at other reservoirs to send on more water, and the supply was satisfactorily maintained,--a striking contrast, indeed, to the great fire of , when the new river water-pipes were dry! it was about nine o'clock when the chief officer of the salvage corps felt able to leave. during the eight hours he had been on duty, his men had saved goods to the value of many thousands of pounds. he had known to some extent the class of goods he would meet with, for the inspectors of the corps make reports from time to time as to the commodities stored in various city warehouses, and he is therefore to some extent prepared. on the following day, the th, the corps were occupied in pulling down the tottering walls of the burned-out warehouses which were in a dangerous condition. this great cripplegate fire aroused a good deal of attention in the american papers, and certain discussion also arose in england as to water-towers and chemical fire-engines. america is very proud of its well-furnished firemen, and not without cause. several cities in the states are, indeed, famous for their well-organized and well-equipped fire departments. let us, then, cross the atlantic, and see something of the men and their methods in active operation. we shall find much to interest and to inform us. chapter xv. across the water. "how can the firemen climb up there?" the question may well be asked; for the tall new york houses seem to reach to the sky. "ordinary ladders won't do." "i guess not," replies the new yorker. "why, as far back as , fourteen out of every hundred buildings were too high to be scaled that way. we build tall here." "then, how about the fire-escape?" asks the englishman. "wa'll, iron ladders or steps are permanently fixed to some of the top windows. but the firemen bring their hook-and-ladder; that is a most valuable contrivance." pursuing his enquiries, the englishman would find that a hook-and-ladder consisted, briefly, of a strong pole, with steps projecting on either side, and a long and stout hook at the top. the fireman can crash this hook through a window, and hang the pole firmly over the window-sill; the hook, of course, plunging right through into the room. climbing up this pole, with another length in his hand, the fireman can hang the second length into the window next above, and so on, up to the very top of the building. he has also a hook in his belt, which he can fasten to the ladder, when necessary, to steady and secure himself. in fact, a well-trained and courageous fireman can climb up the tallest structures by these appliances. these hooked poles are made of various lengths, ranging from about to feet and more. some single ladders and extensions reach to over feet; but it will be seen at once that a succession of, say, ten- or twelve-feet hooked-pole ladders can be easily handled to reach from floor to floor, and that, used by an active and well-trained fireman, it can become a most important appliance for saving life. st. louis appears to have been the pioneer city in the use of this apparatus; but new york and other corporations have followed suit. since every candidate for the new york fire department must undergo a course of instruction in the use of this and other appliances, and the thorough learning in this work renders them better men for their ordinary duties. the ladders are wheeled to the fire on a truck feet long, and called a "hook-and-ladder truck." it carries ladders of different lengths, and also conveys pickaxes, shovels, battering-rams, fire-extinguishers, life-lines, etc., and tools for pushing open heavy doors. the majority of the ladders are placed on rollers, and can be removed at once without disturbing those resting above them. [illustration: american fire-ladders.] to some extent, therefore, we might say that the hook-and-ladder truck with its various appliances answers to the horsed escape of the london brigade; but, while london firemen make use of the escape as a point of vantage whence they can discharge water on the fire, the americans largely adopt the water-tower. indeed, they appear to regard this apparatus as indispensable for high business buildings. briefly, it consists of lengths of pipe, which can be quickly jointed together, the lengths being carried on a van, and varying from about to feet. when jointed, they can rapidly be raised to an upright position, the topmost length having a flexible pipe and nozzle for the discharge of the jet of water. this pipe can be turned in any direction by means of a wire rope descending below, and the tower can be revolved by simple apparatus-gearing. the whole appliance is so arranged that it can be controlled by one man when in action. the water is supplied by a hose fastened to the bottom of the tower. [illustration: american fire-ladders.] as in england, hydrants are largely used in the states, and the steam fire-engine is also, of course, a very important appliance. the average american steam fire-engine generally weighs about three tons, with water in boiler and men in their seats on the machine. the water in the boiler is kept at steaming-point by a pipe full of steam passing through it, or boiling water is supplied from a stationary boiler, so that on arriving at a fire a working-pressure is obtained. the steam-heating pipe, however, is capable of being instantly disconnected at the sound of the fire-alarm. the alarm, moreover, is so arranged that the first beat of the gong draws a bolt fastening the horse's halter to the stall. the animals rush to their posts, the firemen slide down poles from the upper stories to the lower, through holes in the floors made for the purpose, and, every one smartly doing his duty, the horses are harnessed, and the engine or apparatus-van is fully ready to start through the open doors before the gong has finished striking--unless it be a very brief alarm. four snaps harness the horses. the animals stand on the ground-floor by the sidewalls, facing the wheels of the engines and trucks. the harness is hung over the pole-shaft exactly above the place where the horses will stand, the traces being fastened to the truck; the hinged collar is snapped round the animal's neck, the shaft-chain is fastened with a snap, and two snaps fix the reins. one shake of the reins by the coachman detaches the harness from the suspenders, and away fly the horses. arriving at the fire, the engine is attached to the nearest hydrant, and the delivery-hose is led off to the burning building. the hydrant is probably of the upright kind, standing up above the roadway level, though some cities use the hydrant below-ground, and covered with an iron plate. but, the water obtained and the engine ready, the method of attacking the fire at close quarters and inside the edifice is adopted if practicable; and, to accomplish this purpose, the firemen have to fight through blinding and suffocating smoke. for hours they may struggle, well-nigh choked and scorched, though scarce a flash of flame may be visible. to reach the seat of fire, doors are broken down, and even iron shutters opened; while hose is led upstairs, or down into cellars, in order to quench the flames at their source. sometimes, however, on arrival at a fire, the chiefs realize that the conflagration has gained such hold that the firemen's efforts will be most usefully directed to prevent it from spreading. when the water has done its work, the fireman can usually turn it off by a relief-valve without recourse to the engineer, the complete control thus gained tending to prevent unnecessary damage by water. the american fire-brigades--or departments, as they are called--may be broadly divided into two classes: those of great cities, consisting of a paid staff of officers and men, devoting all their time to the service; and, secondly, those of smaller places, consisting of a staff of unpaid volunteers, pursuing their usual daily avocations, but agreeing to respond to fire-alarms;--these men, though unpaid, are generally exempt from service as jurymen and militiamen, and sometimes are permitted a slight abatement of taxation. some brigades, again, consist partly of fully-paid firemen, and partly of volunteers. many of these organizations are not only charged with the extinguishment of fires, but also with the regulation of the storage and sale of combustibles, and in some cities with the supervision of building construction. it is claimed that this arrangement has led to a much more economical and efficient administration of this department; and undoubtedly the fire-brigade has a very lively interest in the security and stability of buildings. the firemen's efforts to improve them rank as valuable precautions and preventives of fire. it is also claimed that some of the american fire departments, as, for instance, that of new york, are among the best in the world, and their engines superior in size and capacity and greater in number than those of other lands. on the other hand, the laws regulating the prevention of fires are said to have been less stringent than those obtaining in some other countries. the terrible fire in new york in , when the loss reached three million pounds, led to the development of the fire-service and of apparatus; and prizes were offered for designs for steam fire-engines. cincinnati appears to have taken the lead at first; but the new york fire department is now regarded as one of the most perfect. it is under the control of three commissioners, whom the mayor appoints; and it has substantially a military organization. the paid brigades are usually divided into companies, varying from six to twelve individuals, including both officers and men. a company may be supplied with a steam fire-engine and tender for hose, or with a chemical fire-engine, such being called "engine companies"; or with a hook-and-ladder truck and horses, called "hook-and-ladder companies"; or with hose-cart only and horses, called "hose companies." a hose-cart will carry nearly a thousand feet of hose, as well as tools for use at fires and half a dozen firemen; while some of them also convey short scaling-ladders. a water-tower is sometimes placed with an engine or a hook-and-ladder company; and, again, these two companies are occasionally brigaded together. further, many cities are arranged into company districts, the captain of each company taking general control over all material, and the enforcement of the laws connected with his department. in some cities, the companies are combined into battalions under a chief of battalion, the highest officer commanding the whole being known as the chief of the department, or may be rejoicing in the imposing title of the fire-marshal. some of the larger cities have shown their wisdom in appointing their firemen for life, including the highest officers, dismissal only taking place on misconduct; but in others the baneful practice is followed of dismissing at least the chief officials after a change in local politics--a plan which does not conduce to great efficiency and discipline. new york has abandoned this policy since . in arranging sites for the fire companies, the principle pursued is to distribute small companies with different appliances over as wide an area as possible, instead of concentrating men and appliances at certain central points. by thus placing companies separately, it is believed that a larger area is served in the same time than by concentrating them together. on the occurrence of large fires, when many companies are called out, distant companies are called from various points, like reserves, to take the places of some of those in action, to meet calls that may arise in the same districts; while at some stations, or company houses, the men are divided into two sections with duplicate apparatus, so that, while one responds instantly to the first call, the second at once prepares to answer any subsequent alarm. among the apparatus used is the jumping-sheet, designed as a last attempt to save life; circular rope nets some feet in diameter being carried on the tenders and trucks in new york; while their canvas sheets have rope handles. light chemical fire-engines are also largely used in small places and in the suburbs of large cities, the lightness of the machine being, no doubt, a great recommendation. an efficient pattern is the double-tank engine, one tank of which can be replenished while the other is being discharged. the tanks contain a mixture producing carbonic acid gas, which is a great foe to fire. the gas is absorbed by water, and as it expands causes a great pressure, sufficient to force the fluid through hose, and throw it a distance of about a hundred and fifty feet. when the water reaches the flames, the gas held in solution is liberated by the heat and chokes the fire. the mixture will not freeze, even when the temperature falls to zero; it is thus always ready. the machine is light, and contains its own propulsive force for the water; so that we cannot wonder it is widely adopted. similar apparatus throws hydrochloric acid and ammoniacal gases, but opinions differ as to their utility; for though efficient fire-quenchers, yet a small portion only of the gas appears to be carried by the fluid and actually reaches the flames. another piece of apparatus is a hose-hoister. for using hose on very high buildings, and also, indeed, for hoisting ladders to great heights, a simple appliance has been devised, consisting essentially of a couple of rollers in a frame; the rope, of course, runs over the rollers to hoist the hose, but the frame is shaped to adjust itself to the coping or cornice of the wall. for cities on rivers, fire-boats are in use, some being fitted with twin-screw propellers, and the crew being sometimes berthed on shore; while, lastly, as in england, the fire-alarm telegraph forms a marked feature of the american system. the alarms are fitted with keyless doors, and the telephone is also largely in use. when, however, the keyless door of the alarm is opened by its handle, a gong sounds on the spot, attracting attention, and preventing, it is intended, wrongful interference with the alarm. when the door is opened, the call for the fire company is then sent. as for the horses, they are regularly trained in new york. they are accepted on trial at the dealer's risk, and placed in a training-stable; here they grow accustomed to the startling clang of the alarm-gong, to the use of the harness, and to being driven in an engine or ladder-truck. passing through these trials satisfactorily, the animal is promoted to service in a company; and if, after a time, a good report is forthcoming as to activity, intelligence, etc., it is bought in and placed on the regular staff. then it is given a registered number, which is stamped in lead, and worn round the creature's neck. a record is kept of each horse, the average term of service working out at about six years. some horses are so highly trained that they will stand in their stalls unfastened; others are simply tethered by a halter-strap, a bolt in the stall-side holding a ring in the strap. it is this bolt which is withdrawn by the first beat of the fire-alarm, instantly releasing the horse. fire-horses often develop heart disease, as a result of the excitement of their work, and sudden deaths sometimes occur. when beginning to show signs of varying powers or of unfitness for their exciting duties, the horses are sold out of the service, being still useful for many other purposes. it was of one such that will carleton wrote in stirring verse. the old fire-horse was sold to a worthy milkman, and instead of the exciting business of rushing to fires came the useful occupation of taking around milk. but one day the old horse heard the exciting cry it knew so well. the rush of the fire-horses sounded near; the engine rattled past. the influence was too strong. regardless of the milk, the old fire-horse started forward; his eye gleamed with the old excitement; no effort could restrain him, and he swept along to the fire, with the lumbering milkcart behind. over fell the cans; the milk splashed all over the streets; but on and on tore the steed, until he actually came in front of the fire-horses, and kept the lead. then, when he reached the fire, he halted, moped, and presently fell in the street, and died. he was game to the last. this glance at the american fire departments indicates the great excellence which many of them have reached. the remarkable efficiency is found both in organization and in appliances, and it no doubt invites comparison with british fire-brigades. if so, britain has nothing to fear. such comparison, if superficial, is little worth; and if exhaustive, would consider all the varying circumstances of each country, and would discover great merit on both sides. thus, the immense height of the american edifices, no doubt, renders the hook-and-ladder a most valuable appliance; but buildings in britain, under the present acts, are not likely to tower so high; and the improved fire-escapes so deftly handled by british firemen yield as good, or even better, results for the work they have to do. the question of the chemical fire-engine is for experts and experience to decide; and whether, with its fumes and its gases, it is really superior under all circumstances, and whether it will ever supersede the water-engine for all purposes, the twentieth century may reveal. we conclude that absolute superiority cannot be claimed by any one country. the truth is, that the means of fighting fire have been developed to very great excellence in many places; and when we consider the high courage and efficient training of the men, and the valuable improvements and great usefulness of the various engines and appliances employed, we may truly regard this immense development as one of the wonders of the modern world. the end. printed by hazell, watson, & viney, ld., london and aylesbury. in the same series. the world's wonders series _of popular books treats of the present-day wonders of science and art. they are well written, printed on good paper, and fully illustrated. crown vo, pages. handsome cloth cover._ + s. d.+ _each_. +marvels of ant life.+ by w. f. kirby, f.l.s., f.e.s., of the natural history museum, south kensington. +the romance of the savings banks.+ by arch. g. bowie. +the romance of the post office+: its inception and wondrous development. by arch. g. bowie. +the romance of glass-making+: a sketch of the history of ornamental glass. by w. gandy. +triumphs of the printing press.+ by walter jerrold. +astronomers and their observations.+ by lucy taylor. with preface by w. thynne lynn, b.a., f.r.a.s. +marvels of metals.+ by f. m. holmes. +miners and their works underground.+ by f. m. holmes. +celebrated mechanics and their achievements.+ by f. m. holmes. +chemists and their wonders.+ by f. m. holmes. +engineers and their triumphs.+ by f. m. holmes. +electricians and their marvels.+ by walter jerrold. +musicians and their compositions.+ by j. r. griffiths. +naturalists and their investigations.+ by george day, f.r.m.s. london: s. w. partridge & co., & , paternoster row. [illustration: "the other animals followed in an instant."] the young firemen of lakeville or herbert dare's pluck by frank v. webster author of "only a farm boy," "the newsboy partners," "the young treasure hunter," "bob the castaway," etc. illustrated books for boys by frank v. webster mo. illustrated. bound in cloth. only a farm boy, or dan hardy's rise in life tom the telephone boy, or the mystery of a message the boy from the ranch, or roy bradner's city experiences the young treasure hunter, or fred stanley's trip to alaska bob the castaway, or the wreck of the eagle the young firemen of lakeville, or herbert dare's pluck the newsboy partners, or who was dick box? the boy pilot of the lakes, or nat morton's perils two boy gold miners, or lost in the mountains jack the runaway, or on the road with a circus contents chapter i a midnight alarm ii in peril iii talking it over iv bert has a plan v buying the engine vi the first run vii bert saves a tramp viii on the lake ix a narrow escape x mysterious actions xi suspicions aroused xii sagger's fire loss xiii singing a different tune xiv a dangerous game xv a generous offer xvi mr. bergman's plans xvii the engines arrive xviii the parade and picnic xix winning the trumpet xx a false alarm xxi the mysterious message xxii the stenographer's suspicions xxiii a brave rescue xxiv an encounter with muchmore xxv the mystery solved--conclusion chapter i a midnight alarm "fire! fire! turn out, everybody! fire! fire!" this cry, coming like a clarion call, at midnight, awoke the inhabitants of the peaceful little new england village of lakeville. "fire! fire!" heads were thrust out of hastily-raised windows. men and women looked up and down the street, and then glanced around to detect the reddening in the sky that would indicate where the blaze was. timid women began sniffing suspiciously, to learn if it was their own homes which, unsuspectingly, had become ignited. "fire! fire! stimson's barn is burning! fire! fire!" a man ran down the principal village street, shouting as he ran. at some doors he paused long enough to pound with his fist, awakening the dwellers who had not heard his call, for he was rodney stickler, the town constable and watchman, whose duty it was to sound the fire alarm, and summon the bucket brigade, in the event of a blaze. "hurry up!" constable stickler shouted, as he ran from house to house, striking with his fist on the doors of the residences where the members of the bucket brigade lived. "the barn is 'most gone! fire! fire!" men jumped from bed, pulled on shirts, trousers, and shoes or boots, and thus scantily attired, rushed forth to do battle with the flames. in a small cottage, near the end of the village street, a lad, hearing the midnight alarm, got up and hurried to the window. he could make out the short, stocky form of constable stickler rushing about. then, off to the left, he could see a dull glow in the sky. there was, also, the smell of wood burning. "what is it, herbert?" asked a woman's voice from another room. "fire, mother," replied herbert dare. "mr. stickler is giving the alarm." "whose place is it? i hope it isn't around here. oh! fire is a dreadful thing! where is it, herbert?" and mrs. dare put on a dressing-gown and came into her son's room. "i think he said it was mr. stimson's barn, mother. i can see a blaze over in that direction." "mr. stimson's barn? he has a fine lot of cattle in it. oh, i hope they save the poor creatures!" herbert, or, as he was usually called by his chums, bert, grabbed up his clothes from a chair, and began to sort them in the darkness, looking for his trousers. "what are you doing, herbert?" asked his mother. "i'm going to dress." "what for?" "i'm going to the fire." "herbert! don't go! you might get hurt. suppose some of the horses should run away and trample on you? don't go!" "i must, mother. they'll need all the help they can get. i must go!" from the village street once more came the alarm. "fire! fire! fire!" now, however, more voices were shouting it. there was also the rush of feet, and bert, peering from the window, saw a crowd of men and boys, many of them carrying buckets, hastening along. the glare in the sky had become brighter. "i'm going to dress and go, mother," said the boy. "i want to aid all i can. we'd like help if our house was on fire." "oh, herbert! don't suggest such dreadful things!" mrs. dare left her son's room, and in a few minutes he had dressed sufficiently to go out. "now do be careful, herbert," called his mother, as he ran downstairs. "if anything should happen to you, i don't know what i'd do." "i'll be careful." herbert dare was the only son of a widow, mrs. roscoe dare. her husband had died several years previous, leaving her a small income, barely sufficient to support herself and her son. it may be added here that mr. dare had been a city fireman before his marriage. this, perhaps, accounted in a measure for the interest herbert took in all alarms and conflagrations. "it certainly looks like a big fire," thought the boy, as he broke into a run down the street. he soon caught up with the crowd hastening to the blaze. "hello, bert!" shouted a lad to him. "going to help put the fire out?" "if they need me, vincent. i see you have your bucket." "yep," replied vincent templer, one of bert's chums. "it's dad's. he belongs to the bucket brigade, but he's away from home, and i took it." "i wish i had one." "oh, i guess they'll have plenty at the barn." "they'll need 'em, for it looks as if it was pretty well on fire." the reflection of the blaze was now so bright that objects in the street could be plainly seen, and faces easily distinguished at a considerable distance. "there's cole bishop!" said bert to his chum, pointing to another lad, who was running along, evidently much out of breath, as he was quite fat. "hello, cole!" called bert. "hello--bert! goin'--to--the--fire?" came from cole, with a puff between each word. "naw, we're goin' to a sunday school picnic," replied vincent, who was something of a joker. "humph! funny--ain't--you!" remarked cole. the boys continued to speed on toward the burning barn, which was one of the buildings belonging to anderson stimson, a farmer, and located just on the edge of the village. the crowd had increased, and several score of people were on their way to the conflagration. "they'll--have--a--hot--time--putting--out--that--fire," spoke cole, with labored breath. "they--only--got--buckets." "that's all they've had in lakeville since the time it was founded by christopher columbus," remarked vincent. "it's a good thing we don't have many fires." "if i had my force pump i could show--show--'em--how--to--squirt--water," said cole, who had begun the first part of the sentence very fast, but who had to slow down on the last section. he was almost completely out of breath. "why didn't you bring it along?" asked bert. "huh! how--could--i--when--it's--fast--on--the--cistern?" that argument was, of course, unanswerable. cole bishop was a lad quite fond of mechanics, and was usually engaged in making some new kind of machinery. his force pump was his latest effort, and he was quite proud of it. "say! i should think it was burning!" suddenly exclaimed bert, as he and his chums turned a corner of the street and came in full view of the blazing barn. the structure seemed enveloped in flames, great tongues of fire leaping high in the air, and a black pall of smoke hovering like an immense cloud above it. "they can't save that!" "guess not!" added vincent. "what good are buckets in a blaze like that? you can't get near enough to throw the water on." "wish--i--had--my--force--pump," panted cole. by this time the boys had joined the crowd that was already at the scene of the fire. the heat could be felt some distance away. "come on, everybody with buckets!" cried constable stickler, who sometimes assumed charge of the bucket brigade. "form a line from the horse trough to the barn. pass the full buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. let the boys pass the empty buckets an' the men the full ones." "let's form two lines for full buckets," proposed another man. "we'll need three," put in a third individual. "who's runnin' this here fire, i'd like to know?" inquired the constable indignantly. "git to work now." "yes, i guess they'd better, or there won't be any barn to save," spoke bert. the flames were crackling furiously. the crowd was constantly increasing, and nearly every man had a bucket or pail. some had brought their wives' dishpans, as they could not find their pails in the darkness and confusion. "come on, bert, let's get in line," suggested vincent. "yes--let--me--git--to--a--place--where--i--can--rest," begged cole. "here, i'll help," added john boll, another of bert's chums. "i'd rather pass the full buckets," said tom donnell. "now then, everybody begin to pass," cried the constable, who had his men in some kind of shape. there were three lines extending from the burning barn to the horse trough, some distance away. the trough was fed by a pipe, running from a spring, and there was plenty of water. "dip an' pass," cried the constable, and the word went along the lines. men standing near the trough dipped their pails in, handed them to the person standing next, and so, from hand to hand went the dripping buckets of water. at last the pail reached the end of the line, and the man nearest the blaze proceeded to throw on the quenching fluid. but here a new difficulty presented itself. the blaze was so hot that no person could approach close enough to make the water effective. the whole front of the barn was in flames. "this ain't going to be no good!" exclaimed one of the men on the end of a line up which the full buckets traveled. he tried to throw the water on the flames, but, approaching as close as he dared, he could not come within ten feet of the fire. "i should say not," agreed his companion. "hey! what's the matter?" called the constable. "why don't you throw the water on the flames, instead of on the ground?" "let's see you do it," was the angry answer. "we'll have to go around to the back, and throw the water on there," was the advice of a tall, lanky farmer. "what good'll that do?" "wa'al, we can't do no good here." "that's so," was the general agreement. the lines began to shift, to get out of the heat of the blaze. meanwhile, those at the trough, not understanding what was going on, continued to pass up the full buckets, but as no one gathered up the empty ones to pass back, the waiting line of boys had nothing to do. several began to leave, to get in a position where they could view the blaze better. "here, where are you boys going?" demanded constable stickler, who was running back and forth, not knowing what to do. "there isn't anything for us to do," replied bert. "we can't save that barn with buckets. we'd better help get some of the machinery and cattle out." "that's right," added vincent, and several men agreed with this. "you--ought to have my force pump," spluttered cole bishop, who had now recovered his breath. "pass up the buckets! pass the buckets!" was the cry that now came from the line of men, that had been extended to reach around to the rear of the barn, where, for the time being, there was no fire. "pass the buckets!" "yes, pass the buckets!" shouted the constable. "here, boys, come back to your places!" for a number of the boys had left, and there were long gaps in the line. "can't something be done to save the barn?" cried mr. stimson, who had been rushing back and forth, mainly engaged in carrying out some valuable harness from the blazing structure. "we're tryin' to," replied the constable. "are all the cattle out?" asked bert. "cattle? land, no; i forgot all about them!" exclaimed the farmer. "i was busy taking my valuable harness out, and saving some of my deeds and mortgages in the house. i'm afraid that'll go next!" "the house is in no danger as long as the wind keeps this way," said bert, "but the cattle are. how many are in the barn?" "five horses and six cows. the cows are in the lower part. they're in no danger yet, but i guess the horses are done for. i forgot all about 'em!" at that moment a shrill cry, almost like a human being in agony, rose above the crackle of the flames. "those are the horses!" cried bert. "come on! we'll try to save 'em!" chapter ii in peril accompanied by several men and boys, bert ran toward the barn. the whole front, and part of the roof, were now blazing. the structure was beyond saving, as far as anything the bucket brigade could do, but the members of that primitive fire department did not stop. the buckets were passed from hand to hand, but such was the haste that a full bucket seldom reached the end of the line. usually about half the fluid was spilled. and what little did get there was merely tossed against the side of the barn that was not yet burning, though from the way it was smoking it would evidently not be long before it burst into flames. once more came the frightened neighing of the horses, tied in their stalls. their cries were weird and terrifying, for a horse seldom gives expression to its fear in that manner. "you can't get 'em out!" called constable stickler, who had heard what had been said. he left his supervision of the bucket brigade and ran alongside of the boy. "the fire's all around 'em. you can't get 'em out!" "well, i'm going to try," declared bert. "my fine horses!" exclaimed mr. stimson. "this means a terrible loss to me!" "is the barn insured?" asked the constable. "yes, but my stock ain't. oh, this is a terrible calamity! an awful misfortune!" bert approached as closely as he dared to the blazing front of the barn. clearly no one could enter that way. but he knew the structure well, for he had once helped mr. stimson get in his hay, when a shower was threatened. "come around to the side door!" he called to those who followed him, and, such was the effect of his leadership, that no one now thought of questioning it. in times of excitement one cool head can do much, and bert was cool. beside the main entrance to the barn, which was up an elevated driveway, there was a door opening into a sort of basement, and from that, by means of stairs, the main floor of the barn, where the horses were, could be reached. this door was locked, but bert smashed the fastening with a big stone, since mr. stimson was too much excited to remember where the key had been placed. "come on!" cried the boy. "you can't take the horses down these stairs," said the constable, as he and several other men followed bert. "no. don't try it," added the farmer. "they'll break their legs." "i'm not going to," said bert. "couldn't if i wanted to. the stairs are too narrow and steep. hey, cole," he called to his chum, who with vincent had left the now utterly useless bucket brigade lines, "you slip around and let out the cows. mr. stimson, you'd better show him." "that's right. we'll git the cows out!" the cows were kept in the basement of the barn, the entrance to it being on the other side, level with the ground. the flames had not eaten down, as yet, and the cows were found patiently chewing their cud. it did not take long for mr. stimson and his neighbors to get them out. with the horses it was a more difficult matter. these highly nervous animals, half maddened by the fire, were running about, having now broken their halters, and they could be heard trampling on the floor overhead. part of the floor was burning, and the animals were confined by the flames to one side of the barn. "you'll never git them out," prophesied the constable. indeed, bert was beginning to have his own doubts. but he had a plan which he wished to try. "come on, vincent," he called to his chum. "you know how to handle horses, don't you?" "sure." by this time the two boys and the constable had reached the head of the stairs, and were inside the barn, on the main floor. fortunately the flames were not yet near the stairway. "look out for the horses!" yelled mr. stickler. "they're crazy with fear!" the animals certainly were. back and forth they rushed as the shifting flames and smoke drove them from place to place. the interior of the barn was becoming hotter and hotter. most of the front had burned away, and through it, wreathed in flames and smoke as it was, those inside could look out and see the wondering crowd gathered before the structure. "goin' to drive the horses through?" asked vincent. "no. they'd never cross those burning embers," replied bert, pointing to where pieces of blazing wood had fallen across the threshold of what had been the big doors of the barn. there was a wide zone of fire, and from it the frightened horses shrank back, though, once or twice, they seemed about to make a rush across it to safety. "how you goin' to do it?" asked the constable. "look out!" suddenly called vincent. "they're coming right for us!" the maddened creatures, frightened by a puff of smoke that surged down from the now blazing roof, charged, like a small troop of cavalry, right at the two boys and the man. "down into the stairway!" cried bert, making a dash for the place they had just come up. they reached it just in time. the horses thundered past, huddled together, avoiding by instinct the narrow, steep stairs, down which, had they stumbled, they would have met their deaths. "now's our chance!" cried bert. "while they're in the far end of the barn!" "what are you going to do?" asked vincent. "open those other big doors!" the barn had two sets of large doors. only one pair was used, however, those up to which the elevated driveway led. the others were to give air to the place, when hay was being stored away, and they opened right into the cow-yard, ten feet below, with a sheer drop over the threshold. "do you think those horses will jump out there?" asked the constable. "i think they will, rather than burn to death." "but the jump will break their legs." "not a bit of it. the cow-yard is soft and mucky. they will sink down in it, and the men can lead them out. come on, vincent, help me open the doors." bert's plan was now evident, and it seemed feasible. but would the frightened horses leap to safety? running up from the stairway, in which they had crouched when the horses thundered past, the two boys hurried across the barn to the big doors. constable stickler called out: "i'll go and send some men around to the cowyard." "all right," replied bert. he and vincent were almost at the doors when, once more, the horses came at them with a rush. the boys were in great peril, but bert saw their chance of safety. "jump up on the mowing machine!" he yelled, and he and his chum crawled upon the apparatus just in time. so close were the horses that one of them stumbled over the extended tongue of the machine, and fell. it got up in an instant, however, and joined its companions, that stood trembling in a corner, staring with terrified eyes at the flames that were eating closer and closer. the barn floor was smaller than it had been, for the fire was consuming it, foot by foot. "come on, now!" cried bert, and a moment later he had thrown aside the heavy bar that held the doors in place, and had swung them open. the draft, created by the fire, served to hold them so. "now help me drive the horses out," he called to vincent. "get behind them, but look out they don't turn on you." cautiously the two boys made their way to where the terrified animals were. their mere movement was enough to send the horses off on the run again. fortunately the leader smelled the fresh air coming in through the opened doors. the horse paused a moment on the threshold and seemed to be staring down into the partly illuminated cow-yard. would he jump? "go on, old fellow!" called bert, encouragingly. "jump! you won't hurt yourself. it's soft mud. go ahead, old fellow." whether the horse understood, or whether the boy's words calmed him, could not be told. certainly he did jump, after a moment's hesitation, and a glance back at the flames which were coming closer and closer. the other animals followed in an instant, for they had wanted only a leader. above the roar of the flames bert could hear the thud as the horses landed in the soft muck of the cow-yard, ten feet below. then came a shout as the men rushed forward to secure them. bert looked from the big double doors. he could see the horses floundering around. one had fallen down, but none of them seemed to be injured. the valuable steeds had been saved by the lad's ready wit. "i wonder if there's anything more we can save?" asked vincent. "let's see if we can't shove out the mowing machine," suggested bert. "if it falls in the muck it can't be damaged much." the two boys shoved the apparatus to the opened doors. another shove and it toppled over and out. it landed safely, as they learned later. "come on, here are some bales of hay and straw. might as well save them, too," suggested bert. "the fall won't hurt them, and the men can roll them out of the way before the flames reach them." they managed to save several bales, all they could reach; and they also rolled out a carriage, which, as it had the bales to topple out on, falling only a short distance, was very little damaged. "that's the stuff, boys!" called constable stickler, who with a crowd of others was in the cowyard, removing such things as the boys pushed or tossed out, for they found many small objects they could save. "there isn't much more we can get out," called bert in answer. "it's getting pretty hot here. guess we'll have to leave, now." he and vincent turned to descend the inner stairs, by which they had entered. as they did so there was a crash, and the forward part of the roof fell in. an instant later the stairway was buried put of sight under a mass of blazing wood. "we can't get out that way!" cried vincent. "we're caught in a trap!" "the big doors!" replied bert. "we can jump out, just like the horses did." "that's so! come on! i guess the mud won't hurt us!" they turned to that side of the barn, but to their horror they saw a stream of fire pouring down over the opening, as a cataract of water flows over the edge of a fall. to escape they would have to jump through the flames. chapter iii talking it over what had happened was this. there was loose hay and straw in the upper part of the barn. the flames, eating up and along the roof, had burned into this, until the whole mass was ablaze. then, as the upper part of the side of the barn, above the big open doors, was burned through, the burning hay and straw began falling into the cowyard. right down it fell, like a cataract of fire. it made a pile in the muck of the cow-yard, whence the men had led the horses, wheeled out the mowing machine and carriage, and removed the baled hay and straw. at first the blazing wisps were extinguished, as the cow-yard was wet, but, as more and more of the hay and straw fell, there gradually grew a pile of blazing hot embers. but, worse than all, was the curtain of fire that shut off escape by the big doors. "what are we going to do?" asked vincent, his face white with fear. "we are up against it," replied bert, speaking more calmly than would have been possible for most lads. but herbert dare was unusually cool-headed, a fact which later stood him in good service. "maybe the stairs are safe now," suggested vincent. it needed but a look at them to show that they were almost burned away. "no escape there," decided bert. "isn't there an end door?" "one, up in the loft, but it's thirty feet from the ground and that's too much of a jump. besides, we can't get into the loft now. it's a mass of flames." "then we've got to jump through the big doors and take our chances with the fire!" declared vincent. "wait a minute," advised bert. he looked about him, seeking some means of escape. it would be dangerous to try to leap through the doors. they would fall into a mass of burning straw, which would scar them terribly, as would also the falling cataract of ignited wisps. yet there was no other way. then a daring idea came to bert. he remembered reading about a man who once escaped in a similar manner from a burning barn. "grab up a horse blanket!" he called to vincent. there were several scattered about the barn, and they were of heavy wool. "i've got one," shouted vincent. at the same time bert found a large one. "dip it in water," was the next command. in one corner of the barn, near the horse stalls, there was a pump, at which were filled the pails to water the horses when they were in the barn. there was water in one pail now. bert dipped his blanket in, and drew it out dripping wet. but the wool had absorbed most of the water, and there was only a little more left in the pail. "here, wrap this about you, and jump!" cried herbert, passing the wet blanket to his chum, and taking the dry one from him. "what will you do?" "never mind about me! i'll pump some more water. you jump, before it's too late!" outside could be heard confused shouting. it was the crowd, calling to the boys to hasten, as the roof was about to fall in. there were anxious eyes waiting for the reappearance of the two young heroes. "jump! jump through the big doors!" yelled bert, helping vincent to wrap the blanket about his body, and fairly shoving him toward the only available avenue of escape. "jump! it will be too late in another minute!" above the crackle of the flames could be heard men yelling: "come on, boys! come on! the roof's going!" with a look at his chum, vincent pulled the blanket more closely about him, leaving only a small opening near his face through which he could look. then he ran to the big doors. bert stuffed his blanket into the pail, in the bottom of which was a little water. then he began to work the pump to get more. he gave one glance, saw his chum leap through the big opening, with the curtain of fire, and then, murmuring a hope that he was safe, he began to work the pump-handle. to his horror no water came. the fire had eaten down into the cow stable, and melted the pipe that ran from the pump to the cistern. no water was available to wet his blanket, on which he depended to save himself from the flames. "bert! bert! come on! jump!" he heard some one call. he caught up his blanket it was merely damp. "it's got to do!" he murmured. "i'll be scorched, i'm afraid, but there's no help for it! here goes!" wrapping the covering about him, he dashed across the barn floor. it was ablaze in several places under his feet. the cataract of fire was now fiercer than ever over the opening of the big doors. holding the blanket to protect his head, he took a running start, and jumped. straight through the big opening he went, and he heard a confused cheer and shout as he appeared. he felt the hot breath of the fire all about him. he smelled the scorching wool, the burning straw and hay. his nose and mouth seemed full of cinders. he felt himself falling down, down, down. he tried to keep himself upright, that he might land on his feet, but, in spite of himself, he felt that he was turning on his back. he twisted and squirmed, as does a diver who wants to cleave the water cleanly. oh, how bert wished he was diving into the old swimming hole, instead of into a fiery mass of straw and hay! he landed on the ground in a crouching position. he seemed to be smothering in a mass of black cinders that rose up in a feathery cloud all about him. he could hardly breathe. then he felt some one grab him--several hands began carrying him forward. an instant later his blanket was unwrapped from his head, and he found himself in the midst of a crowd of men and boys. "look out! the blanket's afire!" some one called, and constable stickler kicked the burning mass of wool to one side. suddenly there was a great crash, and the roof of the barn toppled in. a great shower of sparks arose, and there was a dense cloud of smoke. then the flames seemed to die down, for there was little left for them to feed on. "you got out just in time," said vincent, coming up to bert, and grasping him by the hand. "did you get burned any?" "just a bit; on one hand. i had to leave it out to hold the edges of the blanket together. how about you?" "not a scorch, but i'm wet through from the blanket. it saved me, though." "the pump wouldn't work," explained bert. "but come on, let's get out of this. i'm standing in mud up to my knees. why, the pile of burning straw and hay that was down here seems to be out." "yes. i yelled to the bucket brigade that they'd better use the water on this, instead of throwing it against the sides of the barn, where it wasn't doing any good. so they did, and they kept a good deal of the fire down, so's you'd have a good place to land in." "i owe that to you, vincent." "and i owe my wet blanket to you, so we're even. but let's get on dry ground." the cow-yard, with the natural wetness that always existed there, to which had been added many gallons of fluid from the bucket brigade, was now a miniature swamp. the boys, followed by an admiring throng, made their way to the front of the barn. all work at attempting to save it had now ceased. nothing more could be done, and, as all the cattle and horses had been saved, as well as some of the wagons and machinery, it might be said that all that was possible had been accomplished. "got to let her burn now," said the constable. "how'd it start, mr. stimson?" "tramps must have sot it, i guess. fust i knowed i woke up, an' see th' blaze. then i sent my boy tom out to yell." "yes, i heard him," replied the constable. "he yelled good and proper. i got right after the bucket brigade." "that's what you did." "well, the bucket brigade might as well have stayed in bed for all the good it did," remarked cole bishop, who had recovered his usual calmness. "you'd ought to had a couple of force-pumps like mine." "oh, you boys clear out," advised the constable. "first thing you know you'll git hurt." "huh! i guess if it hadn't been for some of us boys, there'd be a bigger loss than there is," retorted cole. "that's so," agreed mr. stimson. "bert and vincent saved me several hundred dollars by getting out them horses." "any of 'em hurt?" "the bay mare's a little lame, from jumpin', an' the roan gelding is scratched on the fore quarter. but, land! that's nothin'. they'll be all right in a day or two." "pretty heavy loss, ain't it, neighbor stimson?" asked mr. peter appelby, who lived next to the man whose barn was now but a mass of glowing embers. "yes, 'tis, but i got insurance. i'm glad it wasn't the house." "guess you kin be. land! but it did go quick! i never see such a fierce fire. i sure thought them two boys would be burned to death," remarked nate jackford, another neighbor. "so did i," admitted mr. stimson. "it's been a terrible night." "but it might have been worse." "that's so." there was nothing more that could be done. the horses and cows were taken in charge by several neighbors, who agreed to keep them until mr. stimson could build a temporary barn. then, as there was little more to see, for the barn was now completely consumed, the crowd began dispersing. "lakeville ought to have a fire department," said bert, as he walked home with his chums. "yep. they need some force-pumps like mine," agreed cole. "i got a hose rigged up on it, an' if our house got afire, i could put it out as easy as pie." "yes, it's a good pump of yours," admitted vincent, "but what we need here is a regular pumping engine, and some lines of hose. if we'd had 'em to-night we might have saved the barn." "the selectmen of lakeville are too stingy to appropriate any money for a fire department," said bert. "i remember once, years ago, when my father was alive, he proposed it, but nothing ever came of it." "this is a miserly town, anyhow," added cole. "they never have any fourth of july celebration." "that's right," agreed his chums. little was talked of in the village the next day but the fire at the barn. bert and vincent were praised on all sides, and when bert appeared in the streets, with one hand bandaged up, where it had been slightly burned, he was congratulated by nearly every one who met him, until he blushed like a girl. "if constable stickler had given the alarm a little earlier, so's the bucket brigade could have got there quicker, we could have saved the barn," said moses sagger, the owner of the only butcher shop in town. he was a member of the brigade. "that bucket brigade could never have put out that fire, moses," said peter appelby. "there wasn't water enough." "yes, there was. didn't we put out the fire at sim rockford's, one day, about two years ago?" "yes, but that was only his henhouse, when his wife put a charcoal fire in it to keep the hens warm so's they'd lay more. that wasn't much of a blaze. besides, it was in the daytime, and we had the brook to get water from." "well, the bucket brigade's good enough for lakeville," declared the butcher. "what's the use of talking? i've seen it do good work." "well, maybe once in a while. but it can't handle a big fire. we need a regular department, that's what we do." "what, and increase the taxes to pay for it? i guess not much!" exclaimed mr. sagger. "i pay too high taxes now. the bucket brigade is good enough." "that's the kind of men that keeps lakeville from growing," thought mr. appelby, as he walked off. "he's too miserly to want to pay a few dollars extra each year to support a regular fire department. but we'll have to have one some day." that day was nearer than mr. appelby supposed. chapter iv bert has a plan lakeville was a typical new england village. it was of fair size, and was located on green lake, hence the name. there was also a small river which emptied into the lake, and which ran around one edge of the town. altogether it was a very nice place, but, like many other towns, the principal citizens lacked a progressive spirit. the town was governed by ten men, called the selectmen, who were elected each year, and who formed a sort of council. then there was a mayor. at the time this story opens mr. appelby was mayor, and moses sagger was chairman of the selectmen. mr. sagger had an ambition to be mayor the next year, and he was working to that end. "well, herbert," said mrs. dare to her son at dinner the day following the fire, "i hope you don't get up to go to any more midnight alarms." "why, mother?" "because i was worried to death about you. i knew you would get hurt, and, sure enough, you did." "oh, this burn? that doesn't amount to much. i'm glad i went, for i helped mr. stimson save something from the fire." "yes, i heard about it. all the neighbors are talking about you. you certainly take after your father, and i am quite proud, though i can't get over how frightened i felt." "i'm sorry you feel that way, mother, for i was thinking of a plan that might save the village from any more such fires, and i might have to take part in it." "what do you mean, herbert?" "well, i think the village ought to have a fire department, a volunteer one at least, and i was thinking of organizing it." "well, herbert, you know your poor father used to say the same thing, but he never could get any one to agree with him. the men don't seem to take an interest in such a matter, though i should think they would." "i wasn't thinking of taking in the men, mother." "not take in the men? whom would you have, then?" "the boys--my chums." "what! your friends--the boys you play ball with?" "yes. i think we could organize as good a fire department as if we had the men, and i'm sure we could get out quicker on alarms, and could beat the bucket brigade all to pieces." "i'm afraid that's too big an undertaking for you boys, herbert. maybe the men will get together, now, and do something, after this barn fire. perhaps they'll organize a department." "i don't believe so. i heard that mr. appelby and mr. sagger were talking about it, and sagger and his crowd object to spending the money." "that's another point, herbert. you'd have to have money to run a department." "not much. you see we boys would serve without pay, and all we'd need would be an engine." "but engines, even the kind worked by hand-pumps, cost money." "i know it, but we might get a second-hand one cheap. we could raise the money somehow--get up a show, or have a ball game." "perhaps you might, herbert. but i don't want you running into danger. i'm sure you are thoughtful to take so much interest in the affairs of the town. your father used to be that way." "well, our house might catch fire some day, mother, and if i belonged to the boys' volunteer department, we could put it out for you in a hurry." "don't suggest such a thing, herbert. i'm afraid we'll never have a department here." "stranger things have happened, mother. i'm going off now to see some of the boys." though this was the first time bert had spoken to his mother about his plan of organizing a fire department in lakeville, he had been thinking over the matter for some time. even before the barn burned down he had had the 'notion in his head, and, when he saw the futile efforts of the bucket brigade, he determined to take some action. as he strolled down the village street, on the lookout for some of his chums to whom he might broach the subject, he espied cole bishop. "hello, bert!" called cole. "how's your burn?" "it's getting better. what you going to do?" "nothing special. what are you?" "same thing, i guess. i was looking for some of the boys." "what for? going swimming or fishing?" it was the vacation season, school having closed about a week previously. "well, i wasn't exactly going swimming, but i want to talk about water." "about water? say, you ought to see my force-pump. i put some new washers in it, and it'll squirt fifty feet now. come on over. i wish our house would catch fire." "you do? what for?" "well, i'd show you how to put it out. i've got my pump on the cistern, and some hose ready to attach. it's got the bucket brigade beaten a mile." "that's what i want to find some of the boys to talk about, cole. i'm thinking of organizing a fire department." "a fire department! say, that's great! i'll belong, and i'll let 'em use my force-pump--no, i can't, either. it's fast to the cistern." "i guess we'd need something a little larger than that, if we have a department," replied bert, "but you can join, and we'll let you fix the engine pumps when they get out of order." "will you, really? say, that's immense!" "there's vincent, now," went on herbert dare, as he saw his chum who had aided him at the barn blaze. "yes, and john boll is with him. hey, john! hi, vincent! here she comes!" and cole threw a ball high in the air towards the other two boys. john caught and returned it. "come on over here," called cole. "bert has a great scheme." the four boys were soon in earnest conversation. bert told of his plan for getting as many of the village boys as possible to join a volunteer fire department to answer all alarms. "where are you going to get the engine?" asked john. "and where's the money coming from?" inquired vincent. "that's all got to be thought out," replied bert. "maybe cole can make us an engine. he makes almost anything." "that's so," came from john. "guess i'll have to wait a few years before i can make a fire engine, though," responded cole. "but say, i just happened to think of it! they've got a new chemical engine over to jamesville." "i don't see how that helps us," said bert. "don't you? well, listen. if they've got a new engine, they won't need their old hand-pumping one." "well?" "don't you see what i mean? they'll sell the old machine and we can buy it. it's a good one, and has a fine pump on. all it needs is a little fixing, and i can do that. what's the matter with buying the second-hand engine of jamesville?" "nothing's the matter," returned bert slowly, "except that we haven't got the money." chapter v buying the engine this announcement served like a dash of cold water to the boys. they had been quite enthusiastic over cole's plan, but bert's words made them realize that it was one thing to say what they would do, and another to accomplish it. "i--i guess we'll have to give it up," said john boll. "it would be lots of fun for us boys to have a department, but i'm afraid we can't." "it wouldn't be altogether fun," said bert, "as we'd have to work hard to put out fires. but i don't know that we'll have to give up the plan. i wanted to talk to you fellows, and see how you felt about it. perhaps we can raise the money." "how?" asked vincent. "well, we could give some sort of an entertainment, get up a ball game, and charge admission, and we boys can make some cash doing odd jobs, and put that in the treasury." "i believe the folks in this town are too mean to come to a show or a ball game, even if it was to help buy an engine, and a second-hand one at that," declared john. "we'll give 'em the chance," replied bert. "but, fellows, what do you think of the plan?" "what plan is it?" asked a new voice, and the boys looked up to see tom donnell. "we're going to have a fire department," declared cole, and he proceeded to tell what they were discussing. tom was enthusiastic over it, as, indeed, were all the boys. several other lads came along, until there was quite a crowd of them, and bert was kept busy explaining his scheme. from his butcher shop near by, moses sagger looked at the knot of earnestly talking lads. to him that meant but one thing. "them boys is hatching some mischief," he said to his helper. "they're going to play some trick, i'll bet an apple." "and i guess it's a rotten apple at that," thought sidney balder, who worked for mr. sagger. "he's too mean to bet a good apple." "better keep your eyes open for them boys," went on the butcher. "they'll tip over one of my barrels of potatoes outside, or throw mud in on my floor, or something. guess you'd better bring in all the stuff from outside, until they go away." "i don't believe they'll touch anything, mr. sagger," declared sidney, who did not fancy having to bring in all the boxes and barrels from in front of the shop, and take them out again. "yes, they will! i know boys! they're always playing tricks. bring the things in." so sidney had to do it, laboring hard, and all to no purpose, for no sooner had he brought the produce in, than bert and his chums passed on down the street, not bestowing so much as a glance at the butcher shop. they were too occupied thinking of the prospective fire department. "there, i'm glad they're gone," said mr. sagger. "they made me nervous standing there. put the things out again, sid." the boys, at cole's suggestion, had adjourned to his barn. he had a double object in inviting them. he wanted to have a comfortable place to sit down, while they talked the matter over, and he wanted to demonstrate his improved force-pump. this pump was the pride of cole's heart. he had made it out of parts of several old pumps, and, to give him credit, it did throw quite a stream, when the handle was vigorously worked. the boys admired it to his entire satisfaction, and even admitted that it would be of good service if ever cole's house caught fire. "now, let's talk business," bert proposed. "cole, do you know about how much the authorities at jamesville would want for their old engine?" "i haven't the least idea, but i should think they'd sell it cheap." "do you know whether they will sell it?" asked tom. "no, not for sure, but i should think they would." "we can't go by that," declared bert. "we've got to find out for sure." "i move that bert and cole be a committee to go over to jamesville, and see if they can buy the engine," sang out vincent. "that'll start things going." "why, we haven't got our fire department yet," objected charlie rupert. "what's the good of a department if you haven't got an engine?" replied tom donnell. "i'm in favor of that motion." "so am i!" cried a number of the boys. "we haven't regularly organized," said bert, who was rather pleased at the enthusiasm of his chums, "but i'll be willing to go over to jamesville and see what we can do. cole can look at the pumps, and see if they will work well." "yes, they can't fool me on pumps," declared the owner of the improved forcing apparatus on the family cistern. thus it was decided, though there was enough more talk about it to fill several books the size of this one. bert and cole promised to go over to jamesville the next day, and report back to their chums, in cole's barn, the following night. jamesville was a village about five miles from lakeville, but more progressive in every way than its neighbor. bert and cole made the trip the next day. they inquired at the jamesville post-office as to whom they might approach in the matter of buying the second-hand engine, and were referred to the chief of the small fire department. that individual received the boys cordially. he was a man much interested in fighting fires, and he was justly proud of the new chemical engine the town had purchased. "will they see the old engine?" asked bert anxiously, after they had been shown the new one. "yes, the town committee voted to dispose of her to anybody that wants her." "how much?" and at the question the hearts of the boys beat anxiously. "sixty dollars, and it's very cheap. it cost three hundred when new. it's got double-acting pumps, and there's two hundred feet of good hose. it's dirt cheap." it was. cole, who knew something of machinery, admitted this, and bert had hardly hoped to get anything in the shape of an engine for less than seventy-five dollars. "do you boys want to buy it?" asked the chief, for bert had told him the object of their visit. "we did, but we haven't the money. could the engine be held for us, for a few weeks?" the chief looked thoughtful. then he told the boys he hardly believed this was possible, as it was not certain they could raise the cash, and, in the meantime, a sale to some other party might be lost. but the chief sympathized with the boys. he took them around to the chairman of the town committee, and the result of the visit was that the official agreed to hold the engine for a week for the lakeville boys. if they could raise twenty dollars by that time they could take the engine, and agree to pay the rest in installments. bert and cole talked the matter over. they thought this was possible, and they agreed to it. the result was they hurried back to lakeville, with a written option on the engine, good for one week. their chums were hastily summoned, the matter talked over, and the boys went down in their pockets for whatever small sums they had saved up. the total was only eight dollars, but bert proposed that they get up an exhibition ball game and charge admission. this was done, and, by hard work, doing all the odd jobs they could find, the boys just managed to raise the twenty dollars, having made seven at the ball game. "let's get right over to jamesville, the first thing in the morning," proposed cole, after the contest was over and he and bert were counting up the proceeds. "maybe they'll sell it to some one else." "our time isn't up for two days." "i know; but they might forget. well start early." they did, and before noon had completed arrangements, paid the twenty dollars, signed an agreement to pay forty more, and were told they could take the engine. chapter vi the first run "how are we going to get it home?" asked cole, as he and bert, with the jamesville fire chief, went out to look at the hand engine. it was in a shed, back of the place where the new chemical machine was housed. "can't you borrow a horse and drive it over?" asked the chief. "no; let's get the fellows over here and pull it back to lakeville," proposed bert. "that'll be fun. we'll wake up our old town by parading through it." "that's the idea," agreed the chief. "your citizens need stirring up, anyhow. that was quite a fire you had over there the other night. if you'd had a chemical engine like ours that blaze could have been put out." "that's what it could," replied cole. "i had a visit from one of your men the other day," went on the chief. "who?" "mr. sagger. he wanted to know, in case they had a bad fire in lakeville, if we'd lend 'em our engine." "what did you tell him?" asked bert. "i said we were always willing to help our neighbors, but that we wouldn't lend our new engine. i asked him why they didn't have some sort of a department, instead of a bucket brigade, but he said they were poor, and couldn't afford it." "why, he's worth lots of money," declared cole. "he could support a department himself, and never miss the cash!" "did he say anything about our boys' department?" asked bert. "yes, he mentioned it; but he laughed at it. said it was only a lark of you lads, and would never amount to anything." "we'll show him!" exclaimed cole. "maybe he'll be glad of our service, some day." "i like the spirit you boys show," went on the chief. "if i can help you, give you advice, or anything like that, why, don't hesitate to call on me." they thanked him, and promised that they would. then they again began to discuss how to get the engine back, and finally decided to get their chums, make a trip for it, and haul it back in triumph that afternoon. a hand fire engine, as probably many of my young readers know, is just what the name implies. in the days before steam engines were invented, one manner of putting out fires was by hand engines. the hand engines of those days, and the one which the lakeville boys had purchased, was nothing more or less than a big tank on wheels, with a pump to force the water from the tank through a hose. the water was poured into the tank by pails, so that a sort of bucket brigade was really necessary. then there was needed many pairs of strong arms to work the pump handles, or "brakes," as they were sometimes called. these handles were quite long, and usually there were two of them, arranged something like those on a hand-car, used by construction gangs on a railroad. there was thus room enough for several men or boys to take hold of the poles on either side of the engine. sometimes those working the handles stood on the ground, or, in case of a large engine, like the one the boys had purchased, on top of the water tank. the water was poured into the tank at one end and forced out at the opposite end, through the hose. on some engines there were two lines of hose, and very powerful pumps, but, of course, the efficiency of the engine depended on the amount of water it could throw, and this, in turn, depended on how fast the bucket brigade could fill the tank. when the tank was full and sturdy arms were working the long handles up and down, there was a steady clank-clank to the pump, and a stream could be thrown for some distance. the engine was hauled to fires by means of a long double rope, which, when not in use, could be reeled up, as could also the hose. some of those old hand engines were very elaborate affairs, with brass work and shiny lamps on them, and they were gaily painted. the one the boys had purchased had been a fine machine in its day, but was rather battered now. still, it was in good working order, and had a long length of hose. "i'll tell you what let's do," suggested cole, as he and bert were on their way to lakeville, to get their chums; "let's wait until after dark to bring it into town, and then we can light the lanterns on the machine," for there were four, one on each corner. "good idea!" replied bert. "we'll do it. and we'll march down the main street, singing. i guess that will make a stir." the plan met with instant endorsement on the part of their chums. they got together as many boys as they could, and late that afternoon the crowd went to jamesville. the engine, which had been put in good shape, was ready for them. "look out you don't lose the buckets," cautioned the chief. "they're hanging underneath the tank. now, boys, good luck, and may your first run be a success." they thanked him for his good wishes, and the lads, having grasped the long rope, set out, dragging the engine after them. they made good time, and soon were on the outskirts of lakeville. "now, wait until i light the lamps," said bert, as it was getting dark. "then we'll start through the town, singing. sing for all you're worth!" the boys needed no urging. they were full of enthusiasm over the new plan, and when the lamps were lighted on the old engine they gleamed on the brass work, making it sparkle brightly. "it looks almost as good as new!" exclaimed cole. "and them pumps is fine. they're almost as good as my force pump." "oh, let up on that force pump, can't you!" asked tom donnell. "you'd think it was the only pump in town!" "it's the only one of that kind," declared cole, a little hurt that his "patent" should thus be spoken of. "all ready, now, boys?" asked bert. "all ready," was the general response. they started off. above the rumble of the wheels of the engine rose their voices in song, and, as they entered the main street of the village, people began to come out to see what the unusual excitement was about, for the purchase of the engine was not generally known, few persons believing the boys were serious in organizing a department. "it's a circus!" exclaimed a little girl. "naw, it's one of them indian medicine shows," declared moses sagger, who stood on the steps of his butcher shop. "why, it's a fire engine!" exclaimed several men. "however in the world did the boys get it? they must have borrowed it to have some fun with!" "more likely took it without permission," said mr. sagger. "somebody ought to tell constable stickler." down the street marched the proud boys, singing at the tops of their voices, the lamps showing off the engine to good advantage. "well, i must say those young chaps have a lot of gumption!" declared mr. appelby. "i wonder if they're going to keep the engine?" "i wish there was a fire--i mean a little one, that wouldn't do much damage," said cole. "i'd like to show 'em how she works." "we might have arranged a bonfire in some lot and given an exhibition," suggested bert, "we'll do that, after we have our company regularly organized." but the boys were destined to give an exhibition before they anticipated it. from down toward the end of the village street there came a cry. "fire! fire! fire!" it was constable stickler's voice. "fire! fire!" he yelled. "kimball's haystack is on fire! turn out the brigade!" it was a quiet evening, and his voice carried a long distance. the boys heard it plainly. "come on, fellows!" cried bert. "here's our chance! the engine is in good working order, and we'll have our first run!" chapter vii bert saves a tramp the boys needed no further call. with whoops and yells they began to haul the engine rapidly in the direction of the fire, the reflection of which could already be seen. "come on!" cried mr. sagger, to several of the bucket brigade. "we must put out the fire. come on, men!" he caught up his bucket from the corner where he kept it. other villagers did likewise, and soon there was quite a throng headed for the burning haystack. "leg it, boys! leg it!" cried tom donnell. "don't let those fellows of the bucket brigade get ahead of us!" "if-they-do-we-can-beat-'em-by-squirting-more-water," panted cole bishop. "but-say-fellows-go-a little slower-i can't-run-much farther." indeed, he was out of breath, for the long tramp from jamesville had tired him. "jump up on the engine, cole," proposed bert. "we can pull you. we'll make you engineer, and the engineer always rides on the machine." "all--right," responded cole, gratefully. he scrambled up on the apparatus, and, with a shout and cheer, the boys were off faster than before, for cole had been a hindrance rather than a help, in pulling the apparatus, as he could not go fast. "fire! fire!" shouted many voices, taking up the cry of the constable. this brought out nearly all the members of the bucket brigade. the blaze was now brighter. "where we going to get our water?" asked john boll of bert, as he raced alongside of his chum, both dragging on the rope. "in the brook. it runs right past kimball's place, and we can form a line of buckets right down to it and up to the engine." mr. kimball's place was on a side street. he had a house and a small barn. the latter building was not large enough to store his hay in, so he kept the stuff in a stack outside. "come on! come on!" constable stickler could be heard yelling. "the barn'll catch pretty soon." "we're coming!" replied bert. "for th' love of tripe! what's that?" cried the constable, as he caught sight of the engine. "the lakeville fire department!" responded several boys. "humph!" exclaimed the constable. "don't you boys go to interferin' with the bucket brigade. i won't have it. the bucket brigade is the regular department for this town." "the only thing the matter with it is that it can't put out any fires," was the retort from john boll. "let's show 'em how we do it, boys." on the way from jamesville, bert and cole, who had been instructed by the chief of that department how to operate the engine, imparted this information to their chums. so, though the lads had never before worked a hand engine, they felt that they could make a good showing. "we'll have to hustle, boys," called bert to his little force. "that bucket brigade will have it in for us, and they can handle a haystack fire pretty good. let's show 'em how we do it." by this time they had turned down the side street to where the burning hay was. the flames had mostly enveloped it, and mr. kimball and his two sons were vainly dashing pails of water at the base of the ignited pile. "run the engine right down to the brook," said bert. "we won't have to pass the water so far then. as soon as it stops i'll unreel the hose and cole will call for some fellows to jump up and work the handles. don't have any disputes. the rest will pass buckets, and john boll and tom donnell can handle the nozzles. i'll pass water, this time." the post of honor, of course, was at the nozzles, of which there were two. next to that came being at the handles, or brakes, while the hardest work and probably the least spectacular was passing the water. bert deliberately selected this, as he knew putting out the fire depended entirely on the water, and he did not want it said that he chose the best position, as he wanted plenty of lads to assist him with the buckets. "this way, bucket brigade!" called mr. sagger, who acted as a sort of chief at times. "here you are with the engine," cried bert, in opposition. "right down to the brook, boys!" "form lines!" directed mr. sagger. "pass buckets." bert and his chums ran the engine close to the stream of water. then burt unreeled the two lines of hose, and gave them in charge of tom and john. cole was busy oiling the brake bearings and calling for ten boys to assist him. the others, with bert, grabbed the buckets from where they hung underneath the tank, and ran toward the brook. in less than three minutes from the time they had the engine in place, the boys at the handles could pump water, so quickly was the tank partly filled. "now, boys, keep her as near full as you can," advised bert. there were many willing hands. into the tank splashed pail after pail of water. up and down went the long handles, with a "clank-clank." the flattened lines of hose filled out as the water squirted through them, and an instant later, out from the nozzles spurted vigorous streams, which tom and john aimed at the blazing stack. there was a loud hissing, as the water struck the hot embers, and a great cloud of steam arose. "that's the stuff!" cried bert, from his position near the brook. "we'll have it out in a few minutes." "pass the buckets faster!" cried mr. sagger. "douse out the fire!" the members of the brigade had not been idle. they had formed two lines, one for the empty and one for the filled pails, and the end man at the latter line was kept busy tossing gallon after gallon of water on the fire. but his was slow work compared with that of even the primitive hand engine. he had to stop, momentarily, after each bucketful, to reach for another and to toss aside the empty one. then, again, he could only throw water on one spot at a time, and this only a short distance above the ground, whereas most of the fire was near the top. but the hose lines could be aimed to send the water high into the air, whence it descended in a shower, wetting the stack all over. such vigorous treatment could have but one effect. in a little while the fire was under control, save at one place, and this was opposite the line formed by the bucket brigade. the young firemen had refrained from directing water from their lines there, as they did not want to wet the men. "douse the blaze there!" cried mr. kimball, as he saw that in spite of the good work of the boys much of his hay might yet be burned. "don't you dare do it!" cried mr. sagger to john and tom. "we can put this out." "why don't you do it, then?" inquired the owner of the hay. "you've been long enough at it. here, i'll do it." he made a grab for the nozzle tom held, and in doing so doused mr. sagger. "i'll have you arrested for that!" cried the butcher. "you done it on purpose!" "wa'al, i'm going to have this fire out!" replied mr. kimball, and a few seconds later, with the aid from the other nozzle, the blaze was comparatively out. it still smouldered a bit on top, but a few sprinkles from a hose quenched that. "fire's out!" cried cole, from his place on top of the engine. "how's that for the new department?" "boys, you're all right!" exclaimed mr. kimball. "there ain't more than half my hay burned. if i'd waited for that bucket brigade it would all be gone!" "that's not so!" cried mr. sagger. "we'd have had it out in five minutes, if those lads hadn't interfered with us." "that's right," added several men, who did not like the praise accorded to the young fellows. in spite of the good work they had done, there was not the best of feeling toward the boys on the part of the members of the bucket brigade. but on unprejudiced observers the work of the young firemen made a good impression, and they were warmly praised. quite a crowd had collected around the engine, examining it by the light of the four lanterns. all the boys were there save bert, and he had remained near the brook to gather up some of the engine buckets that had been dropped there. as he was picking them up he saw some one crossing the little bridge that spanned the stream, over a hole that was quite deep. the bridge had no side rails, and the figure, which was that of a man, seemed to be unfamiliar with this fact. as bert watched he saw the man sway toward the edge, and, an instant later, topple over into the water, where there was quite a swift current. "help! help!" the man cried. "i'm drowning!" [illustration: "caught the man by his long hair"] bert hesitated only long enough to toss off his coat and in he plunged. he could just make out the head of the man, being swept under the bridge, and he swam rapidly toward it. an instant later he had caught the man by his rather long hair and was pulling him toward shore. "you--you saved my life!" gasped the rescued one, as soon as he was on the bank and could speak, for he had swallowed some water. "i can't swim." "oh, i guess you'd have been all right," said bert. "it is shallow a short distance below here, and you could have waded out." "no," said the man, rather solemnly; "i'd have gone to the bottom and stayed there. i'm that unlucky." he seemed quite affected and spoke sadly. then, by the distant gleam of the lanterns on the engine, bert saw that the man was ragged and quite unkempt. in short, he was a tramp. "where are you from?" asked bert. "from new york. i was asleep under that haystack, and i woke up to find it on fire." "were you smoking there?" asked bert, suspiciously. "no," replied the tramp, so earnestly that bert believed him. "i don't smoke. but i was traveling with a fellow who did. maybe it was his pipe that set the fire. he ran off, and i stayed around to see you boys put out the fire. you did it in great shape. i started to cross the bridge and i fell off. i'm weak, i guess. i haven't had anything to eat all day." "where are you going?" asked bert, for he felt a sympathy for the man. no one else had been attracted to the scene, as every one was too much interested in the new engine to leave it. "i don't know," replied the man, despondently, "i'm looking for work." "what do you do." "i'm a stenographer and typewriter, but there are so many girls at it now that a man can't get living wages. so i decided to become a tramp. i wanted to get out doors, because my health is not good. but i can't get anything to do, except very heavy tasks, and i'm not able to do them." "i'll see if i can't help you," proposed bert. "come with me. i can give you a bed for the night." "no, you've done enough for me. you saved my life, and i'm grateful. some day, maybe, i can return the favor. i'll go on now. if i stayed around here they might arrest me on suspicion of setting the hay on fire. i'll keep on. maybe something will turn up." "then take this money," said bert, handing the tramp a quarter. "you can get something to eat with it." chapter viii on the lake the tramp seemed overcome by emotion. he held the quarter which bert had given him as though he did not know what to do with it. "it's a good one," said the lad, with a smile. "oh, i wasn't thinking that," was the answer. "it--it seems queer to have any one decently civil to me, that's all. i tell you, i appreciate it, young fellow. i've had a hard time of it. maybe it was mostly my own fault, but i certainly have had hard luck. i can't afford to work for the wages they pay girls, and since i had to give up my job i've been down and out. nobody had a decent word to say to me--especially since my clothes got to looking so bad." "i wish i could do something else for you," said bert. "but i haven't any more money. you see, we boys are trying to pay for that engine." "oh, i wouldn't accept any more of your money. it makes me ashamed to take this, when i'm a grown man, and you're but a lad. i tell you, when i fell in the water i didn't much care whether i came up again or not." "that's a wrong way to feel." "i know it, and i'm going to get over it. i'm going to make a new start, thanks to you. i'll not forget you. maybe you'll see me when you least expect it." with this the tramp turned away, crossed the little bridge, this time in safety, and hurried off across the fields, as he saw several of the boys coming down toward the brook. "that's a queer tramp," thought bert. "i wonder if i ever shall see him again?" he was destined to, and under strange circumstances. "hello, bert!" cried cole, who was one of the group of boys. "what are you doing here? the fire's all out." "i know it. i was gathering up the buckets. guess we'd better get the engine back home--that's another thing we hadn't thought of. where are we going to keep it?" "my barn's a good place," replied cole. "that will give me a chance to fix some of the pump valves. they didn't work just right to-night. why--hello! you're all wet!" he added, as he came close to his chum, and saw that his clothes were dripping water. "yes-er-i-er-i got in the brook," replied bert, not caring to tell about the tramp just yet. "i should say you did get in. some of the fellows must have left the buckets too close to the edge. but, come on, let's haul the engine back." most of the crowd had now dispersed, a few members of the bucket brigade lingering to further examine the engine, while some of them made slighting remarks about it. the boys paid no attention to them, but, taking hold of the long rope, pulled the machine through the main street of the village. the lads found their new fire department increased largely as they advanced, for not a youngster in town, whether or not he had before this taken an interest in the organization, but who was now glad to get hold of the rope and pull. "guess we could organize two companies with this crowd," remarked cole, looking at the throng. "yes. we'll have to get together to-morrow or next day and elect officers. then we'll have to arrange some sort of a plan for answering alarms." the engine was run into cole's barn, and the boys crowded around for another observation of it. they actually seemed to hate to leave it to go home to bed. "say, i guess it isn't going to run away," remarked john boll, at length. "it'll be here tomorrow and the next day. i'm going home." this started the boys to moving, and soon cole shut up the barn, taking extra good care to see that the doors were locked. "maybe some members of that jealous bucket brigade might take a notion to run our engine off," he said to himself. but no such calamity happened, and the machine was safe in the barn in the morning when cole overhauled the valves and fixed them. bert and some of his chums called around after breakfast, and they talked fires and engine to their hearts' content. in the next few days several meetings were held, and the boys' volunteer fire department of lakeville was formally organized. because of his part in starting it, herbert was unanimously elected captain. there was a little contest as to who should be the lieutenant, but the honor went to vincent in recognition of his good work at the stimson barn fire. of course, cole was made engineer, chief mechanic and everything else that pertained to the actual operation of the engine. he was about the only boy who could qualify, for only he could take the pumps apart and get them together again. tom donnell was made chief of the "bucket corps," as the boys decided to call that part of the fire-fighting force whose duty it was to keep the engine tank filled with water. the other boys, to the number of a score or more, were made ordinary firemen, to help haul the engine, pass the buckets or work the handles. there was some dispute as to who would be in charge of the hose, at the nozzle ends, during a fire, and, to get around this, as it was considered a post of honor, bert decided the boys could take turns. there was something fascinating about directing a stream of water upon a blaze, and it is no wonder that every boy but cole wanted the place. that is, excepting bert, and he had all he could take care of with his duties as captain. it was decided to keep the engine permanently in cole's barn, as that was near the centre of the village. "we ought to have some sort of an alarm bell," suggested john boll. "we can't always depend on constable stickler." "that's so," admitted bert. "i wonder if we couldn't get permission to have the church bell rung?" this seemed a good idea, and bert and cole interviewed the minister on the subject. he readily agreed to let the bell on the edifice be rung whenever there was a fire, and it was arranged that a long rope would hang from the belfry to the ground outside, where it could be reached by the constable and pulled to give an alarm. mr. stickler was delighted with his new office and increased duties. "i'll have a regular signal system," he explained to the boys, after studying over the matter at some length. he had lost all his antipathy to the engine, and now favored the new fire department more than he did the bucket brigade. "i'll ring the bell once when there's a fire in the northern part of the town," he said; "twice when it's in the east, three times when it's in the south, and four strokes when the blaze is on the west side." the boys were pleased with this plan, and also delighted that the old constable took such an interest in their work. as for the members of the bucket brigade, they, for the most part, sneered whenever the new department was mentioned. "wait 'till they get up against a real fire," said moses sagger. "then we'll see what good their old second-hand engine is. they'll have to depend on the bucket brigade then." the matter of paying the remaining forty dollars due on the engine worried bert and his chums not a little, until cole's father suggested that they charge a small sum weekly for each boy who belonged. as every youth in town was anxious for the honor, it was figured that they could collect at least a dollar a week in this way, since they charged each boy five cents, and there were over twenty. then, too, at mr. bishop's suggestion, they decided to ask a donation from every person whose property they helped save from the flames. mr. kimball, whose haystack was partly saved, heard about this, and sent the boys five dollars. mr. stimson, in view of the good work of bert and vincent, sent the new department ten dollars, so they began to see their way clear, especially as the jamesville authorities voted to give the boys as long as they needed to pay for the engine. for a week or more after the haystack fire there was no occasion to use the engine. it had been put in good shape by cole, and parts of it had been given a fresh coat of paint, until it looked almost as good as new. constable stickler had practiced sending the signals, and the bell could be heard by the boys living in the farthest part of the town. as soon as members of the new fire department heard the signal they were to dress quickly, and hurry to cole's barn. thus, with the constable on the watch to detect the first sign of a blaze, the boys were ready to tackle the biggest kind of a conflagration. one pleasant summer day, bert and several of his chums were out in a rowboat on the lake. they frequently spent much time on the water, for there was good fishing in it and in the river which flowed into the lake, and they also had much fun swimming. "let's row over toward the big cove and have a dip," proposed bert, who, with tom donnell, was at the oars. "it's getting too hot out here in the sun." all agreed, and soon they were in a secluded part of the sheet of water. big cove, as it was locally called, was a sort of bay, almost out of sight from the main part of the lake. to reach it the boys had to row around a point, which extended for quite a distance out into the water. on this point was a boathouse, which was part of the property on which stood an old and what at one time had been a handsome residence. this was on a bluff, overlooking the lake, and was known as the stockton mansion. as the rowboat turned this point the boys were surprised to see a small motor craft shoot out from the boathouse. "look at that!" exclaimed bert. "i didn't know there was one of those gasolene jiggers on the lake." "me either," added tom. "must be a new one. wonder who's in it?" "must be somebody from the stockton house," said vincent; "though i didn't know anybody was living there now." "yes, there's somebody in it," added john boll, "but i never knew they had a boat." "look out!" suddenly exclaimed bert. "it's coming right for us!" sure enough the motor boat was headed straight for the rowing craft, and it was coming on at top speed. no one could be seen in it, though the engine could be heard puffing. "it's running away!" cried tom. "let's catch it!" "let's get out of the way, you mean," called bert. "do you want to be sunk in the deepest part of the lake? pull on your left oar, tom! pull! pull!" the motor boat was now almost upon the other craft. chapter ix a narrow escape "give a yell!" suggested vincent. "what for?" panted bert, as he struggled with the oars, trying to swing the boat out of danger. "there's nobody aboard to steer the boat out of the way." but vincent yelled anyhow, and, to the surprise of the boys, a figure suddenly showed itself in the motor boat. it was that of a man, and he had been lying down in the craft, adjusting some of the machinery while the engine was running. his sudden exclamation, as he sat up on hearing vincent's yell, showed that he was not aware how close he was to a collision. he jumped to his feet, leaped forward to the wheel, and with a few quick turns sent his boat to one side. and it was only just in time, for the freeboard of his craft grazed the extended oars that tom and bert had thrust out to dip in the water, in order to further swing their boat around. "i didn't see you!" exclaimed the man, as his boat rushed past. "i was fixing my engine. i'm sorry!" "whose boat is that?" asked bert. but the man returned no answer, and in a few seconds he was too far off to enable the boys to repeat the question. "do any of you fellows know him?" asked bert of his chums. "seems to me i saw him in the village the other day," replied tom. "he was buying some stuff in the drug store. he's a stranger in town." "wonder what he's doing around here?" asked vincent. "it's a good thing i hollered when i did, or he'd have punched a hole in us." "you're right," agreed bert. "i didn't think there was anybody in the boat. but didn't he come out of the stockton boathouse?" "he sure did," replied tom. "but there hasn't been a boat there in several years. we've been in swimming around here lots of times, and i never saw one before." "me either," chimed in several lads. "and that's a new power boat," went on bert. "it's a dandy, too. we ought to have a gasolene engine to work our fire apparatus." "no, we shouldn't!" exclaimed cole. "those valves on our pumps wouldn't stand being worked too fast. our engine is good enough as it is." "of course it is. we haven't had much use of it lately, have we?" "no; but it's all ready when we get an alarm. i oiled her up good yesterday. and i guess the constable is on the job every night. he's as anxious for a fire as we are, for he wants to ring the bell." "still, i don't believe any one really wants a blaze," remarked bert, and then he added: "we can make another payment on the engine this week, and then we'll only owe twenty-six dollars." "oh, we'll soon have it paid for," declared vincent. by this time the boys had reached the "swimming hole," and, tying up their boat, they soon were undressed and splashing about in the water. the lads had great fun, playing all sorts of games and tricks, but soon the descending sun warned them that it was time to start for home, and after a "last dive" they donned their garments and began rowing back around the point. they kept a watch for the motor boat, but saw nothing of it, nor did there appear to be any signs of life about the old mansion up on the bluff. the stockton house was a source of some mystery to the villagers. the mansion, which, years before, had been the scene of much life and gaiety, was owned by harris stockton, who was reputed to be quite wealthy. but one day he had disappeared, saying good-bye to no one, and it was generally supposed he had gone abroad, as he was rather eccentric, and given to going and coming most unexpectedly. it was thought that the house was deserted, but neighbors frequently saw an old woman about it, after mr. stockton had disappeared, and she announced that she was the housekeeper, sarah blarcum by name. there was also a young man seen about the premises, and, in answer to questions from inquisitive persons, mrs. blarcum stated that the young man was mr. stockton's nephew, alfred muchmore, who was running the place during his uncle's absence. as to where mr. stockton had gone, mrs. blarcum did not know, though she said the nephew had given her to understand his uncle was traveling in europe. muchmore was not known to any of the village people, and seemed to keep pretty much to the mansion. he was seen about the grounds occasionally, but mrs. blarcum attended to all the marketing. "well, herbert," said his mother that night, "you haven't had much use of your new engine, have you?" "not yet; but we will." "oh, i hope you don't have to go to any dangerous fires. i'm so afraid you'll get hurt." "a fireman has to take chances, mother. father had to do it, remember." "but you are only a volunteer." "that's the best kind. i think i'll get the boys together and have a practice run. we need a little drilling. but i'd just as soon an alarm wouldn't come in to-night. i'm dead tired, and i can sleep like a top, after my swim." "then if i hear an alarm from the church bell i suppose you don't want me to call you?" "of course, i do, mother. but i guess i'll hear the bell if it rings." but bert did not, and it was not until his mother had shaken him vigorously, several hours later, that he became aware of the frantic sounding of the fire alarm. "herbert! herbert!" called his mother. "the fire bell is ringing!" "dong! dong! dong! dong!" the bell gave out four quick strokes. then a pause. "dong! dong! dong! dong!" "it's on the west side of town!" exclaimed the boy, as he reached out and made a grab for his clothes. they were arranged on a chair near his bed, in readiness for quickly putting on; a practice observed by all the young members of the volunteer department. "look out of the window, mother, and see if you can discover a blaze, please," directed bert, as he began to dress. "yes, i can see a light off in the west." "that must be it. did the bell ring long before you called me?" "only once. i was awake and heard it. now, do be careful, herbert. don't get into danger." "i'll not, mother," and, with a kiss for his parent, bert dashed down the stairs, and ran at top speed for cole's barn. he saw several of his chums in the street, headed in the same direction. chapter x mysterious actions "where is it?" asked bert, of tom donnell, whom he joined, almost as soon as he came out of the house. "i don't know. i heard the four bells. old stickler is ringing yet. he didn't lose any time." "no, he didn't. say, vincent, do you know where it is?" "i heard simon pierson say, as i ran past his house, a few minutes ago, that he thought it was the stockton mansion. he can see it from his third floor." "the stockton mansion! if that gets going we can't put that out with our little engine." "maybe it's only a small blaze." "i hope so," replied bert. "but come on. we must run faster than this." they found quite a crowd of the young firemen at cole's barn when they got there. cole had jumped out of bed at the first signal from the bell, and had lighted the lamps on the engine. "run her out!" he cried, as bert and his chums came in sight. "no, wait a few minutes," directed the captain. "we will need a few more fellows to haul her up the hill, and there's no use going off short-handed. "but the fire will get too much of a start." "can't help it. might as well not go at all as to go with not enough to work the engine. the bucket brigade would only laugh at us then." "there's some of 'em now!" exclaimed cole. out in the village street could be heard the tramp of running feet, and a man's voice crying: "come on, bucket brigade! we'll beat the new department!" "why don't the fellows hurry!" exclaimed cole. "we'll get left!" "here they are!" shouted tom donnell, as about ten lads rushed into the barn. they lived on the far side of town, and had come in a bunch to respond to the alarm. "grab the rope, boys!" cried bert. "don't let the bucket brigade beat us!" the long double line was run off the reel, and a two-score of ready hands grasped it. cole, as was his privilege, jumped on the engine to steer, for he had rigged up a tiller wheel on it, since it had been in his barn, and this made it easier to pull, even with his added weight. "let her go!" he called, and with a rumble over the barn floor, the apparatus was hauled out, the bell on the engine clanging out a warning. in the street in front of cole's house, were several members of the bucket brigade, trying to catch up with the foremost men, who, under the leadership of moses sagger, were running toward the blaze. these stragglers the young firemen shortly left behind, and soon they were almost up to the head of the line of the older fire-fighters. "it's the stockton mansion, all right!" cried cole, as they got to the foot of the hill on which the big house stood. it could be plainly seen now, and flames were shooting from a side window. "it hasn't got much of a start yet," shouted bert. "maybe we can put it out, boys, and save the house. come on, for all you're worth!" the lads needed no urging. they reached the burning house almost as soon as did the first contingent of the bucket brigade. out in the yard was an old woman, wringing her hands, and crying: "oh, dear! oh, dear! we'll all be burned up! the house will be destroyed! oh, dear! oh, dear!" "where is a well or cistern?" asked bert, as he signalled his company to halt the engine. "a cistern? oh, dear! here's one! but be careful you don't fall in. it's very deep. oh, dear! this fire is terrible!" the flames were gaining headway, but seemed to be only in one part of the house, on the east side. "run the engine close to the cistern," directed bert. "tom, you and john cut down the clothes line. fasten some lengths to the buckets. we'll have to dip up the water from the cistern, and pour it into the engine tank. vincent, you take charge here, and see to the buckets. cole, get your fellows to the handles! tom, you and charlie sanders take the nozzles! lively now!" his orders were promptly executed. in a short time several buckets had long pieces of rope attached to them, by which they could be dropped down into the cistern, when the cover was removed. they could then be pulled up full, and the fluid emptied into the tank. the hose was unreeled, and with the nozzles in charge of tom and charlie, bert hurried into the house. "show us the way to where the fire is," he said to the old housekeeper. "right this way! right this way!" she cried, hurrying into the side door of the house as fast as her tottering legs would carry her. "the fire's in an unused part of the mansion. it's near a chimney flue. oh, dear! it's awful!" bert and his two chums followed her. meanwhile, the bucket corps was rapidly dipping up water and filling the tank. the boys had not yet begun to work the handles, as bert had arranged to give a signal, on a whistle he carried, when he wanted the water to begin to flow. the tank was almost full, and cole was beginning to wonder when the young captain would signal for the streams. the flames were becoming brighter and brighter, and were now shooting from windows on the side of the house, a big chimney, built up from outside, jutting out between the casements. "here, you boys git away from here, and let us git some water!" cried moses sagger, as, followed by several men he pushed his way to the cistern. he had been searching all about the premises for a well which the bucket brigade might use, but had not been successful. "we were here first, and we're going to stay!" declared vincent. "that's what!" added cole. "besides, you men can't dip up any water unless you put some ropes on your buckets." "where are the ropes?" asked the butcher, as he saw the truth of that statement. "you'll have to find 'em, same as we did," replied vincent, as he and his chums continued to dip and fill. but the clothes line was all cut up, and there was no more rope in sight, save that by which the engine was hauled. "take that rope," suggested one member of the bucket brigade. "don't you dare touch that!" cried cole. "reel it up, boys, and if they try to take it, douse 'em with water." "no, we haven't any right to take their rope," spoke a cooler-headed member of the men's fire department. "come on to the lake, men. we've got enough men to make a long bucket line. there's plenty of water there." just then there came a blast from the whistle bert carried. "pump!" yelled cole. "pump, boys!" the lads, who had mounted to the top of the engine tank, began to work the handles with vigor, the flat hose bulged out, and, from the sound of the pumps, the young firemen knew they were sending out two vigorous streams. "now, boys, lively!" cried vincent. "give 'em all the water they can use!" thus it became a good-natured race between the two divisions of the department, one trying to pump as much water as possible, and the other seeing to it that the tank did not become empty. because of the closeness of the engine to the cistern, and the fact that there was plenty of water in it, the tank was kept more than half full all the while. meanwhile, the bucket brigade had been formed, and was passing water from the lake. but, as it had to go, hand by hand in the buckets, up a flight of stairs, very little of the fluid reached the blaze. the fire had been gaining headway. bert and his two chums had entered a long hall with their hose, and they saw where the floor and woodwork, adjoining the chimney, were on fire. "douse her out, boys!" cried bert, as he signalled for the water. a moment later two big streams spurted from the brass nozzles, and fell with a hiss on the leaping flames. "i'll take a look around and see if it's breaking out anywhere else," said herbert. "one stream is almost enough there." he turned aside, and started to run down another hall, that was at right angles to the one where the fire was. suddenly a man confronted him, and, even in the excitement, bert knew him for the individual who had been in the motor boat that nearly ran the boys down. "where are you going?" the man asked. "to look and see if there is a blaze anywhere else," replied bert. "who are you?" inquired the man, who appeared very much excited, more so than the occasion called for, since, as yet, the fire was not beyond control. "i'm captain of the boys' volunteer fire department," replied bert. "who are you?" "i'm mr. muchmore. i'm in possession of this house, and you can't pass here!" "but i only want to see if there's another place on fire. we have two lines of hose, and one is enough back there." "i don't care! you can't pass here!" bert wondered at the man's mysterious action, but the boy had no right to dispute the peremptory orders. "put out that fire back there," went on mr. muchmore, motioning to where bert had come from. "that is all there is in the house. and don't you dare pass into this hall." "very well," replied the young captain, quietly, as he returned to tom and charlie. just then he thought he saw a flicker of flame beyond where muchmore was standing. he started forward to investigate. "keep back, i tell you!" cried the man, and he thrust bert to one side so violently that the young fireman hit the wall with considerable force. "there's no need for you to do that!" bert exclaimed, highly indignant. "i only want to help put out the fire!" "you can't come in this hall!" declared the man, and then, before bert could answer, he turned and ran along it at full speed. "well, he certainly acts queer," thought the boy, but, as a second look convinced him that there was no blaze in that part of the house, he returned to his chums. in spite of their efforts the fire seemed to be gaining. "see if they can't give us a bit more water!" cried charlie. bert leaned out of a window, and whistled a signal that had been agreed upon, whenever more pressure was needed. the boys at the handles, who had lagged a bit, increased their strokes, and more water was available. a few seconds later vincent, who had turned his supervision of the bucket corps over to john boll, came into the smoke-filled hall. "can i help you, bert?" he asked. "oh, yes!" exclaimed mrs. blarcum, the aged housekeeper, as she stood some distance back, out of the smoke. "there are some valuable paintings in that room, and they ought to be saved. can you boys get them out?" and she pointed to the door of an apartment just back of where the two lads, with the hose nozzles, stood. "sure we will!" replied vincent. "come on, bert. that will be easier than saving horses." the flames seemed to be eating back, in spite of the efforts of the young firemen, and the aid given by the bucket brigade, which last was not much. they had run up ladders on the outside of the house, near where the flames were, and were throwing water on in that way. "why, the door's locked!" exclaimed vincent, as he tried the knob. "where's the key?" "locked!" repeated mrs. blarcum. "i didn't know that. the paintings will be burned, and mr. stockton was very fond of them. they cost a lot of money." "we can break the door in!" cried bert. "come on, vincent!" the boys prepared to rush at the portal. "stop!" cried a ringing voice, and they looked up to see muchmore hastening toward them. "don't you dare go into that room!" chapter xi suspicions aroused for a moment the boys hardly knew what to do. they stood looking at muchmore, who seemed very angry, and also intensely excited. "we're going to save the pictures," said vincent. "there are no pictures in there!" declared the man. "the housekeeper said so," put in bert. "yes, yes! the valuable paintings belonging to mr. stockton!" exclaimed mrs. blarcum. "they'll be burned up! the fire is coming this way!" "i don't care if it is!" fairly shouted muchmore. "let the pictures burn. as for you, old woman, if i find you meddling any more, with what doesn't concern you, i'll find a way to stop you! now clear out!" the woman shrank back, mumbling to herself, and hastened down the stairs. "you boys are too fresh!" went on muchmore. "why don't you mind your own business?" "our business is to put out fires!" declared herbert. "and that's what we're doing here." "then keep out of places where you have no right to enter! there is no fire here!" "but it may get here soon, and we wanted to save the things," added vincent. "get out!" exclaimed muchmore, in an angry voice. "don't you attempt to go into that room. you'd better pay more attention to the blaze." "the blaze is being attended to all right," replied herbert. "we've got two streams on it. but if you don't want us to save any goods, i'm sure we don't mind. come, vincent, we'll leave." the two boys, puzzled by muchmore's queer actions, went back to where their companions were still playing water on the flames. the fire was now under control, the boys having prevented its spread beyond a small area. quite a hole was burned in the floor, and the flames had eaten through the side of the house, and burned out two windows. a little more water served to put out the last sparks. "guess we're done," said charlie. "you can signal 'em to stop pumping, captain bert," and he laughed, for he was well pleased with his role of fireman. bert blew the prearranged blasts on his whistle, and the boys at the brakes were glad enough to cease, for their arms ached with the strain. those drawing water from the cistern likewise welcomed the respite. "take up the hose," ordered herbert, with as much importance as if he was a battalion chief of a big city department. tom and charlie went through the hall, dragging the two lines with them, and the hose was soon reeled back on the engine. "guess we've done our share," declared mr. sagger, as he called to his men of the bucket brigade. "the fire's out!" "well, i can't say that we did it all," confessed mr. appelby. "the boys did the most of it." "we could have done it without them," asserted the butcher. "they were only in the way. we couldn't use the cistern." "i guess it's just as well they got there first," went on the mayor of lakeville. "this looked like a bad blaze, and if it had got beyond control the whole house would have gone. it's as dry as tinder, and a regular death-trap." "did you hear what started it, mr. appelby?" asked cole, as he trimmed the lamps on the engine. "overheated flue, according to the housekeeper. i was talking to her, but a young fellow came along and ordered her to stop. i wonder who he was?" "that's muchmore," declared herbert "he's in charge since mr. stockton has been away. he didn't want us to do anything toward saving some pictures, and he kept me from going in a certain hall. he's a queer chap." "i should say so," commented mr. appelby. "maybe he lost his head on account of the fire." "and he lost his manners, too," added vincent, at the recollection of muchmore's mean words. "well, the house is safe now," went on mr. appelby. "i guess we can leave. i suppose muchmore can attend to things now. let's gather up the buckets, sagger, and go home. i'd like to get a little more sleep." the bucket brigade soon left, and, a little while later, the young firemen, pulling their engine, moved off down the hill, talking over the events of the night. they all agreed that they had been more successful than might have been expected of a new organization. "i think muchmore might have at least thanked us," said tom donnell. "he didn't show up after his queer actions." "there's something funny about that man," declared bert. "i never saw a person act so suspiciously. he seemed afraid that we would discover something." "maybe he was," said george perkins. "what?" asked several of his companions. "why, i heard that he was a regular gambler," went on george. "he makes a profession of it. maybe he had a gambling outfit in some of those rooms, and didn't want you to discover it." "who told you he was a gambler?" asked vincent. "the station agent. he sees him taking the train to the city every once in a while, and one day he saw him in a car, with a man he knows to be a gambler of the worst kind. oh, muchmore is a gambler, all right." "do you suppose he has gambling games in that house?" inquired tom donnell. "i shouldn't be surprised." "i wonder if mr. stockton knows it?" ventured bert. "i heard my mother say mr. stockton was a very fine man, and i don't believe he would allow that if he knew it." "nobody's liable to tell him," went on george. "he seems to have disappeared. that's another queer part of it. the station agent, who knows mr. stockton quite well, doesn't remember his going away, and he'd have to go from here to new york, if he sailed for europe, which is the story muchmore tells in the village." "boys," said bert suddenly, "i believe there is something mysterious about that house. i thought so when i saw how queer muchmore acted. now, with what george tells me, i am more than ever inclined to that belief." "what can we do about it?" asked vincent. "maybe we can investigate," went on herbert, "i'd like to find out more about the place." "we might make an excuse for going there tomorrow, by asking if the fire did much damage," suggested cole. "and be put out for our pains," objected vincent. "no, i'm going to stay away from there." "i guess that will be best, for a time," decided bert. chapter xii sagger's fire loss though the boys were not thanked by muchmore, for their good work at the blaze in the stockton mansion, the lads knew that they had done efficient service. herbert, however, was not satisfied with his department. "there are lots of things we'll have to do better," he told vincent and cole, the next day. "we get in each other's way, and we're not quick enough. why, it took ten minutes for all of us to assemble last night." "i don't see any other way of working it than the way we have been doing," replied cole, "all the boys run when they hear the bell." "yes, i know, but the trouble is some of them have to run too far." "how else can we do it?" asked vincent. "i've been thinking of a plan," replied the young captain. "what is it?" "well, we might divide the company into three divisions. one division, say of about ten boys, could sleep in cole's barn for two nights, or maybe three. then, if an alarm came in they would be right there to rush the engine out. the other boys would stay in their homes, and, as soon as they heard the bell, they'd run to the fire. in that way they'd get to the blaze about the same time the engine would, and there'd be no delay." "that is a good scheme," declared cole. "we've got some old cot beds we could put here in the barn to sleep on." "oh, the hay's good enough in the summer time," replied bert. "of course, we couldn't stay here in the winter, unless we fixed up a place with a stove. besides, in winter we have to go to school, and we haven't so much time to attend to fires." "that's so, our department is liable to go all to pieces when school opens," admitted cole. "that's too bad! and i was just thinking of a plan to attach my force pump to the engine, so as to give us three lines of hose." "say, haven't you got anything else to talk about except that force pump?" asked vincent. "you must have it on the brain." "just the same, that's a dandy pump," went on cole. "i put a new kind of valve in this morning, and she squirts a hundred feet now. let me show you." "no, let's talk some more about our department," said vincent. "do you think the boys will like this new plan, bert?" "i guess so. we'll ask 'em, anyhow. and then there's another thing." "what is it?" "i think we ought to have some drills. as it is now some of the boys don't know what to do. they don't pump good, and they don't pass water good. we ought to have more practice." "so we had," admitted vincent. "lots of the fellows spilled about half the water on the ground last night, instead of putting it in the tank. they were so excited." "a drill would help that," observed bert. "we'll get the fellows together in a couple of nights, and talk things over." this was done, and bert's plan, of having a part of the force stay on duty in cole's barn every night, met with instant approval. in fact they had to draw lots to see which boys would take the first three nights, as every one wanted that honor. it was arranged that those in the barn would rush out with the engine, as soon as they heard the alarm on the church bell. the others would assemble at the scene, as soon as they could get there. some of the boys called it "camping out" to stay at the barn. "and we'll have a drill to-morrow," said bert. "we need lots of practice. there are some old buildings in this town, and if they get on fire we'll have a hard job putting them out." "especially if they're a good distance from water," added cole. the drill took place the next afternoon. a big fire, of old boxes, was built in a vacant lot, the location of which was known only to bert and vincent. at a certain time, the hour also being unknown to the boys, the bell was rung, permission to do so having been obtained. one or two boys had been hanging around cole's barn all day, having anticipated the alarm, and they wanted to rush off with the engine at once, but vincent, who arrived shortly after the first round of two strokes, which showed that the fire was in the eastern section, would not permit this. "no, we've got to wait for the others," he said. "it's only at night that the new plan is to go into effect." soon nearly every member of the company was at the barn, and, with yells, cheers and shouts, the boys dragged the engine through the streets to where the fire had been kindled. "pretty good!" exclaimed herbert. "you got here in eight minutes, and it's farther than it was to the stockton mansion. now, then, douse the fire!" the big pile of boxes was blazing furiously, but the boys ran the engine close to a small pond, the bucket corps got busy, the hose lines were unreeled, and, in less than three minutes, there was only a smoking heap where there had been fierce flames. "that's the stuff, boys!" exclaimed mayor appelby, who was among the spectators that had gathered. "first thing you know the town will have to vote you an appropriation." "humph!" retorted mr. sagger, the miserly butcher. "if the bucket brigade was here we could do better than that. the brigade is good enough for lakeville, and it keeps down taxes." "yes, and sends our fire losses up," added the mayor. "insurance rates would be much lower if we had a good fire department, even as good a regular one as the boys' volunteer organization is." "i don't believe it," declared the obstinate butcher. for the next week the boys had several drills, and they showed a great improvement. the different divisions took turns sleeping in the barn, though they were disappointed that no alarm came in to test their abilities. some improvements had been made to the engine, for cole, after much experimenting, had mounted his force pump on the forward part of the tank, and attached a long garden hose to the spout. with it he could send a small stream a considerable distance, though not much water went through the small hose, as compared with the larger lines. "it'll do for small fires," observed cole, with much satisfaction, as he contemplated his work. the very night that cole finished the work of attaching his force pump, an alarm came in about eleven o'clock. the volunteer division, which was assigned to barn duty that night, had hardly retired to the cots or the haymow, when the clanging bell told them there was a blaze. "lively, boys!" cried cole, who assumed the post of captain until bert arrived. surely no boys ever dressed more rapidly than did the ten lads in the barn. in really quick time they were running the engine out of the driveway, and cole cried: "three strokes! over to the south side! say! but it's quite a blaze, all right!" the sky was already showing a bright glow. "it's sagger's butcher shop!" cried tom donnell. "look, it's blazing like fury!" the shop was indeed wrapped in flames. "fire! fire! fire!" cried constable stickler, and scores of voices joined in the shout. "come on! come on!" yelled mr. sagger, as he stood in front of his store, fairly jumping up and down in his excitement. "the whole place will go if you don't hurry, boys!" "i wonder why he doesn't shout for the bucket brigade now?" asked cole, as he steered the engine as close as he could to the flaming structure. "that's right, boys! put out the fire!" cried mr. sagger. "i'll give you a hundred dollars if you save my shop!" chapter xiii singing a different tune from various directions came running the young members of the volunteer fire department. the bucket brigade was also on hand, and had formed a line from the town pump, which stood near the store, as close to the burning shop as they dared to go. the whole interior seemed a mass of flames. "where will we get water?" shouted cole to bert, who had arrived on the run. "back the engine down to the brook!" cried the young captain. "isn't the hose long enough to reach from there?" "yep! plenty!" "then back her down!" the flames were crackling and roaring, and the smoke was so thick and choking, because of the burning meats and fats, that it was impossible to go very close. the bucket brigade had to beat a retreat, and, though they had the satisfaction of first getting water on the blaze, it was an empty honor. "lively, now, boys!" cried bert. "take one nozzle, vincent! george, you grab another! hold 'em here, and we'll unreel the hose when we back the engine!" it was rather hard work to push the clumsy machine down through the yard of the house adjoining the butcher shop, to where the brook flowed back of the store. but it was accomplished by the boys unaided, for the men were busy trying to find some means of using their buckets. "dip and fill!" cried bert, as the corps of pail handlers lined up from the engine to the brook. water began to splash into the tank and soon there was enough to begin pumping. up and down went the long handles, impelled by the sturdy arms of ten boys. "wait!" cried cole. "you're not using my force pump. somebody take the hose. i'll work her!" "i will!" cried dick harris, glad of the chance to handle a nozzle, even if it was only a small one, and unreeling the garden hose cole had attached to his beloved pump, he started toward the burning butcher shop. the young firemen soon found they had all they could do in quenching this fire. it was the fiercest one they had yet undertaken to subdue. it was so hot that the boys at the nozzles had to be relieved every few minutes, and bert was kept busy making shifts from the bucket corps or from among the pumpers. the men's bucket brigade could only throw water on from the rear, where the fire was less hot, but the boys pluckily stuck to the front, and directed their three streams into the midst of the flames. clouds of steam arose as the fluid fell on the hot embers. "can't you throw any more water on?" demanded mr. sagger, who continued to run up and down in front of his place, deploring his loss. "we're doing the best we can," answered bert. "we ought to have a regular department, that's what we ought to have!" declared the butcher. "it's a shame that business men have to suffer losses by fire. what we need is a regular department here, with a steam fire engine." "he's singing a different tune from what he did a week or so ago," thought bert. "then the bucket brigade was good enough. i guess he wishes we had two volunteer departments now." it seemed as if the whole shop must go. the fire, as they learned later, had started in the sawdust packing of the ice box, and it had been smouldering for some time before being discovered. then, with the sawdust and pine wood to feed on, in addition to the fat meats, the flames were more from what it had been at the stockton blaze. "do you think you can save part of it?" asked the butcher, anxiously, of bert. the man's manner toward the young fireman was quite different from what it had been at the stockton. "we're doing our best, mr. sagger," replied the young captain. "it's a hard fire to fight. the bucket brigade could come up closer now, the flames aren't quite so hot." "that's so. i'll tell 'em." he ran to where the members of the department to which he belonged were futilely passing buckets of water. "why don't you come around front and closer?" the butcher asked them. "you ain't doing any good here!" "why don't you take a hand yourself?" demanded silas lampert. "you ain't doing anything but running up and down." "i'll help," declared mr. sagger. "i declare, i don't know what i am doing! this will be a heavy loss to me!" "i guess you can stand it," murmured mr. lampert. "you got lots of money salted down, same as you have your pork." "come on, help me save the shop!" cried the butcher, and his fellow members of the bucket brigade followed him. fortunately, there was not much meat in the ice box, and when it had all been consumed, and there was only wood for the fire to feed on, the blaze was less fierce. the water from the three lines of hose and that dashed on by the men, who could now approach quite close, had its effect. in a little while the fire was about out, and bert ordered the boys to use only one line of hose, which made it easier on the pumpers and bucket lads. then, with a final hiss and splutter, the fire died away. "it's a terrible loss!" declared the butcher, as he contemplated the ruins of his shop. "i'll lose over a thousand dollars." "haven't you any insurance?" asked mr. appelby. "yes, it's fully covered by insurance; but think of the trade i'll lose until i can build a new shop!" "oh, i guess you can put up some kind of a shack that will do for a while. we don't need much meat in the summer time." "i tell you what it is!" exclaimed mr. sagger, "we've got to have a regular department, mayor; that's what we have! we can't have business places burn up this way. why, it will ruin the town!" "well, if the taxpayers wanted a hired department they can have it," declared mr. appelby. "but it will cost money." "well, it ought to come out of the town treasury," went on the butcher. "taxes is high enough now. maybe we could get an engine cheap, somewhere." "what's the matter with paying the boys for theirs?" asked the mayor. "no, we want men to run the department," objected the butcher. "those boys are as good as men," asserted mr. appelby, as he watched the lads, under bert's direction, take up their hose and get the engine in shape for returning to quarters. "i guess old sagger is afraid his taxes will go up. but we do need a regular department," he added to himself. as bert was getting the boys together to haul the engine back to the barn, he was approached by a man who emerged from the crowd. "you did fine work," the man said, in a low voice. bert looked at him. it was the tramp stenographer he had pulled from the brook. "how do you do!" the boy exclaimed. "how are you getting on?" "first rate. i braced up after i met you. guess that little bath did me good. i did some odd jobs for the farmers around here, and my health is better. here's that quarter back." "i don't want it." "i suppose not; but i want to pay it. i've got a little money saved up, and the promise of a good job at my profession." "where?" "here in town. i'll tell you about it later, as i see you're busy," and, before bert could ask any more questions, the tramp, whose appearance had improved considerably since the brook episode, was lost in the throng. "that's queer," thought bert. "i wonder who in this town would want a stenographer and typewriter?" chapter xiv a dangerous blaze somewhat puzzled over the words of the tramp, and vainly seeking a meaning for them, bert turned to join his companions, who were hauling the engine away. "who was that fellow?" asked vincent, who had noticed the man talking to his chum. "oh, a friend i once helped out of a difficulty," was the answer, and bert smiled, as he described the brook as a "difficulty." "what'd he want; more help?" "no; he came to thank me. but, come on, let's hustle and get back to quarters. wasn't it queer old sagger's place should catch fire?" "yes. it serves him right, though, for all the mean things he's said about us." "he's pretty mean, but i'm sorry his butcher shop is ruined." "oh, he's got money enough to build another." the boys discussed the various scenes at the fire at some length, finally reaching cole's barn, where the engine, after being cleaned and put in readiness for another alarm, was backed into place. "i wonder if the town will take any action toward having a regular department now?" asked vincent, as he and bert walked toward their homes. "they might. sagger will make a big fuss over his loss, and, as he hopes to be the next mayor, he may start a movement. but i'm just as well satisfied to have the department the way it is, for a while. of course, if the town took hold we could get another engine, and maybe a better alarm system. constable stickler can't always be depended on." "still, he's done pretty good." "that's right. well, so long, vincent. see you to-morrow," and bert turned down his street. "so long," replied his chum. "hope we don't get another alarm in to-night." "i wonder who in this place can want a stenographer and typewriter?" again thought herbert, as he went into the house. "i wish that tramp had told me. i meant to ask him his name, but i forgot all about it. never mind, i may see him again." there was considerable talk in lakeville the day following the fire in the butcher shop. most of it was done by mr. sagger himself, and the burden of his cry was that the town must have a regular department, with a big engine. it was pointed out to him that, without a water supply, a steam fire engine was out of the question, and then he said they ought to have another hand engine and some men to run both machines. he spoke of calling a meeting of the selectmen to consider the matter, but nothing came of it. probably mr. sagger figured up what it would cost, and feared his taxes would be too high. at any rate, nothing was done, though every time he mentioned the fire in his shop the butcher declared there ought to be a regular department. he never said anything about the hundred dollars he had offered for saving his shop. considering that the boys had worked hard at the sagger blaze, bert had no drills for a week. then they were resumed again, and furnished plenty of exercise for the young firemen. but, about two weeks after the butcher shop fire, there came another which gave them almost more practice than they wanted. it was shortly after midnight when the alarm came in, for constable stickler was an efficient guardian, in spite of his age, and on one of his trips to the church tower he had seen a flicker of flame off to the west. an instant later he was ringing the bell-four short, sharp, quick strokes. the boys sleeping in the barn heard them, and so did the boys in their beds at home. they jumped up and, in quick time, the engine had been run out. it was bert's night on "barn-watch," as it was called, and he and his chums hurried to such good effect that before the alarm had been rung four times they were pulling the engine from the barn. "whew! there's quite a wind!" exclaimed bert as they got outside. "a fire to-night is liable to be a bad one." "hark! what's that?" inquired cole. the boys heard a distant shouting. "the bucket brigade is turning out," spoke tom donnell. "no. it's some one yelling about the fire!" there came a shift in the wind, and to the ears of the boys was borne this cry: "the lumber yard's on fire! hurry!" "the lumber yard!" exclaimed captain bert. "if that gets going we can't do anything to stop it!" "we've got to try," declared cole. "of course," answered bert, as if any one doubted it. "come on!" they increased their pace, and as they neared the end of the long street, they were joined by several of their comrades, who had rushed from their houses half-dressed. "where's the fire?" called bob fenton, who was hardly awake yet. "bergman's lumber yard, i heard some one yell," answered bert. "and this wind blowing right across the lake toward it!" the lumber yard of perrett bergman was located on the edge of the lake, where boats could easily unload their cargo of timber. it was quite a large yard, and was one of the principal industries of lakeville. as bert had said, the wind was blowing right across the lake. the breeze was a stiff one, and if it was sending the flames in among the pile of dried and seasoned boards the fire was likely to be a furious one. but the boys did not falter. they dragged their rumbling engine as fast as they could, the bell clanging loudly as cole pulled the cord attached to it. the little company was constantly being increased in numbers. many of the young firemen, however, had proceeded directly to the scene of the conflagration. the lurid light in the sky seemed to grow brighter, and there was a thick pall of smoke visible now. "it's getting worse!" cried cole. "you don't expect it's going to put itself out, do you?" asked frank burton. "wait till we get there!" a little later they turned into the street leading to the lumber yard. as they did so the blaze shone full in their faces, and they saw where the fire had originated. one of the big lumber barges that plied on the lake was on fire at the dock, and the flames were blowing right toward the heart of the yard, with its piles of timber. "we've got our work cut out for us!" cried bert. "we'll have plenty of water, anyhow," shouted back cole. "my force pump can be used, too!" "he'd say something about his force pump if we had a steam fire engine," murmured vincent. "run her right down, boys," called bert. "get as close to the water as you can!" the boys picked their way through the piles of lumber. already several members of the town bucket brigade were on hand, and they were standing in the shallow part of the lake, dipping up water in their pails and dashing the fluid on the blazing barge. "volunteers this way!" sung out bert, and several of his chums, who were already on hand and waiting, hastened to join their comrades. but now a new problem was presented. the flames, eating their way among the dry lumber on the barge, had assumed a fierceness that made it impossible to run the engine down on the dock. in fact, the pier was already ablaze in places. great glowing embers were being carried by the wind into the middle of the yard, but this danger had been seen, and several men were putting out the big sparks as fast as they fell. but there was every chance that several tiers of lumber near the wharf would ignite from the flames sweeping from the barge. if one or two piles caught, the whole yard would go. "what are we going to do?" cried vincent to the young captain. "we can't get out engine down there!" bert was puzzled. it was a new problem for the amateur fireman, and he hardly knew what to do. but to get close enough to the blaze to use the engine and at the same time have a supply of water, was not an easy thing to work out. just then the burning barge swung down the lake, for the cables had been eaten through by the flames, and the wind was carrying it away. the sight of that gave bert an inspiration. "come on!" he cried. "i see a way!" "how?" asked cole. "we'll run the engine out on that empty flat-boat. we can pole it out into the lake, and play on the barge from the side where there are no flames! lively, now, boys!" they saw his meaning at once. there were plenty of boards at hand to make a runway for the engine, and in a little while it was on the flatboat. then, with long poles which reached to the bottom of the lake, the boat was shoved out from shore. "the barge is adrift!" cried tom donnell. "then we've got to go after it!" responded bert. "we can make a line fast and tow it away, or it will set the other barges below here on fire, and we'll have more than we can handle. if we can keep the blaze to the one barge we'll be all right." it was hard work, but the boys accomplished it. they put their flatboat close to the side of the blazing craft, where there were no flames, and made fast. then they poled both boats well out into the lake. "the dock is burning!" cried cole. "let the bucket brigade attend to that," answered herbert. "we've got our hands full here!" indeed they had, but the contest was more even now. the boys, using buckets with ropes attached, dipped from the lake the water which they poured into the engine, tank, and then the three streams were turned on the burning barge. chapter xv a generous offer never since they had organized their little department had the boys worked under such difficulties. there was no getting away from this blaze. they were fast to it, and to cut loose meant to endanger other lumber barges nearby, which would mean a terrible conflagration. it was hard work to keep the burning boat and that on which the engine was out in the lake, as a strong wind was forcing them both toward shore. it was also difficult to operate the pump, for the engine did not set level, and the boys on top of the tank had to cling there as best they could and send the big handles up and down. it was hard work to stand the fierce heat and choking smoke which enveloped them every now and again, as the wind shifted. but the boys were no "milksops." they stuck to it, though it meant much physical pain. they gritted their teeth, and held their breaths when it was necessary. some clung to the poles like grim death and prevented the barges from drifting, and all the while others were dipping and pumping water. "i--i think we've got her!" cried cole, when this desperate work had been going on for ten minutes. "don't be too sure!" cautioned captain bert. "there's lots of fire yet!" there was, but the three streams of water, even if one was a small one, were beginning to tell. gradually the flames amid the lumber on the barge began to die away. once or twice it seemed as if the boat would break loose and go drifting down on the others, but grit told, and the boys held the craft. "she's out now!" cried vincent, as only a pall of smoke seemed to hang over the barge, and the boys at the brakes, hearing this with feelings of relief, ceased pumping. no sooner had they stopped than the flames burst out in a new place, and flared up fiercely. "jump right on the barge and take the hose with you," cried bert, for the fire had been extinguished on that end of the barge nearest the flat-boat. "the water will do more good at close range." the young firemen needed no second order. dragging three lines of hose with them they leaped aboard the flaming boat and scrambled over the piles of charred lumber to the farther end, where the flames now were. then the fire gave up the fight. the last flame was quenched and the boys could take a much-needed rest. "what'll we do now?" asked cole of bert. every one seemed to depend on the young captain for instructions. "i think we'd better run the barge ashore below here," he said. "then there'll be no danger if the fire breaks out again." "i'll guarantee that fire won't break out again," boasted cole. "we soaked it too well." "you can't tell what a fire will do," replied bert. "it may be smouldering down in a corner where the water didn't reach." "have cole leave his force pump on guard," suggested vincent, "that pump ought to be able to put out a fire all alone." "humph! that pump's all right, if you do make fun of it!" declared the owner of the latest addition to the fire apparatus. "it'll throw a stream farther than either of the big hose on this engine." "well, let's run the barge ashore, then pole back and get our engine off," proposed bert. "i guess it's safe enough to leave the barge now." they tied the blackened load of lumber in a little shallow cove, where, if it did start to burn again, no damage would result. then they went back to the lumber yard, where they found a big crowd waiting them. the fire on the dock had been extinguished by members of the bucket brigade and had not amounted to much. "boys, i want to shake hands with every one of you!" exclaimed a voice, as bert led his command ashore. "you did me a great service to-night, and i'll not forget it. but for your prompt action my lumber yard would have been destroyed and several of my valuable barges besides." the speaker was mr. perrett bergman, owner of the lumber yard, and, as each boy stepped ashore, he shook him warmly by the hand. "yes, mr. bergman, those boys certainly did themselves proud," said mayor appelby. "they're almost as good as a regular department." "that's what they are. well, i'll have something to say about that later. now, i must go and see if there are any stray sparks around anywhere, and i want to investigate this fire. i have an idea it was set by tramps. that barge came down the lake early this evening, and the men in charge of it told me they threw a tramp overboard who was stealing a ride on it." "threw him overboard?" repeated mr. appelby. "yes. i told them that was the wrong thing to do, as the man might have been drowned, but lumbermen are rather rough. however, the tramp swam ashore, they told me. i have an idea he might have set the barge afire for revenge." "it's possible," admitted the mayor. "i'll tell constable stickler to be on the watch for any suspicious characters." bert, who heard this conversation, wondered if the tramp he had rescued from the brook, or any of his companions, had started the fire. "i hope the one i saved didn't do it," mused the boy. "he seemed like a decent chap in hard luck." nothing was ever learned, however, of how the fire started. certainly the tramp stenographer had nothing to do with it. several members of the bucket brigade assisted the boys in getting the engine off the flatboat. in fact, of late the men fire-fighters of lakeville were beginning to entertain different feelings toward their boy rivals. they saw that the lads meant business, and that they were a corps of very efficient youngsters. some of the men imagined that the volunteers were only doing the thing for fun, but what happened at the lumber yard blaze convinced them that they were mistaken. "we seem to be right in it," remarked cole, as they were dragging the engine back to quarters a little later. "plenty of fires for us to put out lately." "yes. i wonder what mr. bergman meant when he said he'd not forget what we did for him?" asked vincent. "oh, probably he's just like old sagger," replied tom donnell. "you remember, sagger promised us a hundred dollars for helping put out the fire in his shop." "that's so; he did." "yes, but we haven't seen the hundred dollars yet, and i don't believe we ever will," declared tom. "he's too stingy to give it to us. if we had it we could finish paying for the engine and get uniforms. that's what we need. i've worn out two suits of clothes running to fires lately." "uniforms would be a good thing to have," admitted bert. "we need rubber boots, especially. my feet are soaking wet. it doesn't matter so much in summer, but if we go to a fire in the winter and get wet through it won't be so nice." "well, i don't believe mr. bergman will ever do anything for us," insisted tom. but he was mistaken. the very next day bert received a letter from the owner of the lumber yard, in which mr. bergman thanked the young firemen for what they had done. nor was this all. enclosed in the letter was a check for two hundred dollars. "i send you this as a small taken of my appreciation," the letter read. "not that it pays for the work you did, for you saved me a good many hundred dollars by pulling that barge out of the way. but this is only a starter. i understand your engine is not yet paid for, and that you have no uniforms. please use the check for that purpose. you will also hear further from me in a few days. i have a plan to propose, but i want to talk it over with the town authorities first." "say, he's all right!" exclaimed cole, when bert showed him the letter and check. "he certainly is. i was barking up the wrong tree," admitted tom. "say, we'll be a sporty department, all right! let's get red and blue uniforms. they'll look swell!" "i wonder what his plan is?" asked bert. "he says he has to consult with the town authorities about it." "maybe he wants us to take in the bucket brigade," ventured vincent. "better wait and see," advised bert. chapter xvi mr. bergman's plan never had lakeville been so stirred as when, a few days after the lumber yard fire, notices were posted in various parts of the town, stating that a special meeting of the selectmen would be held to take action on an offer made by mr. bergman to equip a regular fire department for the place. "so, that's what he meant!" remarked bert, when he read the notices. "well, i wonder where we'll be, if they have a regular department?" "oh, i suppose the bucket brigade will be taken in, and they'll run the whole thing," said vincent, a little bitterly. "if they do, we'll keep our old hand engine and run to blazes just the same," declared cole. "that's what we will," added captain bert. the notices announced that the meeting would be a public one, and would be held in the town hall, over the post-office. opportunity would be given for all interested to state their views, the notice added. "then we'll state ours," threatened cole. "bert, can't you go there and make a speech?" "i suppose i can, if the boys want me to. but what shall i say?" "oh, wait until we get there and see how things look. but if they want to turn us down, you get up and protest. we'll stand by you." "all right," agreed bert. "i think we ought to have something to say." "so do i," came from tom donnell. "put it good and strong, bert." the night of the meeting found nearly every male resident of lakeville present, and there were some women and girls in the audience. in the meanwhile, the members of the volunteer department had used mr. bergman's donation to pay off the small balance due on their engine, and had purchased their uniforms. they were quite natty, consisting of blue trousers and red shirts, with helmets of the same fiery color, and belts with a large brass buckle in front. the boys marched into the hall in a body, and took seats together. "oh, aren't they just too cute for anything!" exclaimed nellie travers to her chum, jane alton. "they look quite business-like," commented jane. "yes, but those uniforms are dear, aren't they?" "i don't know. i heard my brother ned say they were quite cheap," went on jane, who was something of a joker. "oh, jane! you know i mean they're too sweet for anything! i just wish there'd be a fire alarm come in now, so i could see them run." "i don't; i want to see what they're going to do at this meeting. ned is worried for fear they'll break up the boys' department." "that would be a shame." "i think so, too. but, hush! mayor appelby is going to speak." the mayor, who had been elected chairman of the meeting, told the object of the gathering. he said they had assembled to hear an offer that was to be made by their "distinguished fellow citizen, the honorable perrett bergman." there were some cheers and applause at this, and mr. bergman arose. "what i have to say will not take up much of your time," he began. "you all know we have had several fires lately, and that a number of lads of this village have constituted themselves a fire department. i need not point out what good work they have done. it speaks for itself. "the recent blaze in my lumber yard has confirmed an impression i have had for some time, and that is, that we should have a regular department in this village. i think, with all due respect to it, that we have outgrown the bucket brigade!" "that's right!" called some one from the rear of the hall. "the bucket brigade did good work," asserted moses sagger. "i know that," admitted mr. bergman, "but the village is growing. i do not hesitate to say that if it had not been for the boys' volunteer department i would be a much poorer man to-night than i am." "hurrah for the boys!" exclaimed a man, and there were hearty cheers. "in brief, my offer is this," continued mr. bergman. "i am willing to buy a complete outfit for a fire department. i will furnish everything except the members of it, and i will even pay for having installed an electric alarm system, with pull boxes in various places. i will also equip a small fire headquarters. in view of the fact that we have no water system, i would suggest that chemical engines be used." "that's right," came from mayor appelby. "i now, then, offer to purchase two of the best chemical engines that can be bought," went on mr. bergman. "i think we will not need horses, as the engines are light, and half a dozen persons can haul them. with two of these machines, one on either side of the town, we can take care of almost any ordinary blaze, as the houses here are not so close together that we will have any great conflagration. now it remains for the town to act on my offer. remember, i will furnish all the money needed for the engines, and to fit up a headquarters. all i ask the town to do is to supply the members and places in which to keep the engines." [illustration: "one moment, if you please," began bert.] "you have heard the very generous offer of our distinguished fellow townsman and public-spirited citizen, the honorable perrett bergman," said mayor appelby, pompously. "what have you to say?" "i say take it!" exclaimed moses sagger, quickly. he saw a chance for a good fire department without any increase in the taxes. "that's right! accept the offer!" came from various parts of the hall. "with thanks!" added a more thoughtful man. "you seem to be of one mind," went on the mayor. "i shall now put the question to a vote." "one moment, if you please," began bert, rising to his feet. he was rather pale, for he was not used to speaking in public. "what is it, herbert?" asked mr. appelby. "don't you favor this?" "i most certainly do, and so do all the boys. all we want to know is, what will become of our department?" "oh, we won't need you boys when we get the chemical engines," said mr. sagger quickly. "the members of the bucket brigade will attend to them. you boys can give your old engine away if you want to." "we'll do nothing of the kind!" exclaimed bert. "we bought and paid for that engine, when there was no prospect of lakeville having anything like a department. now we have a good organization and---" "yes, and we can put out fires!" interrupted cole. "my force pump---" "dry up!" exclaimed vincent, pulling cole by the coat-tails. "let bert do the talking." "that's all right. i was going to tell them about my force pump," murmured cole. "they don't want to hear it. listen." "i think we ought at least be allowed to continue our organization, and be recognized by the town as a part of the fire department," went on bert. "we don't ask to run your chemical engines, but we would like to keep our hand engine." "no, we don't want it!" cried mr. sagger. "we have no use for you boys. the men can run things in this town, we'll merge the bucket brigade into a regular department." "that's what we will!" came from some of the older members of that ancient organization. "then we might as well go home, boys!" exclaimed herbert, somewhat bitterly. "they have no use for us here." "one moment!" exclaimed mr. bergman, rising in his seat. everyone turned to look at him. "i think some of you men are under a little misunderstanding," he went on. "my offer to buy two chemical engines was made because of the very efficient work the boys of this town did in putting out the fire in my lumber yard. i most certainly will not consent to thrusting the boys aside, now that we are about to have a regular department." "hurrah!" came from the irrepressible cole. "my force pump---" but his companions made him keep silent. "i may say," went on mr. bergman, with a look at the boys, in their natty uniforms, "that my offer depends on one thing." "what is that?" asked mr. appelby quickly. "it is this: that the boys are to be in charge of the regular department, just as they now are of the volunteer one!" "hurrah!" cried cole again, and his chums joined in with him. "my force---" "ain't the bucket brigade going to run things?" inquired mr. sagger. "with all due respect to that organization, they are not!" replied mr. bergman loudly. "i will furnish the money for the engines only on the condition that the same boys, who did such good work at the fire in my place, continue in charge. the members of the bucket brigade may join if they wish, but the boys are the ones i want to see in control. they have proved what they can do, and i would recommend that captain herbert dare be made the chief of the new department!" "whoop!" shouted cole, standing up, and waving his hat. "that's the stuff! whoop! hurrah!" chapter xvii the engines arrive there was instant excitement in the hall. everyone seemed to be talking at once. the boys of the town were standing together, cheering for herbert. mayor appelby was vainly rapping for order. at last mr. sagger made his voice heard above the others. "i say if that boy is made head of the fire department none of us men will join!" he shouted. "we'll stick to the bucket brigade!" "that's what!" declared several of his cronies. "i wish you to remember one thing," replied mr. bergman. "i am paying for this improvement, and i think i ought to have something to say about it. another thing, the town ought to be glad to get a good, up-to-date department. if you don't accent my offer then i must consider moving my lumber yard to a location where there is better fire protection." this was something of which no one had thought, a number of the men of lakeville found employment in the lumber yard, and if it went to some other town it would mean quite a loss. "then there is one last point," went on mr. bergman. "these boys know more about fighting fires than you men ever will. they have showed that already, and i want to give them due credit. i think herbert dare has proved that he knows how to handle a blaze, and how to use his force of boys to the best advantage. i have learned that his father was a regular city fireman. either he is to be made chief of the new department or there isn't going to be any department." this was plain talk, and the objectors knew mr. bergman meant it. "i, for one, would be only too glad to see the boys run the department," said mayor appelby. "they have more time than we have." "that's so," agreed a number, as the sentiment began to swing around the other way. "i'd like to say a few words," spoke up herbert, rising in his seat. "go on!" invited mr. appelby encouragingly. "this offer of mr. bergman's is a complete surprise to me," said the boy. "i never sought the position of head of the new department." "we know that," spoke a friendly voice. "and i want to say that if there is going to be any feeling over the matter i'd rather not have it," went on bert. "we boys will continue our own department and--" "you'll do nothing of the kind," interrupted mr. bergman. "lakeville is going to take a step forward, and you boys are the best persons to help her." "i don't want to take the place, and feel that there is jealousy," added herbert. "i admit i would feel proud of the honor, but--" "he's the best chief we could have," interjected cole, "and with my force pump--" "that'll do you," put in vincent, pulling cole back to his seat for the seventh time. "let's vote on it!" called a man. "i'm in favor of the boys every time! remember, they'll be men in a few years." this brought matters to a head. there was considerable more discussion, but, with the exception of two or three, everyone was in favor of mr. bergman's plan, for he had used arguments that appealed to the majority. a vote was taken, and was almost unanimous in favor of accepting the offer, and putting the boys in charge, with herbert dare as chief. as there were to be two engines, vincent templer was made assistant chief, to be in charge of the second apparatus. other officers were named from among the boys, and, as there were to be two companies, located in different parts of the town, places were made for all the lads who cared to join. it was decided to keep the old hand engine for use in emergencies, and, as there would be no need of any one operating the new engines, since they worked automatically, the young fire fighters were advised by mr. bergman to develop themselves into a sort of salvage corps, to save goods at a fire, while one or two boys were at the chemical nozzles. this much being accomplished, mr. bergman went into financial details with the officials of lakeville. it was decided to have a simple alarm system, with boxes located at the more prominent places in the village, and an arrangement whereby the signal would be sounded on a big bell, which would be erected on a steel tower. it took some time to put these improvements into shape, but in about three weeks they were finished, and the two chemical engines had arrived from the factory. "say! they're beauties!" exclaimed cole, happily, as he and the other boys went down to the freight depot to see them. "i wonder if they can throw a stream as far as my force pump?" "are you still talking about your force pump?" asked tom donnell. "well, it's a good pump," replied cole, defending his invention. "wait until you see these," said mr. bergman, who had come to superintend unloading the engines. each chemical apparatus consisted of a large copper tank on four wheels. it had a long hose, on a reel, and a rope to pull the machine by, similar to the old hand engine. but the principle of the new engines was entirely different. they shot a chemical stream at the fire, instead of one of merely water, and carbonous acid, or, as it is commonly called, carbonic acid gas, was generated. fire will not burn where this gas exists, so that a small stream of the chemical was more effective than a big stream of water. the gas, being heavier than air, forms a sort of blanket over a blaze. in the big copper tank was placed water, in which was dissolved some bicarbonate of soda, the sort mothers use to cook with. then, in a small receptacle, fitting in one end of the big cylinder, was some sulphuric acid, or oil of vitriol. the two liquids were prevented from mixing until the proper time, by a simple arrangement. when a fire occurred the chemical engine was to be hurried to the place. the hose would be unreeled, and then a lever and valve wheel would be turned, breaking the glass receptacle in which the sulphuric acid was held. this allowed the acid to mingle with the solution of soda water, and a strong gas was at once formed. the gas was under such pressure that it forced the combined soda and acid solution out through the hose for a considerable distance. it could be played on the fire, the gas would be generated, and the blaze would be extinguished in much less time than if water was used, and there would be less damage done. "those are certainly fine engines," declared bert. "i guess we'll have to have some practice with them before we'll know how to run them." "they are very simple in operation," said mr. bergman. "we'll arrange for some tests soon." "we ought to have a parade," suggested vincent. "let's take 'em through the town, and show the people what we've got." "a good idea," declared mr. bergman. "and, while we're about it, why not have a picnic." "a picnic?" repeated bert. "yes. why not? every village fire department has a picnic once a year. i don't see why lakeville can't. it will stir the people up, and get rid of some of this jealous feeling." "i guess the boys would like it all right," replied bert. "then we'll have it over in tillman's grove. i'll make the arrangements, and let you boys know when it's to be. now we'd better get the engines into quarters." it had been decided to keep one engine in cole's barn, and another in the basement of the town hall, as these two places were far enough apart to give good protection in case of fire. the alarm system had been installed some days before, and lakeville was now in good shape to take care of a blaze. several members of the bucket brigade made application to join the new department, and they were taken in. moses sagger and some of his cronies, however, still held out. as the boys dragged the new chemical engines through the town, quite a crowd came out to look at them. the machines glittered with brass and copper, highly polished, and made a fine appearance. "them things don't look as if they could put out a fire," said an old resident, who was used to seeing the bucket brigade or a hand engine at work. "why, there ain't no pump, nor yet any pails." "they say the pump's inside that there big copper cylinder," explained a man standing near him. "humph! looks like an old wash boiler stuck on four wheels. that ain't any good. you need water to put out a fire." "you do, eh?" thought cole, who overheard this remark. "well, we'll show you, some day." the engines were soon in their quarters, and were charged with the soda and acid, according to the directions sent by the manufacturers. "now, we're all ready for a fire!" exclaimed bert, as he and his chums looked at the machine in cole's barn, while an equally admiring throng had gathered at the town hall, where vincent was to be in command. "i wish we'd get a big fire now," said one small lad, as he patted the big copper cylinder. "hold on, little man!" exclaimed mr. bergman. "we didn't get the engines for that. i haven't gotten over the scare about my lumber yard yet. wait a bit, before you wish for a fire." "i--i meant a bon-fire." replied the little fellow. "oh--that! well, maybe we'll have one at the picnic." chapter xviii the parade and picnic announcement was made next day, by mr. bergman, that the new fire department, of which he was considered the patron, would have a grand parade and picnic in about a week. members of the fire fighting organizations of neighboring towns were to be asked to take part, and there would be competitive drills, sports and games. the people of lakeville hardly knew what to think. so many things had taken place in the last few months that the town seemed like a person awaking from a long sleep, and finding himself in a new place. "lakeville is certainly improving," remarked mr. appelby to a group of men in the post-office one day, as they were reading the notice about the parade and picnic. "that's what it is," added mr. charles daven, the aged postmaster and a justice of the peace. "why there's been more mail come to this here office in the last two weeks than in two months afore." "how do you account for that?" asked mr. appelby. "why nearly every resident has written to some friend, tellin' of the new engines an' fire department, an' the pussons has writ back, askin' how we done it. i know, 'cause lots of 'em writ on postal cards, an' i read 'em. i read all th' postals you know," he went on, as if that was his privilege, "only now there's gittin' to be so much mail, i don't half finish with 'em, 'fore some pusson comes in an' takes 'em away. but business is certainly improvin' wonderful." "and the taxes will go up likewise," added mr. sagger with a scowl. "not on account of the fire department," declared the mayor. "that hasn't cost the town a cent. mr. bergman footed the bills." "but it will in time. he ain't going to live forever." "well, the town ought to be glad to pay 'em in a few years. more folks will come to live here if we have good protection from fire, and if the village gets bigger the taxes will be less." "well, i ain't going to pay any more," declared the miserly butcher. preparations for the picnic went on rapidly. tillman's grove was on the edge of the lake, about three miles from lakeville, and social gatherings were frequently held there in the summer time. it was planned that the new fire department would parade through the town, hauling the chemical engines with them, go out to the grounds and there take part in a competitive drill which mr. bergman had arranged with the assistance of bert and vincent, and the chiefs of some nearby departments. in order that there would be protection to lakeville, in case a fire should occur during the picnic, constable stickler was to be left on guard part of the day, and a man would relieve him at a certain hour, so that the old official might see part of the fun. in case of a fire, a messenger was to be dispatched on horseback, to summon the department. it was also planned to have the old hand engine in the parade, some of the smaller boys begging for the privilege of hauling this, a request which was quickly granted by bert and his chums. "going to parade, moses?" asked mr. appelby of the butcher, the evening before the day of the picnic. "parade? not much! i wouldn't be seen with them whipper-snappers of boys." "well, those boys are all right, let me tell you. if it hadn't been for herbert dare and his crowd, lakeville wouldn't have a fine fire department to-day, and your shop would be down to the ground. and another thing, insurance is less. i renewed mine to-day, and the agent said he could give me a lower rate, as the risk of loss from fire was less now that we had two good chemical engines." "if we had enlarged the bucket brigade it would have done just as well, and saved a lot of money," declared the butcher. "oh, nonsense. you're an old fossil, moses. why lakeville amounts to something to-day. jamesville folks can't laugh at us any longer for not having an engine. i'm proud to live in lakeville, and i didn't use to be. guess i'll run for mayor again." "i thought you said you wasn't going to," said mr. sagger quickly, as he knew he was pretty sure of the nomination, if the genial mr. appelby, whom everyone liked, did not enter the contest. "well, i've changed my mind. it's an honor to be mayor of a town with a good fire department." mr. sagger said nothing, but he thought much. no one could have wished for a better day than that of the parade and picnic. it was a trifle warm, but it would be cool in the grove near the lake. the boys were up early, attired in their new uniforms, and after an early breakfast headed for one or the other of the two engine quarters. the two machines were polished so one could see his face in them. there had been but one fire since they arrived, and that was a small one in an old shed. the engine in cole's barn had been used to put out the blaze, and the quick manner in which it accomplished the task showed the boys of what sort of work the chemical was capable. the other machine was as untried as the day it came off the train, but it was known to be in good working order. it was planned to have a drill between the two lakeville companies, to see which could quickest get to a fire from a certain spot, and the one which won in that contest, would enter another in which would compete the departments from jamesville, weedsport and northville centre. a prize of a silver trumpet had been offered by mr. bergman for the company doing the best and quickest work. at last all was in readiness for the parade. mr. bergman had engaged a band, and, to the thrilling strains of a lively march, the two chemical companies, with their machines, and the younger boys, in charge of the old hand engine, stepped out, and began a tour of the town. how proud the lads were in their gay uniforms! it was the first time they had all been together, and the bright sunshine illuminating their ranks, and reflecting from the polished surfaces of the engines, made a picturesque scene. herbert dare led his company in front, and behind him came fifteen boys, dragging on the long rope. in the rear of the engine came five other lads, armed with axes and long hooks, which were part of the new equipment. in the second division was vincent and his company, while at the rear brought up the smaller boys with the hand engine. altogether it made a fine showing for lakeville. after marching through the principal streets of the town, and being admired by the throngs that gathered, the young firemen set off for the picnic ground. thither, also, went most of the inhabitants of lakeville, for it was a chance that might never come again, and everyone who could, took advantage of it. "whew! but it's hot!" exclaimed cole, who was marching along beside bert, no particular formation being maintained on the road to the grounds. "you'll be cooler pretty soon," consoled the young chief. "i wonder if we can beat those fellows?" he added, referring to the members of the other fire companies. "i'm not afraid of the northville centre bunch," declared cole, "but jamesville is a different proposition. the chief there is a hustler, and i understand they are pretty quick. they've had lots of practice." "so have we." "but not with the chemical engines." "oh, well, i guess we can make out pretty well. thank goodness, there's the grove. i'm almost melted." the boys found a goodly crowd already assembled. the jamesville fire department had arrived, and they greeted the lakeville boys with cheers. soon after this the weedsport and northville centre contingents arrived. mr. bergman had named a committee to see after the sports and games, and the members of this soon had things going. there were running races, walking matches, jumping contests, wheelbarrow and bag races, and tied-leg races, wherein two men, with their inner legs strapped together, did almost everything but run. but what everyone was anxiously looking forward to were the fire drills. though the boys of lakeville took part in the other games, winning some of the contests, they waited with impatience for the main items on the program. very realistic contests had been arranged. in a big field, adjoining the grove, mr. bergman had caused to be erected six small sheds, constructed of old lumber, and filled with empty packing boxes. to make the fire burn more fiercely kerosene oil had been poured over the boxes. the idea was to let the two companies of lakeville have a chance first to see what they could do in the way of putting out a fire. they were to start from the same place, race toward the burning shacks, and the company which first put out the blaze was to be declared the winner. then a four-cornered contest, among the jamesville, weedsport and northville centre firemen, and the winner of the lakeville event, would strive for the honor of carrying home the silver trumpet. when all was in readiness, with the two divisions of the lakeville boys lined up at their respective machines, mr. bergman set fire to two of the shacks. in an instant they were enveloped in flames. waiting until the fire was at its height, mr. bergman gave the word to start. "now, boys!" cried bert to his men. "show 'em how we do it!" "run! run!" yelled vincent, to his lads, "we want the chance to compete in the finals!" with a rumble of the big wheels over the rough ground, the two chemical engines were hauled toward the blazes. chapter xix winning the trumpet bert gave his lads the order to halt, when the engine was about fifty feet away from the burning shacks. "run out the hose!" he called to tom donnell. "the rest of you stand ready with the hooks, and, as soon as tom has got her pretty near out, pull the boards apart so he can get out the last spark." quickly was the hose unreeled. bert stood near the engine, ready to swing the lever and turn the valve wheel that would send the hot sulphuric acid into the soda water. then, when there was a good head of gas accumulated in the cylinder, he would open another valve, and the fire-quenching fluid would spurt from the hose. there was a hiss as the breaking of the glass holding the vitriol was followed by the instant generation of gas. "here she comes!" cried bert, as he turned the valve. a second later a white, foamy stream jetted from the nozzle, and sprayed into the midst of the blaze. the flames began to die down as if by magic. but vincent was not a second behind bert in getting his machine into operation. "lively, boys!" he cried, and the hose was unreeled, the stream playing almost at the same instant as was bert's. the spectators set up a cheer. this was something few of them had seen. the chemical engines were proving what they could do. whether the blaze at which vincent's crew directed their stream was not as fierce as the other was not disclosed, but in spite of the fact that bert's engine was the first in operation by a narrow margin, the blaze vincent was fighting began to die down quicker. "we'll win!" cried vincent. "our fire's out, and theirs is blazing good yet!" a few seconds later, however, tom donnell had succeeded in taming the last of the leaping flames. "now, boys, tear her apart!" ordered bert, and the lads with the long hooks began scattering the still glowing embers of the boards that had formed the shack. as soon as they did so, parts of the shed not touched by the chemical, began to blaze. "douse her, tom!" cried the young chief, and tom did so with good effect. meanwhile vincent's crowd, thinking they had put their fire out, had turned away, while vincent shut off the valve that controlled the outlet from the tank. no sooner had this been done than the fire in their shack blazed up again. "look!" cried john boll, one of vincent's crew. "turn on the stream!" shouted several of the lads. vincent tried to do so, but before he could work it the shack was blazing again, almost as fiercely as before. he had been too confident that the fire was out. by the time he got his stream to spurting again, bert had the other fire completely out, so that only a little steam came from the pile of blackened embers. "we win!" cried cole bishop. "yes, i guess you do," assented mr. bergman, who was the umpire. "i'll have to award you the decision. now, bert, fill your tank again, and get ready for the real contest, which will take place in about an hour." "i'm glad you won, bert," said vincent, generously, coming over, and shaking hands with the young chief. "thanks. you see i thought the blaze was smouldering under the wood, and i was ready for it." "i'll be, next time. i hope you win the trumpet." "well, so do i, for the sake of lakeville. but these other departments have had more practice than we have." all the members of the lakeville fire corps turned in to help get bert's engine ready for the main contest of the day. the tank was refilled with soda water, and a new bottle of sulphuric acid put in the holder, for a supply of the chemicals had been brought along for that purpose. the other companies were also preparing for the contest. the jamesville crowd had an engine just like these which mr. bergman had purchased for lakeville. the machines from northville centre and weedsport were different, but worked on the same principle. "are you all ready?" asked mr. bergman, when the four companies were lined up on the edge of the wood, ready for the race to the shacks. the various chiefs answered that they were. the word was given to fire the sheds, and soon four clouds of black smoke were ascending to the sky, while the flames began to roar. "don't start until i give the word," cautioned mr. bergman. "i want the fires to get a good headway." anxiously the members of the four companies stood lined up, ready for the signal. grouped around them was a big throng. "be ready to jump, boys," cautioned bert, in a low voice to his lads. "but be careful not to stumble." "we're all ready," replied cole, looking back at the line of boys who grasped the rope. the flames were crackling more loudly. greater clouds of smoke from the burning oil rolled into the air. the heat from the blazing shacks could be felt some distance away. "why doesn't he give the word?" asked tom donnell, impatiently. members of the other companies were inquiring the same thing. mr. bergman stood with his watch in his hand. he looked at the four fires. then he called: "get ready!" the boys tightened their grip on the rope. they leaned forward, prepared to spring at the command. "go!" shouted the umpire, and the four companies were off as one. over the open field they dragged the engines, the big wheels rumbling like subdued thunder. the crowd began to cheer, men and boys calling to their favorite companies to beat in the race. nearer and nearer to the blazing shacks came the fire-fighters. the company from northville centre was slightly in the lead, for their engine was lighter, and there were a score of men on the rope. next came the lakeville lads, while those from weedsport were in the rear. suddenly there sounded a crash, and bert, turning his head, saw the foremost of the weedsport men stumble. an instant later the engine, striking a rut, overturned, dragging the whole company down. "that--puts--them--out--of--the---race!" panted cole, who, in spite of his fleshiness, was keeping well up with his companions. but he was beginning to get out of breath. "we've--got--a--better--chance--now," he said. "don't talk," advised bert. "save your breath for running, cole." which advice the young engineer followed. it was now an even race between the lakeville, jamesville and northville centre departments. the members of the weedsport crew were trying to right their engine. "they've--got--her--up! they're--coming!" spoke cole, as he looked back to see how their unfortunate adversaries fared. the three contestants were now about as close as they dared go to the blazes. "never mind them! we've got our own work cut out for us!" cried bert. "unreel, boys! i'll give you the stream as soon as you're ready!" "give it to us now!" cried cole, quickly. "turn the valve, bert. the hose and nozzle will stand the pressure, and hold it back until we need it. maybe we can beat 'em that way, for it will be there waiting for us." bert was a little doubtful, but he knew cole was an authority on hose and nozzles. so, before the line was unreeled he had burst the sulphuric acid bottle, and the hissing within the tank told him the gas was beginning to generate. "come on, boys!" cried cole, who, with tom donnell and several others, was pulling the long snake-like line of rubber toward the blaze which had been assigned to them to extinguish. cole's forethought proved successful. by the time the lakeville boys were at the fire, the fluid had filled the hose, and was ready to spurt out of the nozzle. the others had waited until the hose was fully unreeled before putting the apparatus in operation. "first stream!" yelled cole with delight, as he saw the whitish fluid spurting toward the blaze. they beat the other two companies by at least half a minute, and seconds count in these fire department contests. but the fight was only begun. so fiercely were the shacks blazing that it seemed as if a big stream of water was needed to extinguish them. the small chemical ones did not appear adequate. but it was science triumphing over matter. in less than a minute there was noticed a lessening in the power of all three blazes. the fourth one, assigned to the unfortunate weedsport department, was going fiercely. but, with a shout, the members of that department, having righted their engine, which was only slightly damaged, rushed it up, and were soon playing a stream on the miniature conflagration. "well done!" shouted bert, in praise of a gallant foe, and the chief of the weedsport department acknowledged the compliment with a salute. but the real contest was now among the lakeville, jamesville and northville centre crews. the two latter had taken a lesson from bert's first contest, and had men ready with hooks to tear the piles apart as soon as chance offered. this opportunity soon came, as the flames began to die down under the influence of the powerful gas. "tear it up, boys!" cried bert, and, as his lads rushed forward, the men from the other departments did likewise. once more the flames leaped up, as fresh material was thus made available, but the chemical streams made short work of them. misfortune seemed to follow the weedsport department, for, when they had somewhat subdued their fire, something went wrong with their engine. no more fluid issued from the hose, and, with an explosion like that of a gun, the safety valve of the cylinder blew out, and the stream began spurting from the back. "there's no fire there!" shouted the crowd, laughing at the bad luck of the weedsport crew. "too bad, old man!" called bert in sympathy. "if he had my force-pump here, he could put out that fire yet," said cole. "i wish our boys would run out the old hand-engine." and that is exactly what the smaller lads did, at the suggestion of mr. bergman. he saw that the weedsport department could do no more, and, as the water tank of the hand-engine had been filled, he thought of giving the smaller lads a chance to demonstrate what they could do. they rushed out, and soon had the blaze well in hand. meanwhile, the now triple-cornered contest was almost over. the three blazes were dying down. the lead which bert and his lads had secured at the start, stood them in good stead. in a few minutes more, and just as the chemical in the tank began to give out, for bert had, in the excess of his zeal, turned on full power, the blaze was extinguished. but, in the other two shacks, there were still signs of flames. "take up!" cried the chief, in his most professional voice. the boys began to reel back the hose. "lakeville wins!" called the umpire of the contest. "hurrah! three cheers for lakeville!" yelled the crowd, and bert and his lads blushed with pleasure, for they had won the silver trumpet. chapter xx a false alarm what a demonstration awaited the victors when they trundled their engine back to the grove! it seemed that every man from lakeville wanted to shake hands with the boys. "you've done the town more good than if you gave it a marble monument!" exclaimed mayor appelby, enthusiastically, as he greeted herbert. "you've woke our sleepy village up, and i look for better times now. i'm going to run for mayor again. it's an honor." "we'll see who'll be mayor," murmured moses sagger, who had come to the picnic after all. "if them boys think they can run things they'll find themselves very much mistaken." the other engine companies, now that the fires were out, returned to the grove. they gathered around bert and his lads, while mr. bergman, with a neat little speech, presented the young chief with a handsome silver trumpet. "and while i wish you all success," he said in conclusion, "i also hope that through this trumpet you may give the order 'take up' as quickly at every fire which occurs in lakeville, as you did it to-day in this contest. you boys certainly worked fast, and i believe the 'devouring element,' as the poets call it, will take a back seat, now that we have such an efficient department to handle our two chemical engines." "hurrah for lakeville!" yelled half a hundred voices. "three cheers for mr. bergman!" shouted others. "three cheers for the boys with the hand engine!" proposed bert, for he wanted to encourage the little chaps. "they couldn't have put that fire out if it hadn't been for my force-pump!" murmured cole, amid the cheers that followed. "say, if you mention force-pump again to-day," threatened tom donnell, "we'll stand you up in front of it, and douse you good." "well, it's a fine pump," retorted cole, taking care to get beyond tom's reach. there was more cheering and applause, the unfortunate weedsport crew being given an extra cheer to make up for the bad luck it had encountered. there were more games, a great dinner, some speech-making by the men, additional athletic contests among the firemen, and the picnic was brought to a close. "line up, lakeville!" cried herbert, through his trumpet. the boys manned the ropes of the three engines, including the old hand affair. they made a brilliant picture in their red shirts, blue trousers and shining helmets, and bert proudly carried the glistening trophy where it would show to the best advantage. with final cheers for each other the four fire departments separated, to march to their respective villages. it had been a great day, and, as mr. bergman had said, lakeville had taken several steps forward in the way of progress. "well, we didn't do so bad," remarked vincent to bert, as they were on their way along the home road. "no," replied the young chief, "but there's one thing we've got to look out for." "what's that?" "we must not use so much of the solution out of the tank. a small stream will do as much work, and it will last longer." "that's so. we can't fill the tanks up very well while a fire is in progress." "that's it. this afternoon, if the blaze had lasted a few minutes longer, there wouldn't have been any chemicals to squirt on it. it was my fault. i opened the valve too wide. we must remember that when we have a real fire." as the young firemen entered the village, many, who had been to the picnic, but had come home early, crowded out to see them. the bells on the three engines clanged out in peals of victory, and when bert started up a song, his comrades joined in with him. as the two companies separated, one to go to the town hall, and the other to cole's barn, a man stepped from the crowd, and approached bert. "well, i see you won," he remarked pleasantly, and the young chief, looking up, saw the tramp he had rescued from the water. "yes. were you there?" "i saw the final contest. couldn't get away to spend the whole day, though i would have liked to. i had to work." "where are you working? in town here?" asked bert, for he was quite interested in the young man. "yes, i'm employed at the stockton mansion." "at the stockton mansion?" repeated bert, greatly surprised. what he had heard regarding that mysterious house came freshly to his mind. "why, i didn't know there was any business being done there, mr.--er--mr. ah--" he paused, for it just occurred to him that he did not know the tramp's name. the tramp--no, we shall call him that no more, for he was no longer of that class--the man, then, smiled. "decker is my name," he said. "mortimer decker, though most of my friends--what few i have left--call me mort. as i consider you a friend of mine, you may do so, herbert. you see i know your name, for you're sort of a public character." "i don't know about that, but i'm glad you've gotten a place, mort." "yes, after my little experience in the brook i decided to get some work to do here if possible. i heard that the man who lived in that big mansion was rich, and i thought he might want a private secretary, or a stenographer and typewriter. i learned who lived there, but when i inquired at the place an old woman said mr. stockton had gone away." "i believe he has, but there seems to be something queer about it," said bert. "no one saw him go, and, though he never used to be seen much around the village, still we did have occasional glimpses of him. now no one has seen him for some time." "so it appears. but the old woman--blarcum, she said her name was--called a young man to talk to me. he was alfred muchmore, mr. stockton's nephew, and, after i had told him what i could do, he engaged me." "i didn't think he had any work you could do," said bert, recalling the rumor he had heard, that muchmore was a professional gambler. "well, he has quite a lot of business papers to copy, and i am doing that for him. he pays me well. still, i can't say that i altogether like the place." "why not?" mort decker came closer to herbert, though no one was then near them, the boys of the department being too interested in cleaning the engine, refilling it, and putting it in the barn, to pay attention to anything else. "there's something queer about that house," said mort in a whisper. "queer? how do you mean?" "well, muchmore seems afraid that i will go into some rooms where i have no business. once i was going down a long corridor, when he called me back, and said those were his private apartments, and no one was allowed there. then, again, i was just going into a room that the old housekeeper said contained fine paintings, for i am very fond of pictures, but mr. muchmore thrust me back, and seemed quite excited. then, too, the housekeeper seems very much afraid of the young nephew. i believe there is some secret connected with that house." "so do i," declared bert, and he told mort of his experience when the fire had occurred. "i'll keep my eyes open, and see if i can learn anything," promised the stenographer. "if i hear anything i'll let you know. i can't invite you to call and see me, for i'm afraid muchmore wouldn't like it. but the first chance i get i'll come down and see you." "i wish you would," replied bert. "you'll generally find me at one of the engine houses, at least until school opens. then i've got to begin my studies again." "well, good-bye," said mort, as he left, while bert went to the barn, to see that the chemical tank was properly filled, in readiness for an alarm. as yet, beyond the one blaze in a small shed in the village, the engines had not been tested at a real fire, nor had the new alarm system been called on to show how much of an aid it was in enabling the department to respond quickly. several boxes had been installed in different parts of the town, all running to the two fire-houses, as the basement of the town hall and cole's barn were designated. by means of a simple switchboard arrangement, and a code of signals, given on a gong, it could be told at once which box was pulled. in addition the new bell on the tall steel tower would ring an alarm to awaken those members of the department who were asleep at home. there was a short meeting of the fire department one night, in cole's barn, where various matters were talked over, and the boys had not dispersed more than an hour, when there sounded an alarm from the tower. at the same time there rang out on the apparatus in cole's barn, the number of a box located near the stockton mansion. "there's another fire at the house of mystery," cried cole, for the boys had given the mansion that designation. "come on, fellows. let's see if we can't do better this time than we did with our hand engine." while he was speaking he was drawing on his rubber boots, for, like his companions, he had gotten ready for bed. before the alarm had ceased ringing (for it sounded the box number automatically four times, once it was started) the engine was being pulled out of quarters. there were only eight boys on duty in the barn, and the task of pulling the heavy engine up the hill to the stockton mansion was not easy. but, before they were half way there, they were met by several of their comrades, who grabbed the rope. "come on! come on!" yelled bert, who was among the first to arrive from home. "don't let the fire get too much of a start!" they toiled on, and, as they rounded a and came in sight of the big house, there was not a sign of fire. "that's queer," remarked the young chief. "i wonder if there's something wrong with the signal apparatus." "what's the matter, boys? out for a practice drill?" asked a voice, and herbert and his chums saw, in the glare from the lamps on the engine, mr. alfred muchmore coming out of the driveway that led to the big house. "we came in response to a fire alarm," said bert, "but i don't see any blaze." "blaze? there isn't any. i don't understand it. i don't want you boys around here. you'd better leave." that was rather queer, coming from a man to whom they expected to be of service. bert and his chums were puzzled. "false alarm! false alarm!" suddenly yelled a voice from the bushes that lined the roadway. "i sent it in, you old miser, to get even with you! maybe you'll say 'thanks' next time, mr. muchmore, when we put out a real fire in your place," and a lad, whom bert recognized as rather an undesirable character about the village, dashed from the shrubbery, and ran off down the road, laughing at the trick he had played. chapter xxi the mysterious message the unexpected announcement by the daring lad, of what he had done, was a surprise to both mr. muchmore and the members of the fire department. "so, this is a trick by one of you young rascals, is it?" asked the rich man's nephew. "i shall take action against you for this. the road you are on is private property, and i shall have you arrested if you do not, at once, cease from trespassing on it. get out of here with your noisy apparatus!" "mr. muchmore," said bert firmly, "you are mistaken when you think that our fire department had anything to do with this false alarm. we regret it as much as you do. we came here because we believed there was a fire. the box located near here was pulled." "i shall take steps to see that it is not rung again. i shall have it removed," said the man. "now i order you to clear out!" "we will," replied the young chief, "but i want to say that no member of our department had anything to do with annoying you." "you heard what that young rascal said. that he did it to pay me for not thanking you boys for what you did at the other fire. that was an oversight. i was too excited, i suppose, but that is hardly an excuse for disturbing me in this way." "mr. muchmore," exclaimed bert, "the boy who sent in the false alarm is not a member of our department. he never was, though he might have helped at the other fire." "well, it seems strange that i can't live here in peace and quietness, without being annoyed by a lot of boys," retorted muchmore. "perhaps you knew nothing of the false alarm--" "i assure you we did not. we don't care enough about this long run uphill to undertake it on a false alarm," declared bert. "that's right," added cole. "very well, then you had better go down. as for that boy who pulled the box, i shall take steps to have him arrested." "if you will, you would be doing us a service," replied bert. "we don't want false alarms to be sent in, and if that boy--chester randel is his name--finds out he is liable to arrest, it may serve as a warning to others." "i'll see about it," and, without thanking the boys for their promptness in coming to put out a possible fire, muchmore turned back, and went up the private driveway to the big house, that stood dark and silent on the hill. "this is one on us," remarked cole, as he helped to drag the engine around. "i'd like to wallop chester." "so would i," declared bert. "mr. muchmore will attend to him, though, i guess." "muchmore needs someone to attend to him, too," remarked tom donnell. "he's as cross as a couple of sour apple trees. i guess if the house had been on fire he'd have been only too glad to see us." still the boys did not so much mind their useless run, as they were so enthusiastic over their engine and the new department that it had not yet become an old story to them. "we were in need of a little practice, anyhow," remarked bert, as they backed the engine into the barn. the second apparatus had not responded, though the boys were in readiness to run it out in case a call came for them. when he got back home that night herbert was racking his brains over the mystery that seemed to surround the stockton mansion. that there was something queer going on within its walls he was positive. what he had seen, muchmore's queer actions, his fear of something being discovered, and what mort decker had told him, convinced bert that very unusual proceedings must be taking place in the silent house on the hill. "mr. stockton ought to be informed," he said. "i wonder if i couldn't send a letter to him? i've a good notion to make some inquiries at the post-office." he did, the next day. as he entered the post-office he saw that mr. daven was busy reading some postal cards. "ah, how d'ye do, bert?" he greeted, for he had a kindly feeling for the lad, who, in a measure, was responsible for the awakening of the town. "how's the fire business?" "pretty good. we had a run for nothing last night." "i heard about that. up to the stockton mansion. yes, i may have to take official action on it." "how's that?" "why, mr. muchmore was in here a while ago. he came to see me in my official capacity as justice of the peace, and not postmaster. he wanted a warrant for the arrest of chester randel, and i made out one. the next thing is to arrest that good-for-nothing lad, but he's like a flea, i never can catch him when i want him. i've got another warrant for him too." "what's that for?" "oh, he robbed deacon stanton's apple orchard. not that taking apples is such a crime, but the deacon insisted on a warrant, and i had to make one out." "are you going to arrest chester?" "if i can catch him, but i'm so busy with mail lately that i ain't got much time to arrest anybody. 'pears everybody is sending out souvenir postals, with pictures of the new engines on 'em, and it takes a lot of time to read and sort 'em." an enterprising stationer in town had ordered a supply of postals made, with pictures of the new fire apparatus, and he sold quite a number. bert thought the postmaster's talk gave him a good opening to ask certain questions. "i wonder if mr. stockton knows about our new department?" he said. "i'd like to send him one of those postals, though i don't really know him very well. still, i think he would be interested. do you know his address?" "no, bert, i don't." "i heard he had gone to europe." "maybe he has, but i can't say." "do you get any letters for him?" "yes, quite a few." "then don't you forward them?" "no, for i don't know where to send them. besides, that nephew of his calls for the mail, and takes the letters addressed to mr. stockton, as well as his own. i don't believe mr. stockton is in europe." "then where is he?" "that's more than i know, bert. it's something i don't have time to bother about, with the increase in the mail, and my eyesight getting poorer and poorer each day. i can't read as many postals as i used to." "then if i wrote a letter to mr. stockton, you don't think he'd get it?" "i don't know. i do know that muchmore would get it first. maybe he forwards his uncle's mail." "i don't believe i'll write any letter then," thought bert. "i have nothing only suspicions, at best. i think something wrong is going on at that house, but i can't prove it. i think mr. stockton ought to know about it, but i don't see any way of informing him. i wish i could have a talk with mort decker. maybe he has found out something." once he got thinking in this strain bert found it hard to get his mind off the matter. as he had nothing in particular to do, he decided to take a stroll past the mysterious mansion. he knew of a road, through the woods, that would bring him to the rear of the house, without any one seeing him. he started off, passing through the back streets of the village, as he did not want to meet any of his chums just then. in a little while he was in the forest, and, proceeding along leisurely, so that if any persons did observe him they would not think he had any particular object, he reached the rear of the queer house. it seemed to be deserted. the shutters on the back were tightly closed, and there was no sign of life. "a queer old place," mused the boy. "i wonder what--" his musing was cut short by a sudden opening of the shutters on the topmost window. they were thrown violently back, as though whatever fastened them had been broken. at the same moment a hand was thrust out. it was a white hand, and it seemed to throw something from the window. bert watched, and saw that the object was a bottle. the glass struck a stone and was broken. then, from the bottle came a piece of white paper. the shutters were closed again. wonderingly, bert walked over and picked up the paper. on it was this mysterious message: "help i am a priso" chapter xxii the stenographer's suspicions herbert stood gazing at the slip of paper in his hand. he did not know what to make of it. then he looked up at the window whence it had been thrown. there was no sign of life there. whoever had tossed out the mysterious message had disappeared again behind the dark shutters. "well, this gets me," murmured the boy. "i wonder what it means? is it a joke; or something serious?" then another idea came to him. "it's written on a typewriter!" he exclaimed. "i wonder if it could have been done by mort decker? perhaps he is in trouble there with muchmore. maybe the man has him locked up. had i better tell the authorities?" then, as he looked at the message again, he had a different thought. "no, mort couldn't have written it," he said to himself. "he knows how to work a typewriter, and he'd use capitals in the places where they belong. and, besides, this message isn't finished. whoever wrote it had to stop before he was through. i wonder what the rest of that word is. 'priso--' maybe it's meant for 'poisoned' and it's spelled wrong. i wish--" but the boy's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a noise at a window over his head. thinking the person who had thrown out the mysterious message was again about to open the shutters, bert watched anxiously, but, instead, a window on the second floor opened and mort decker leaned out. "hello!" began bert. "hush!" exclaimed mort, placing his fingers over his lips as an additional signal of caution. "get away from here, bert; mr. muchmore is coming!" "but," went on the boy, "i have--" "don't say a word. hurry away. i'll try to see you to-night, at the barn. go, before--" he did not finish the sentence, but hurriedly shut the shutters, and closed the window. bert took the hint, and glided into the woods, where he could not be observed. he gave one look back at the mysterious house, and once more he saw that the window, from which mort had looked, was open. but the stenographer did not peer forth. instead, the face of muchmore appeared. the man looked around carefully, as if to see if anyone had been communicating with inmates of the house. then, apparently satisfied, as he saw nothing suspicious, he pulled the shutters tightly together, and closed the window. "well, things are happening in a bunch," thought bert, as he made his way toward the village. "first i get a queer message i can't make head or tail of, and then mort warns me away from the house. i wonder what he wants to tell me to-night? it must have something to do with the stockton place." bert almost wished that a fire alarm might come in, so that the time would pass more quickly. but the day dragged along, and there was no occasion for taking out either of the engines. after supper, as was his custom, the young chief visited the two fire-houses, to see that both apparatuses were in readiness for a run in the night. the tanks were kept filled, and the lanterns were lighted as soon as it grew dark. bert first went to the town hall, where, in the basement, he found vincent and several members of "corps no. ," as it was known. "well, boys, all ready for a blaze?" asked bert. "how's the machine, vincent?" "all right, i guess. we thought we were going to have a run, a while ago." "how's that?" "pile of shavings near sagger's new butcher shop caught fire, and made a lot of smoke. he came running in here, and wanted us to take the engine out, but i saw it didn't amount to anything, and i didn't want to waste a lot of chemicals on a blaze like that." "what did you do?" "we put it out with a few pails of water. he could have done the same, only he was too excited." "and he is the man who said the bucket brigade was good enough," observed john boll. "i guess he's changed his mind," remarked bert. "i'm going over to cole's barn," he added. "it's my night on duty." bert found cole and several of his chums engaged in games of checkers and dominoes in the barn, which had been fitted up as much as possible like a fire-house. bert greeted his chums, and then sat down, to await, with what patience he could, the promised arrival of mort. "i hope he comes," thought the boy. "i'd like to get at the bottom of this." it was nearly nine o'clock when mort looked in at the open door of the barn and nodded to bert. "i'll be back in a little while, boys," said the young chief, as he followed the stenographer outside. there was an oil lamp in the driveway leading to the street, and bert, pausing under it, pulled out the queer slip of paper, and showed it to mort. "i thought maybe you might know something about this," he said. "where did you get it?" "i picked it up right near where you saw me, under the window. some one threw it out." "so, that's why you were there, eh? i couldn't imagine. i thought you were trying to find out something about that house of mystery." "so i was. why did you warn me away?" "because, as i told you, muchmore was right there. i happened to see you when i was at work, in the place he has fitted up as an office, and i didn't want you to get into trouble. you were on his private land, and he would just as soon as not have you arrested." "i'm not afraid of that. but what do you make of this message?" mort, who had not closely examined the paper before, started as he caught sight of it. "why, that was written on my typewriter!" he exclaimed. "i mean on the one muchmore bought for me to use. i can tell, because the letter 'e' prints a little bit out of alignment." "who wrote it?" asked bert. "what do you make of it?" "i don't know who wrote it. some one must have gone to my typewriter when i was away, or maybe it was done at night." "could it have been the old housekeeper?" asked bert. "maybe she is in trouble, and this looks like an appeal for aid." "no. mrs. blarcum is afraid to touch the machine. besides, she doesn't even know how to put the paper in." "muchmore wouldn't have tossed out a message like that, i suppose?" "no. besides, he knows how to work the machine, and he'd use the proper lettering. anyhow, he'd have no occasion to do such a thing." "then what can it be?" inquired bert, much puzzled. "certainly someone is in trouble," agreed mort. "the word 'help' shows that. properly written the message would look like this, and on the back of the paper he wrote: "help! i am a priso" "what's that last word?" asked bert. "i thought it might have been meant for 'poison.' what do you think?" mort was silent a moment. then he exclaimed: "i have it! it's 'prisoner'! that's what it is!" "prisoner?" "yes." "but who could be imprisoned there?" "i don't know. maybe it's a lunatic, or some poor fellow whom muchmore has fleeced out of all his money by gambling." "then he is a gambler?" "yes; but how did you know?" "well, it is rumored so in the village." "yes. he is a gambler, and something more. i believe he is a worse criminal. he has had several gambling parties at his house. men come after dark, in automobiles, along the private road. sometimes they arrive in the motor boat from the other side of the lake. they don't pass through the village at all. oh, i see and hear things that muchmore never suspects i know about." "but what makes you think he is a criminal?" "because he has had me doing some queer work lately." "what kind?" "making copies of old deeds and mortgages. now, no man has deeds and mortgages copied unless he is going to dispose of property, and all this property is in the name of harris stockton, his uncle. i believe muchmore is up to some crooked game." "but where is mr. stockton?" "that's what i can't find out. muchmore says he is in europe, and i often write for him letters addressed to his uncle, which are directed to different cities in france and germany. but muchmore always mails them himself. i don't know where mr. stockton is. if i did i'd send him word of what is going on in his house, and what i suspect his nephew is up to." "but what about this queer message?" asked bert. "i'm sure i don't know what to say. there is some mystery about it. i will try and get on the track of it, but to do that i must get up on the top floor, and that is a place muchmore carefully guards. perhaps you can help me." "i'm afraid not, but i'll try." "do," urged the stenographer. "i'll see you again, and--" at that instant the fire alarm began ringing, and bert rushed back to the barn. chapter xxiii a brave rescue "run her out, boys!" cried bert. "it's the box at needham's factory. if the factory gets going it'll be the worst fire we ever had in this town!" needham's factory was one where boxes for various purposes were made, and it was filled with inflammable material. the young firemen needed no urging. they sprang to their places. the bell on the engine sent out its warning note, as they wheeled the machine from the barn. the reel clicked as the long rope was unwound. "come on!" cried bert, as he took his place at the head of the line. "that's the way to run her out!" exclaimed the stenographer admiringly, as the boys swept past him. "i'll see you again!" bert called to him, for the thoughts of the young chief were now entirely upon the fire to which he was going. "all right," answered mort decker. "i'll call around to-morrow." out into the street rushed the lads, dragging the engine after them. the tower bell, with quick, sharp strokes, was sounding the alarm. the noise of rushing feet could be heard, as men and boys hurried toward the blaze. "we'll need the other engine, if the factory is on fire," commented cole, who was beginning to lose his breath as the swift pace was kept up. "yes," answered bert. "vincent knows he's to answer all alarms near dangerous places without waiting for a special call. he'll be there before we are." this was because the second engine was on the side of town nearest the factory. "maybe it isn't the box place," suggested tom donnell. "i--hope--not," spoke cole, laboredly. "the factory is the nearest building to the alarm box," said bert, "but of course the using of that box doesn't mean that the factory is on fire." "something is blazing, anyhow," added tom. "i can see the reflection." on the sky shone a lurid light, and there was the smell of burning wood in the air, as the wind blew toward the lads. on they rushed, the warning bell on the engine clanging loudly, and mingling with the rumble of the big wheels. it was a fine sight, and one would have enjoyed seeing the sturdy lads hurrying along, with the brightly polished engine sparkling in the light of the four lamps on it, had it not been for the thought of the fire which was destroying property, and, possibly, endangering life. "it is the box factory!" suddenly cried tom, as they turned a corner, and saw the blaze in plain sight. "that's right!" added bert. "vincent and his boys are on hand. put a little more steam on, fellows!" several of their comrades had joined them on the way, some not stopping to don their uniforms, while a few were only half dressed. it was easier work hauling the engine now. "it's got a good start," remarked bert. "i'm afraid we can't save much. we'll need the old hand-engine, too." "here it comes," cried tom, as another rumble was heard, and the clumsy tank machine, manned by a score of smaller lads, came down a side street. the factory was blazing furiously. it was not a big building, but it was filled with dry wood, which made excellent fuel for the flames. a big crowd had gathered in front, and a number of men were aiding vincent's lads in saving as much of the finished stock as they could carry out from a side door, which the flames had not yet reached. "jump in and save as much as you can!" ordered bert. "unreel, cole! tom? take the nozzle as close as possible! i'll give you the full pressure at once. you'll need all you can get for this fire!" vincent's engine already had a chemical stream on the blaze, and it was doing effective work wherever the fluid was directed. but quite an area was now blazing. there was a hiss as the gas began to form in the copper cylinder when bert turned the valve, and an instant later a second whitish stream was being directed at the licking tongues of fire. "if--we--only--had--my--force--pump!" panted cole, who had not yet recovered his breath. "looks as if we were going to have it!" exclaimed bert, as the old hand-engine was wheeled up, and the boys, with some men to aid them, formed a bucket line, and prepared to work the handles, while the three lengths of hose, including the one from cole's force-pump, were run out. "shall we start in, bert?" cried fred newton, who constituted himself captain of the hand-engine company. "let her go!" yelled the chief through his trumpet, for it needed a strong voice to be heard above the din. the young firemen were doing fine work. as it needed but two lads on the two lines of chemical hose, the others could turn their attention to saving property. they managed to get out a large quantity of the finished boxes, some of which were for holding jewelry, and were very expensive. two members of the firm had arrived by this time, and helped in saving some valuable papers from the office, which was almost destroyed. the chemical streams were beginning to have an effect on the fire, which seemed to be dying down. the three streams of water from the hand-engine were also of good service. suddenly there was a sound of a loud explosion. "that's in the varnish department!" exclaimed mr. needham. "look out, everybody! there are barrels of alcohol and turpentine in there! they'll blow the whole place up! better get back, boys," he added. "you can't save the factory!" "we're not going to give up!" answered bert. "there is plenty of the solution left in the tanks, and we can charge them again in five minutes. we've got plenty of acid and soda." at that moment there was another explosion, louder than the first. "that's a barrel of turpentine!" cried mr. needham. "get back, boys!" but the young firemen pluckily stuck to their task. it was so hot that they had to cease trying to save any more of the boxes, and even the lads with the hose had to move back from the fierce flames. but they did not give up. suddenly there was a cry of horror, and a score of hands pointed upward. there, on the roof of an extension of the factory, that was just beginning to blaze, stood a man. "it's the watchman!" cried mr. needham. "he has his apartments there. he must have gone back to get something and the flames have trapped him!" "what has he got in his arms?" asked bert. "in his arms? i don't know. must be some of his things." "it's a little girl! a little girl!" shouted the young chief. "his niece! i remember now," said mr. needham. "she lived there with him. oh, why did he go back? he was safe, for i was talking to him a few minutes ago, in front of the factory." "perhaps he went back to get the little girl," suggested bert. "but he's in danger now." the young chief ran forward, telling cole to look after the engine. as he did so sheets of flame burst from the windows of the extension, on which the aged watchman stood. "get a ladder!" shouted bert. "it's the only way he can get down! fetch a ladder, boys!" one was found, and quickly raised against the extension in a place where the flames had not yet broken out. bert was up it in a second, while some of his comrades held the end on the ground, to steady it. [illustration: "don't drop the child!" he called to bert.] "come on! i'll help you down!" cried bert to the old man. "i--i can't!" was the quavering answer, "i've got rheumatism so i can hardly move, and i'm stiff from fright!" "you must!" insisted bert. "this place will be all ablaze in another minute! here, give me the little girl! i'll carry her down, and help you!" "you--you can't do it!" "yes, i can. give her to me! come on!" bert took off his coat. then he wrapped the little girl, who was motionless from fright, in the garment. next he tied the sleeves together, making a bundle with the little girl inside, but leaving an opening through which she could breathe. then, holding the precious burden in one arm, with the other he assisted the old man toward the edge of the roof. "go down the ladder!" cried the young chief. "i can't!" complained the aged watchman. "you must. the roof is giving way! quick!" the man gave one frightened look back, and then, trembling with fear, he started to descend the ladder. "don't--don't drop the child!" he called to bert. "i'll not! hurry! it's getting too hot here!" the flames were now coming through the roof of the extension. when the man was part way down the ladder, bert, holding the little girl close to him, started to follow. "give him a hand!" he cried to some of the young firemen on the ground, and two of them came up the rounds to aid the watchman. the old man reached the ground in safety, and bert, with the child, was half way down the ladder when, from a window, past which he would have to climb, there burst out a terrible sheet of flame. chapter xxiv an encounter with muchmore for an instant the crowd was horror-struck. it seemed that the brave young chief, and the little girl, must perish. for it was next to impossible to pass through that sheet of flame unharmed. the mass of superheated air, generated by the varnishes and other material in the extension, was forcing the flame out from the window in the shape of a great fan. the ladder was beginning to blaze. bert paused and looked down to the ground. the distance was not too great for him to jump, had he been alone, but, with the child, it might mean that both would be seriously injured. "throw her to me!" yelled mr. needham, and, at that, several men stretched out their arms, ready to catch the burden. but bert shook his head. he did not want to run any risk of anyone not catching the little one, for he would have to toss her, with considerable force, away from the building, to have her escape the flames. yet there seemed to be no other way. oh, how he wished the new department had a life net! he made up his mind he would soon get one, if he came out of this situation alive. but vincent had seen his chum's peril, and at once a daring plan came to him. the chemical stream from his engine, as well as that from the other, and the three water jets from the hand apparatus, were still playing on the flames. "this way!" yelled vincent. "use what chemicals you have left, and all the water you can pump on the fire in the extension. that'll keep the flames from the window long enough for him to get past." the others caught the idea at once, and the boys rushed with their lines of hose around to where bert still stood on the ladder, that was now ablaze in several places. with a hiss like that of an angry snake, the flames seemed to shrink back at the touch of the elements to which they were opposed. the fan of fire, shooting from the windows, appeared to die down, almost at once. "come on! come on!" cried the crowd to bert, and, seeing his chance, he climbed farther down the ladder. just as he reached the place opposite the window, the flames once more shot out. but he ducked down, and a well-directed stream, from the hose attached to cole's force-pump, sent a saving spray over the brave lad and the little girl. the fire on the ladder was quenched, and, as that from the window was driven back, bert made the rest of the descent in safety. cole's pump had proved its worth. a score of hands reached out to take the burden from herbert, but he gently put them aside, and placed the little girl in her uncle's arms. then what a cheer there was for the brave young chief's act! but bert had other things to do than listen to praises of himself. "how are the engines, boys?" he asked. "pretty well run out," answered vincent. "well, get ready to make some more solution. shut down one engine, and fill the tank, and then do the same for the other. we'll fight this fire to a finish!" this was done, and soon, with replenished tanks, the two pieces of apparatus were again in use. the old hand-engine, too, did its share, and so energetically did the young firemen attack the blaze, that at last the fire sullenly gave up. "i think we've got it under control," said bert, as he saw the flames beginning to die down. "if we don't have any more explosions, we'll be all right." fortunately there were no more, and, though the factory was badly damaged, the larger part of it was saved. but that was nothing compared to the satisfaction the members of the department felt over bert's brave act. in an hour more the last spark had been extinguished, and the chief gave orders for the engines to go back to quarters. it was the worst fire they had yet undertaken to fight, and the new engines had proved their efficiency in no uncertain manner. little was talked of in town, the next day, but the fire and the sensational rescue. as for bert and his chums, they, too, had a fruitful subject for conversation. they had learned much from their experience at the box factory blaze, which was liable to stand them in good stead at future fires. "i heard about you," remarked mort decker to bert, when the next night he called at cole's barn. "first thing you know you'll be getting offers from some big city department." "oh, i guess not. but how are things at the house of mystery? have you discovered anything new?" the two had walked out from the barn, to converse alone. "i don't like the way things are going," replied the stenographer. "muchmore gave me several other deeds to copy to-day, and in some he had me change the descriptions and names. i don't like it. i'm sure, now, that he is a crook." "can you do anything?" "that's just what i was thinking about. i have an idea he has some person a prisoner on that top floor, whom he is holding there until that person does as he wants, in the matter of some property." "if we could only get word to mr. stockton," said bert, "he might call in the authorities." "yes, if we could, that would be the very thing. but i don't know how to do it. i wrote him a letter, and mailed it in the post-office, but a little later i saw it on muchmore's table. he must get mr. stockton's mail, and forward it. and now i think muchmore suspects me, because he probably opened that letter i wrote to his uncle. so we may as well take the bull by the horns, and do something." "yes; but what?" mort looked around to see that no one would overhear him. "i'm going to make a try to get on that top floor," he said, "and i want you to help me." "when are you going to do it?" "to-night, in a little while. muchmore is away, and there's nobody but the housekeeper there. we'll see who that mysterious prisoner is, who sends out typewritten messages asking for help. will you come?" "sure. i don't have to stay here. it's my night off." "then come up to the stockton mansion in about an hour. go to the side door, knock three times, then a pause, then twice, and i'll know it's you, and let you in. we'll see if we can't solve the mystery." about an hour after this conversation bert knocked at the door of the big house as directed. the place seemed deserted, and there was not a ray of light to be seen. "i wonder if he's here, or if muchmore found out what he was up to, and drove him out," thought bert, as he waited for an answer. but in a few minutes the stenographer admitted him. "don't make any noise," he cautioned. "mrs. blarcum is in her room, but she has good hearing in spite of her age, and i think she is somehow mixed up with the mystery. now we'll go to the top floor," and he took up a big poker, which was on a chair in the side hall. "what's that for?" asked bert. "we may have to smash down a door or two, or pry them open. this is the only thing i could find. now come on." they cautiously ascended the stairs. when they reached the top floor, they found a stout door barring their progress. mort decker tried to insert the point of the poker in the lock, to force it, but, finding he could not do this, he raised the heavy iron, to break the panels. at the first blow there sounded from the other side of the portal a cry: "help! help! let me out!" "who are you? why arc you in there?" asked mort, pausing in his attack on the door. before he could distinguish the answer, if one was made, there sounded from behind the two rescuers, a woman's scream, and they turned to see mrs. blarcum rushing at them. "come away from there!" she cried. "come away! mr. muchmore doesn't allow any one there!" "i don't care what he allows!" retorted mort. "we're going to get at the bottom of this mystery!" once more he rained a shower of blows on the door. "get away from there!" cried the old woman, rushing up, and grabbing the stenographer by the arm. "help! help!" she added. "mr. muchmore, he is breaking down the door to the secret corridor!" suddenly there sounded from below the rush of feet. then came a startled cry. "i'm coming!" some one shouted. "muchmore! it's muchmore!" exclaimed mort, pausing. "if he finds us here--" "let's stick it out!" urged bert bravely. "we'll find out what this means!" an instant later, muchmore, his face distorted with anger, rushed upon them. chapter xxv the mystery solved--conclusion "get away from that door!" yelled the enraged man. "what right have you to be prying into my affairs? i hired you to do copying work for me, not to roam about this house." "well, i'm done copying those illegal deeds for you!" retorted mort. "and, what's more, we're going to find out whom you have a prisoner in there!" "a prisoner? you are joking. there is no one in there." "yes, there is. he wrote an appeal for help on the typewriter and tossed the paper from the window. hark, you can hear him calling for help!" there was a moment's silence, but no cry came from behind the door, one panel of which was shattered. "you see," sneered muchmore. "i guess you'll wish you hadn't begun this work, my friend, before i'm through with you. you'll be in jail ere you are many hours older. as for you," went on the man, turning to bert, "i warned you, once before, not to trespass on my property. i shall also make a complaint against you. now, clear out, both of you!" "suppose i refuse to go?" asked mort coolly. "then i'll throw you out. i paid you your wages to the end of the week. you can consider yourself dismissed. if you don't go--" muchmore paused, but there was such a fierce look on his face, as he strode toward bert and the stenographer, that, though neither of them was a coward, they judged it best not to provoke the man too much. "oh, we'll go," replied the stenographer. "but i warn you that you haven't heard the last of this. this place will be searched, by the proper authorities, and that prisoner, whoever he is, will be released." "there is no prisoner there," retorted muchmore. "and i'd like to see the authorities here, or from anywhere else, search this house without my permission. a man's house is his castle, here as much as in england. now you have my answer, and you can do your worst!" "i'll inform mr. stockton," threatened bert. "do, you young rascal, when you can find him," and, with a laugh, muchmore motioned his two unwelcome visitors to leave. "well, we didn't find out much," remarked the stenographer, as he and bert were descending the hill toward the village. "i'm afraid i made rather a mess of it. he came back unexpectedly." "maybe he never went away." "mrs. blarcum said he was going to be gone all night." "i believe she's in with him. but we certainly learned one thing. some person is a prisoner in the house, and it's a man who wants to get out." "and we'll help him," added mort. "i'll inform the authorities in the morning." "where will you stay to-night?" asked bert. "i don't know. i guess i'll go to the hotel." "it isn't a very good place. better come to my house. there are only mother and i, and we have a spare room for you." "you are very kind. i'll come." mrs. dare welcomed the stenographer, and, after he and bert had talked over the queer events of the evening, they went to bed, intending to start an official inquiry the first thing in the morning. but fate took a hand in the matter, and the mystery was solved sooner than bert or mort expected it would be. in the middle of the night there was an alarm of fire. it came from the box on the hill, near the stockton mansion, and bert, hearing the clanging of the bell on the tower, awoke with a start and began to dress. "where is the blaze?" asked mort. "somewhere up near the house of mystery. i hope it isn't another false alarm." "may i go with you?" asked the stenographer. "of course. hurry." mort quickly dressed, and he and bert, the latter making his usual promise to his mother that he would be careful, were soon hastening from the house, and toward the location of the box, where they would meet the engine. "it's no false alarm!" exclaimed mort, as they began to climb the hill leading to the big house. "you're right. it's a fire, but it doesn't seem to be very big. the engine is there; i can hear the bell." bert and the stenographer had taken a short cut to the stockton mansion, and, as they emerged from the woods, on that side of the house where bert had picked up the mysterious message, they saw flames shooting from one of the windows. "the fire is on the side of the house where the prisoner is!" cried bert "it's in that secret corridor!" "maybe you'll have a chance to rescue him!" exclaimed the stenographer. the fire had not gained much headway, and, under bert's direction, a long ladder was procured, raised against the side of the house, and then, carrying the hose himself, the young chief ascended toward the blaze. "give me the stream!" called bert to cole, who was in charge of the engine. from the nozzle came the white, frothy mixture. bert directed it at the window through which the flames were coming. "don't you dare go in that hall!" shouted muchmore, running from the side door of the house to the foot of the ladder. "the fire doesn't amount to much. you can put it out from where you are, young man. i never called your department out. the old woman got scared and sent in the alarm. it's only some rubbish burning." "i'll do as i think best about putting the fire out," replied bert. "don't you go in that corridor!" yelled muchmore, who seemed frantic over something. the chemical stream was already smothering the blaze, and bert could go a little farther up the ladder. he continued on, coming right opposite the window. then he knew it was the same casement from which the mysterious message had been thrown. he could look in now, and he saw that the fire came from a pile of rags and paper on the floor. he directed the chemical stream directly on them, and in a few seconds the last vestige of the blaze was out. but bert did not descend. he was peering into the dark corridor. would he get a sight of the prisoner held there? he tried to pierce the darkness. surely that was a movement, surely that was someone hurrying to the window. bert looked down. he caught one glimpse of muchmore, in the light from a lantern tom donnell was carrying, rushing at the ladder, as if to upset it, and precipitate the boy on it to the ground, thirty feet below. but in the same glance bert saw his chums holding back the enraged man. there was another movement in the corridor. then a gleam of light showed, and, to his surprise, bert saw an old man, carrying a lamp, coming toward him. the man's hands were bleeding, his clothes were disheveled, and his hair and beard were matted, as if they had known neither comb nor brush for a long time. "save me! save me!" cried the man. "is the fire out? i started it to call help! i thought the firemen would come. oh, save me!" "you're all right," replied bert. "there is no danger. the fire is all out." "yes, the fire is out. there is no danger from that. it is my rascally nephew whom i fear. save me from him!" "your nephew? who is he?" asked bert, wondering what was about to happen. "alfred muchmore. have you seen him? where is he? if he finds me talking to you, he'll lock me up again. he shoved me back in the room after i started the fire, but i broke through the door. see my hands! they are cut and bleeding!" "who are you?" "harris stockton." "what? the owner of this place?" "yes, my lad. the owner of the stockton mansion, which my rascally nephew is trying to force me to convey to him, together with all my other property. he has compelled me to sign some deeds, but to-night i refused to give him any more of my property. he has kept me a prisoner here many months, for i am weak and sickly, and he is strong. that old woman helped him. once before, there was a fire here, and i thought i might escape, but i could not. then, last night, some people tried to break down the door, but he drove them away. to-night, when he left me for a while, i started this fire. i knew it could not do much damage, and i hoped it would bring me help. thank god, it has! you will not let him shut me up again, will you?" "well, i guess not!" exclaimed bert, as he climbed over the window sill, and entered the long hall that was part of the unfortunate man's prison. "he'll have to tackle the whole lakeville fire department if he does. you're safe now, mr. stockton." "oh! i'm so glad! it seemed as if i never would be free again!" "we'll soon have you in better quarters than this," went on bert. he leaned out of the window and shouted: "hey, mort! 'i've got him! i've got the mysterious prisoner. it's mr. stockton! come on up, and bring some of the boys! grab muchmore, and hold him!" the rascally nephew heard the words which meant that his career was at an end. he had been struggling to break away from tom donnell and the stenographer, who were holding him, to prevent him from upsetting the ladder. at bert's words the enraged man, with a violent effort, managed to wrench himself loose. he fled, for he knew the game was up. but it may be added here that he was subsequently captured, and sent to prison for a long term. into the mysterious house rushed the young fire-fighters, with mort at their head to show them the way. the partly shattered door leading into the corridor was quickly broken open, in spite of the protests of mrs. blarcum, who did not seem to understand that muchmore had fled, and that the real owner of the mansion was again in possession. a little later the old woman disappeared and all trace of her was lost. as for mr. stockton, he soon was in his own apartments, where he quickly removed the signs of his imprisonment. then he told his story, briefly, to bert and his chums. muchmore, it appeared, had always been a bad character, but he had told his uncle that he had reformed, and had begged his relative to give him a home. no sooner was he installed in the mansion than he began to scheme to get possession of it, and also what other property mr. stockton had. to this end he secretly administered to his aged relative a medicine which greatly weakened him. then, when the old man was not capable of defending himself, muchmore had shut him up in an unused part of the house. from then on the nephew's course became bolder. he began his wild, gambling life, introducing some of his cronies into the mansion. he compelled mrs. blarcum to do as he wished by telling her mr. stockton was crazy, and had to be kept a prisoner. muchmore's strange actions, when the young firemen were first at the house, was due to his fear lest they discover that mr. stockton was a prisoner in his own mansion. then muchmore began to make out deeds and other papers, compelling his uncle, by threats of violence, to sign such as were necessary for his purpose. mr. stockton tried several times to escape, but the rascally nephew and housekeeper were too much for him. once mr. stockton managed to get as far as the office where mort decker, under the direction of muchmore, was in the habit of copying deeds. the stenographer was out at the time, and the office was deserted, and, as he could not find a pen, the old man used the typewriter to prepare the mysterious note herbert found. he was disturbed before he could finish it, but he carried it away with him, and, at the first opportunity, threw it from the window. but now he had no more to fear, thanks to the rescue by herbert. "i can't thank you enough," he said to the young chief. "but for you i might still be a prisoner." "you helped yourself as much as we helped you," said bert "it was a good idea, to think of starting that fire." "yes, it was the only thing i could think of. this place is so lonesome that persons seldom pass by, or i might have called to some of them, when i was well enough. often i had to stay in bed for days at a time. i made the fire of some old papers and rags, and i had a pail of water ready to throw on it in case it got going too fiercely. then muchmore came and caught me, and locked me up. oh, how i prayed that they might send in an alarm, and that the fire department would come, for i heard from the old housekeeper that a company had been started in addition to the old hand-engine corps." "yes, we think we have quite a fine department," said herbert proudly. "well, you'll soon have a better one," said mr. stockton. "i want to show my appreciation in some way, and i'm going to buy a regular steam-engine for the town." "but we'll need a water system for that," objected bert. "that will come. i am going to sell a lot of property i have, and put a water system in lakeville. i've held on to my land too long. we'll develop this village, until the old inhabitants, like myself, won't know the place. and, when we have the new department, i want you boys to have a hand in running it." mr. stockton was as good as his word. it took some time to make the improvements he suggested, but finally a fine water system was installed in the town, and the best steam fire-engine money could buy was presented to lakeville, with the compliments of the aged millionaire. in this work he was aided by mort decker, whom mr. stockton appointed his secretary. it needed horses to draw the steamer, and of course required men to operate it. but the boys were not forgotten. they still kept the chemical engines--and the smaller lads the hand-engines--and they were often called on to put out trifling blazes, and help at the larger ones. mr. stockton did not forget what bert had done for him. he owned a comfortable house with two acres of ground and a barn, on one of the side streets of the town, and one day he surprised the young fireman by handing him a legal-looking document. "what is this?" asked the youth in surprise. "a deed to a house on cherry street," answered the rich man. "the place is now yours, free and clear. you and your mother can move into it at any time." "why, i didn't expect this," stammered bert. "i know you didn't, my lad, but it is yours, nevertheless. i want to do something for you--and for that good mother of yours." of course, bert and mrs. dare were very grateful. they moved into the house a month later, and found it a far more comfortable home than they had ever before enjoyed. lakeville is now quite a city. it has two steam fire-engines, instead of one, the taxpayers purchasing the second. and if you were to go there tomorrow, or any other day, for that matter, and ask for the chief of one of the finest small departments in the united states, you would be introduced to herbert dare. for, after he finished his schooling, he was unanimously selected to act in his former capacity. and here, wishing him all success in the field which he has chosen for himself, and hoping that he may help save many lives and much property, we will say good-bye to our young fireman and his loyal comrades. the end [illustration: cover art] boy scout series volume the boy scout fire fighters or jack danby's bravest deed by major robert maitland the saalfield publishing company chicago ---- akron, ohio ---- new york copyright, by the saalfield publishing co. contents chapter i at the edge of the fire ii fighting the fire iii what the spy saw iv the double header v tom binns' bad luck vi the attack on the station vii jack danby's peril viii the rescue ix a swimming party x the burning launch xi the mystery deepens xii an ungrateful parent xiii the moving pictures xiv a foolish strike xv the dynamiters xvi off on a long hike xvii a timely warning [transcriber's notes: two chapters in the source book were misnumbered. chapters in this ebook have been renumbered. the last numbered page in the source book was page , but damage to the book indicates that a number of pages were missing after that point. since the original book did not have a table of contents, it is unknown what may be missing.] the boy scout fire fighters chapter i at the edge of the fire a pall of smoke, dark, ugly, threatening, hung over a wood in which the thirty-ninth troop of the boy scouts had been spending a saturday afternoon in camp. they had been hard at work at signal practice, semaphoring, and acquiring speed in morse signaling with flags, which makes wireless unnecessary when there are enough signalers, covering enough ground. the scout camp was near the edge of the woods. beyond its site stretched level fields, sloping gradually upward from them toward a wooded mountain. the smoke came from the mountain, and in the growing blackness over the mountain a circular ring proclaimed the spreading fire. "gee, that looks like some fire, jack," said pete stubbs, a tenderfoot scout, to his chum, jack danby, head office-boy in the place where he and pete both worked. "i'm afraid it is," said jack, looking anxiously toward it. "i never saw one as big as that before," said pete. "i've heard about them, but we never had one like that anywhere around here." "we used to have pretty bad ones up at woodleigh," returned jack. "i don't like the looks of that fire a bit. it's burning slowly enough now, but if they don't look out, it'll get away from them and come sweeping down over the fields here." "say, jack, that's right, too! i should think they'd want to be more careful there in the farmhouses. there's some of them pretty close to the edge of the woods over there." scout-master thomas durland, who was in charge of the troop, came up to them just then. "danby," he said, "take your signaling flags, and go over toward that fire. i want you to examine the situation and report if there seems to be any danger of the fire spreading to the lowlands and endangering anything there." "yes, sir," said jack at once, raising his hand in the scout salute and standing at attention as the scout-master, the highest officer of the troop of scouts, spoke to him. his hand was at his forehead, three middle fingers raised, and thumb bent over little finger. "take scout stubbs with you," said the scout-master. "you may need help in examining the country over there. i don't know much about it. what we want to find out is whether the ground is bare, and so likely to resist the fire, or if it is covered with stubble and short, dry growth that will burn quickly." "yes, sir!" "look out for water, too. there may be some brooks so small that we can't see them from here. but i'm afraid not. every brook around here seems to be dried up. the drought has been so bad that there is almost no water left. a great many springs, even, that have never failed in the memory of the oldest inhabitants, have run dry in the last month or so. the wind is blowing this way, and the fire seems to be running over from the other side of bald mountain there. from the looks of the smoke, there must be a lot of fire on the other side." no more orders were needed. the two scouts, hurrying off, went across the clear space at the scout pace, fifty steps running, then fifty steps walking. that is a better pace for fast travelling, except very short distances, than a steady run, for it can be kept up much longer without tiring, and boy scouts everywhere have learned to use it. "why do they call that bald mountain, i wonder?" said pete, as they went along. "it isn't bald any more'n i am. there are trees all over the top." "i don't know, pete. places get funny names, sometimes, just the same way that people do. it doesn't make much difference, though, in the case of a mountain." "nor people, either, jack," said pete stubbs, stoutly. he had noticed a queer look on his chum's face, and he remembered something that he always had to be reminded of--the strange mystery of jack's name. he was called jack danby, but he himself, and a few of his best friends, knew, that he had no real right to that name. what his own real name was was something that was known to only one man, as far as his knowledge went, and that one a man who was his bitter enemy, and far more bent on harming him than doing him the favor of clearing up the mystery of his birth and his strange boyhood at woodleigh. there jack had lived in a cabin in the woods with a quaint old character called dan. he had always been known as jack, and people had spoken of him as dan's boy. by an easy corruption that had been transformed into danby, and the name had stuck. he had come to the city through the very troop of boy scouts to which he now belonged. they had been in camp near woodleigh, and jack had played various pranks on them before he had struck up a great friendship with one of them, little tom binns, and so had been allowed by durland to join the scouts. more than that, durland had persuaded him to come to the city, and had found a job for him, in which jack had covered himself with glory, and done credit both himself and durland, who had recommended him. "gee, it's getting smoky," said pete, as they reached the first gentle rise at the foot of the mountain, though it had seemed to rise abruptly when viewed from a distance. "a woods fire always makes this sort of a thick, choking smoke. there's a lot of damp stuff that burns with the dry wood. leaves that lie on the ground and rot make a good deal of the smoke, and then there's a lot of moisture in the trees even in the driest weather." "sure there is, jack! they take all the water there is when the rain falls and keep it for the dry weather, don't they, like a camel?" "that's a funny idea, pete, comparing a tree to a camel, but i don't know that it's so bad, at that. it is rather on the same principle, when you come to think of it." men were working in the fields as they approached the fire. they seemed indifferent to the danger that durland feared. one boy not much older than themselves stared at the carroty head of pete stubbs, and laughed aloud. "hey, carrots," he cried, "ain't you afraid of settin' yourself on fire?" "you ain't so good lookin' yourself!" pete flamed back, but jack put a hand on his arm. "easy there, pete!" he said. "we're on scout duty now. don't mind him." a little further on they met an older man, who seemed to be the farmer. "aren't you afraid the fire may spread this way?" asked jack, stopping to speak to him. "naw! ain't never come here yet. reckon it won't now, neither." "there always has to be a first time for everything, you know," said jack, secretly annoyed at the stolid indifference of the farmer, who seemed interested in nothing but the tobacco he was chewing. "tain't no consarn of your'n, be it?" asked the farmer, looking at them as if he had small use for boys who were not working. he forgot that pete and jack, coming from the city, might work almost as hard there through the week as he did on his farm, without the healthful outdoor life to lessen the weariness. "sure it ain't!" said pete, goaded into replying. "we thought maybe you'd like to know there was a good chance that your place might be burnt up. if you don't care, we don't. that's a lead pipe cinch!" "come on, pete," said jack. "they'll be looking for a signal pretty soon. if we don't hurry, it'll be too dark for them to see our flags when we really have something to report." the fields nearest the mountain and the fire were full of stubble that would burn like tinder, as jack knew. the corn had been cut, and the dry stalks, that would carry the flames and give them fresh fuel to feed on, remained. not far beyond, too, were several great haystacks, and in other fields the hay had been cut and was piled ready for carrying into the barns the next day. if the fire, with a good start, ever did leap across the cleared space from the woods it would be hard, if not impossible, to prevent it from spreading thus right up to the outhouses, the barns, and the farmhouses themselves. moreover, there was no water here. there were the courses of two little brooks that in rainy weather had watered the land, but now these were dried up, and there was no hope of succor from that side. as they approached the woods, too, jack looked gravely at what he saw. timber had been cut here the previous winter, and badly and wastefully cut, too, in a way that was now a serious menace. the stumps, high above ground, much higher than they should have been, offered fresh fuel for the fire, dead and dry as they were, and over the ground were scattered numerous rotting branches that should have been gathered up and carried in for firewood. "looks bad, doesn't it?" jack said to pete. "it certainly does," rejoined his companion. "now we've got to find a place where we can do the signaling." "i see a place," said jack, "and i think i can reach it pretty easily, too. see that rock up there, that sticks out from the side of the mountain? i bet you can see that a long way off. you go on up to where the fire's burning. get as near as you can, and see how fast it's coming. then work your way back to the rock and tell me what you've seen." "right, oh!" said pete. "i'm off, jack!" though the smoke was thick, now, and oppressive, so that he coughed a good deal, and his eyes ran and smarted from the acrid smell, jack made his way steadfastly toward the rock, which he reached without great difficulty. he was perhaps a mile from the scout camp, and there, he knew, they were looking anxiously for the first flashing of his red and white flags to announce that he was ready to report. he stood out on the rock, and, after a minute of hard waving of his flags, he caught the answer. thus communication was established, and he began to make his report. he had no fear of being misunderstood, for it was dick crawford, the assistant scout-master and his good friend, who was holding the flags at the other end, and not some novice who was getting practice in signaling, one of the pieces of scout lore in which jack had speedily become an adept. "bad fire," he wig-wagged back. "seems to be spreading fast. ground very bad. likely to spread, i think. fields full of stubble. no water at all. brooks and springs all dried up." "mr. durland says have you warned men working in the fields?" "not yet," was the answer from jack. "but they think it's all right, and seem to think we're playing a game." then jack dropped his flags in token of his desire to stop for a minute, and turned to pete stubbs, who had come up. "it's burning mighty fast," said pete. "the woods are awfully dry up there. there's no green stuff at all to hold it in check. if those people on the farm down there don't look out, they'll be in a lot of trouble." jack sent that information, too, and then came orders from dick crawford. "return to camp," the assistant scout-master flashed. "warn farmer and men of danger. suggest a back fire in their fields, to give clear space fire cannot jump. then report, verbally, result of warning." the warning was a waste of breath and effort. "think you can learn me my business?" asked the farmer, indignantly. "i don't need no boy scouts to tell me how to look after my property. be off with you, now, and don't bother us! we're busy here, working for a living. haven't got time to run around playing the way you do." jack felt that it was useless to argue. this farmer was one who believed that all boys were full of mischief. he didn't know anything about the boy scout movement and the new sort of boy that it has produced and is producing, in ever growing numbers. so jack and pete went on to camp, and there jack made his report to durland. "it would serve him right to have his place burned," said durland, "but we can't work on that theory. and there are others who would suffer, too, and that wouldn't be right. so we'll just go over there and stop that fire ourselves." there was a chorus of cheers in reply to that. the idea of having a chance to fight a really big fire like this awoke all the enthusiasm of the scouts of the three patrols, the whip-poor-wills, the raccoons and the crows, this last the one to which jack and pete belonged. so off they went, with durland in the lead. chapter ii fighting the fire the three patrols of the troop had been nearly at full strength when the hike to the camping ground began, and durland had at his disposal, therefore, when he led them across the open fields toward the burning mountain, about twenty quick, disciplined and thoroughly enthusiastic scouts, ready to do anything that was ordered, and to do it with a will. "what's it like over there, jack?" asked tom binns, who was jack danby's particular chum among the scouts, and the one who had really induced him to join the crows. "it's going to be pretty hot work, tom," said jack. "there's no water at all, and the only chance to stop that fire is by back firing." "that's pretty dangerous, isn't it?" "yes, unless the man who's doing it knows exactly what he wants to do and exactly how to do it. but i guess mr. durland and dick crawford won't make any mistakes." "it's lucky for these farmers that mr. durland knows a fire when he sees it, isn't it, jack? if they let that fire alone, bob hart said it would sweep over the whole place and burn up the farmhouses." "sure it would! the trouble is they never believe anything until they see it. they think that just because there never was a really bad fire here before, there never will be." "there have been fires on bald mountain before, though, jack. i've seen them myself." "that's true enough--and that's just the trouble. this is the trouble. there's been scarcely any rain here for the last two months, and everything is fearfully dry. if the brooks were full the fire wouldn't be so likely to jump them. but, as it is, any old thing may happen. that's the danger--and they can't see it." each scout was carrying his scout axe and stick, a stout pole that was useful in a hundred different ways on every hike. the axes were out now, and the sharp knives that each scout carried were also ready for instant use. durland, at the head of the little column in which the scouts had formed, was casting his keen eye over the whole landscape. now he gave the order to halt. the scouts had reached the edge of the fertile land. the course of the little stream was directly before them, and on the other side was the land that had been partially cleared of timber the year before, filled with stumps and dry brush. "go over and borrow a few shovels from the farmhouse over there," directed durland. "crawford, take a couple of scouts and get them. i want those shovels, whether they want to lend them to you or not. it's for their own sake--we can't stand on ceremony if they won't or can't understand the danger." "come on, danby and binns," said dick crawford, a happy smile on his lips, and the light of battle in his eyes. "we'll get those shovels if they're to be found there, believe me!" the farmer and most of the men, of course, were in the fields, still at work. if they had seen the advance of the scouts they had paid no attention whatever, and seemed to have no curiosity, even when three of the scouts left the main body, and went over to the farmhouse. there dick and the others found a woman, hatchet faced and determined, with a bulldog and a hulking, overgrown boy for company. she sat on the back porch, peeling potatoes, and there was no welcome in the look she gave them. "be off with you!" she shrilled at them. "you'll get no hand-outs here! you're worse'n tramps, you boys be, running over honest people's land, and stealing fruit. be off now, or i'll set the dog onto ye!" "we only want to borrow some shovels, ma'am," explained dick crawford, politely, trying to hide a smile at her vehement way of expressing herself. "what next?" she cried. "shovels, is it? and a fine chance we'd have of ever seeing them ag'in if we let you have them, wouldn't we? here, tige! sic 'em, boy, sic 'em!" the dog's hair rose on his back, and he growled menacingly as he advanced toward them. but there jack danby was in his own element. there had never been an animal yet, wild or tame, that he had ever seen, with which he could not make friends. he dropped to one knee now, while the others watched him, and spoke to the dog. in a moment the savagery went out of the bulldog, who, as it seemed, was really little more than a puppy, and he came playfully up to jack, anxious to be friendly. "the dog knows, you see," said dick. "a dog will never make friends with anyone who is unworthy, ma'am. don't you think you could follow his example, and trust us?" "you'll get no shovels here," said the woman, with a surly look. "oh, i don't know!" said little tom binns, under his breath. his eyes had been busy, darting all around, and he had seen a number of shovels, scattered with other farm implements, under a pile of brushwood. he leaped over to this pile now, suddenly, before the loutish boy who was helping with the potatoes could make a move to stop him, and in a moment he was dancing off, his arms full of shovels. dick crawford saw what had happened, and could not help approving. "thank you," he said to the enraged woman, who rose and seemed about to take a hand herself, physically. "i'm sorry we had to help ourselves, but it's necessary to save your home, though your own men don't seem to think so." they were off then, with the woman shouting after them, and trying to induce the dog, who stood wagging his tail, to give chase. "i don't like to take things that way," said dick, "but if ever the end justified the means, this was the time. we had to have those shovels, and it's just as i told her--it's for their sake that we took them, not for ours at all." "what will we do with these shovels when we get them?" asked tom binns, who had distributed his load so that each of the others had some shovels to carry. they made a heavy load, even so, and tom couldn't have carried them all for more than a few steps without dropping from their weight. "i guess mr. durland intends to dig a trench, and then start a back fire," said crawford. "you see, the wind is so strong that if we started a back fire without precaution like that it would be simply hastening destruction of the property we are trying to save, and it would be better not to interfere at all than to do that. with the trench, you see, the fire we start will be quickly stopped, and the other fire won't have anything to feed on when it once reaches the part that we've burned over." crawford had guessed aright the reason for getting the shovels, for durland, as soon as the three scouts reached the stream with their precious burden of shovels, picked out the strongest scouts and set them to work digging the trench. he took a shovel himself, and set the best of examples by the way he made the dirt fly. they were working on a sort of a ridge. on each side there was a natural barrier to the advance of the fire, fortunately, in the form of rock quarries, where there was absolutely nothing that the fire could feed on. therefore, if it hadn't been checked, it would have swept over the place where they had dug their trench, as through the mouth of a funnel, and mushroomed out again beyond the quarries. the trench was dug in an amazingly short time. it was rough work, but effective, the ditch, about two feet deep and seven or eight feet wide, extending for nearly two hundred feet. on the side of this furthest from the fire durland now lined up the scouts, each armed with a branch covered with leaves at one end. "i'm going to start a back fire now," he said. "i don't think it will be big enough to leap the trench, but to make sure, you will all stay lined up on your side of the ditch, and beat out every spark that comes across and catches the dry grass on your side. then we'll be absolutely safe." he and crawford, skilled in the ways of the woods, soon had the brush on the other side burning. the rate at which the little fire they set spread, showed beyond a doubt how quickly the great fire that was sweeping down the mountain would have crossed the supposed clearing. "gee, see how it licks around those stumps!" said tom binns. "it's just as if they'd started a fire in a furnace or a big open fireplace." "that's the wind," said jack. "it's blowing pretty hard. i think the danger will be pretty well over by tonight, for the time being, at least. unless i'm very much mistaken, there's rain coming behind that wind." "it's hard to tell," said bob hart, patrol leader of the crows, waiting with his branch for the time to beat out sparks. "the smoke darkens the sky so that all weather signs fail. the sun glows red through it, and you can't really tell, here, whether there are any rain clouds or not. but it's a wet wind, certainly, and i guess you're right, jack." "i don't see how you can tell about the weather as well as you do, jack," said pete stubbs. "you never seem to be wrong, and since i've known you, you've guessed better than the papers two or three times." "i've lived in the woods nearly all my life, pete. that's why i can sometimes tell. i'm not always right, by a good deal, but the sky and the trees and the birds are pretty good weather prophets as a rule. in the country you have to be able to tell about the weather." "that's right," said bob hart. "i've known farmers, when there was a moon, to keep men working until after midnight to get the hay in, just because they were sure there'd be a storm the next day. and they were right, too, though everyone else laughed at them." "it means an awful lot to a farmer to get his hay in before the rain comes," said jack. "it means the difference between a good year and a bad year, often. many a farm has been lost just because a crop like that failed and the farmer couldn't pay a mortgage when he had expected to." "well, if they're all as stupid as this fellow, they deserve to lose their farms," said bob hart. "here he comes now, and he looks mad enough to shoot us!" it was true. the irate farmer was coming, pitchfork in hand, with his two sturdy sons and a couple of farm hands, who grinned as if they neither knew nor cared what would happen, but were glad of a chance for a little excitement. "who gave you leave to dig your ditch here?" he shouted. "this is my land, i reckon. be off with you now! and look at the fire you started!" indignantly he made for bob hart with his pitchfork. he was worked up to a regular fury, and it might have fared ill with the patrol leader had it not been for jack danby's quick leap to the rescue. "you don't want to use that pitchfork," shouted jack, springing forward. and, before the astonished farmer realized what the scout was up to, the pitchfork had been seized from his hand. "what's the trouble here?" cried durland, rushing up just then. "shame on you, my man! can't you see that we've saved your farm?" he seized the farmer by the shoulders and spun him around to face the sea of fire that was billowing down the slopes from the blazing mountain, that was now a real torch. the fire had passed beyond the stage of the slow burning circle that is so characteristic of wood fires. it was rushing relentlessly forward, and even now it was at the edge of the clearing. "there!" cried durland. "you can see now how it would have eaten that cleared timber lot of yours. see?" the back fire had been started half way in the timber lot. it had traveled fast, and before the onrushing big fire was a space a hundred yards wide of blackened ground, where the saving flames durland had lighted had had their will. as far as that space came the big fire. then, because there was nothing left to feed it and the gap was too wide for it to leap, it stopped, and there was an open space, already burnt over, where only sparks and glowing embers remained. "jumping wildcats!" exclaimed the farmer, in awe. "that was a purty sizable fire! i say, stranger, i guess i was a leetle mite hasty just now. you've saved us from a bad fire, all right, though i swum i don't see how you thought to do it." "this is exceptional for this part of the country," said durland, with a smile. "but i have lived in countries where whole towns have been swept away by a sudden shift of the wind just because the people thought they were safe, and i have learned that the only way to fight fire is with more fire. also, that you never can tell what a big fire is going to do, and that the only way to be on the safe side is to figure that the fire is going after you just as if it was human. it wants to destroy you, as it seems, and it keeps on looking for the weak spot that you haven't guarded." "you come right back to the house, all of you," said the farmer, "and the wife will give you a supper that you don't see the like of in town very often, i'll warrant ye!" durland was glad to accept the invitation for the whole troop, for the scouts had had no time to cook their own supper. he felt, too, that his troop had won a sturdy friend, and that pleased him. chapter iii what the spy saw the boys who had fought the fire and saved the farm were so tired the next day that most of them, including jack danby and pete stubbs, were glad to spend the whole day in rest. the work had been more exhausting than they had been able thoroughly to understand in the heat and rush of getting it done. the next day saw them with aching muscles, sore feet, and eyes that still smarted from the acrid wood smoke. it was sunday, so, of course, there was no reason why they should not rest as much as they liked. "we sure want to rest up today, jack," said pete stubbs, in the afternoon, when they had gone to grant park to lie on the grass and watch a game of baseball that was being played by two teams of young men who had no other day for games of any sort. "tomorrow's field day, you know." "i know it is, pete. i've been practicing long enough to remember that!" monday of that week was a holiday in that state, and all the scouts had the day to themselves. durland, always trying to think of things to make life in his troop interesting and happy, had devised the plan of a field day, in which there should be games of all sorts. there was to be a baseball tournament between the three patrols for the championship of the troop, and a set of athletic games, including running, jumping, and all sorts of sports. there were eight scouts in each patrol, and, to make up a full nine, each had been allowed to select one boy from its waiting list so that the roster might be complete. jack danby was the hope of the crow patrol in these sports. he was a wonderfully fine athlete for a boy of his age, and was proficient in many games. there had been no other real candidate for the post of pitcher on the crow baseball team, and he was expected to make a new record in strike-outs the next day. "how's your arm, jack?" asked pete stubbs, anxiously. "you didn't strain it yesterday, did you, digging that ditch?" "not a bit," said jack, with a laugh. "it did it good, i think. i'm not much of a pitcher, but if we get licked tomorrow the work i did yesterday won't be any excuse. i'm as fit as any of the others, and i won't mind admitting that anyone who pitches better than i do tomorrow deserves to win." "gee, jack, i hope i do some hitting! i'm crazy to make a home run!" "don't worry about it, pete. that's the worst way you can do if you really want to bat well. and remember that while it's fine to knock out a home run and have everyone yelling and cheering you, the fellow that sacrifices is often the one that wins the game." "it seems hard, though, jack, just to bunt and know you're going to be thrown out when you really might be able to make a hit." "it's the team that counts, though, pete. always remember that. and a scout ought to be able to obey his captain's orders just as well in a baseball game as any other time. just remember that there's a reason for everything, even if you can't always understand it yourself, and you won't mind making a sacrifice hit when what you want to do is to knock the cover off the ball." "i'm going to play short stop tomorrow, jack. bob hart brought me in from the outfield and put jack binns out there. he says tom can play better with the sun in his eyes than anyone on the team. i missed a catch the last game we had because i couldn't see the ball." "it's a mighty hard thing to do, to play the sun field well," said jack. "i wonder how that new pitcher the raccoons have will do?" "he's their extra pitcher, and i guess he's a good one, jack. he pitched for the bliss school team last spring, and they say his pitching was what won the county championship for them." "don't you believe it, pete! he had a good team behind him. that won the championship. no one man ever won a championship for a team, or ever will. he's a good pitcher, and he probably helped them a lot, but it's the team that does the work, every time." "well, i don't know, jack. in their big game, with the high school, he struck out fourteen men and the other side didn't get a run. his team only made one run off the high school pitcher, so he had to do it pretty nearly by himself. i hope you beat him, anyhow. he's got an awful swelled head. they say the only reason he wants to join the scouts is so that he can get a chance to show he's a better pitcher than you are. that's homer lawrence all over!" "oh, i guess he's all right. i think he's a pretty nice fellow. i was talking to him the other day." "his father's one of the richest men in this town, jack. he has all the money he wants, and he's been taking lessons in pitching from one of the state league players. that's why he's so good, i guess. the other fellows don't have a chance to learn things that way." "it isn't always the fellows who had the most lessons who are the best players, pete. ty cobb never had any lessons in baseball but he's a pretty good player. and there are lots of others." "i don't think it's fair, anyhow, jack. the raccoons oughtn't to have picked him out. he's a long way off from the top of their list, and i don't believe he'll get in this year." "that's the rule we made, pete. each patrol needed an extra player, and they were allowed to pick anyone at all they liked from their waiting lists. so it's perfectly fair, and we haven't any kick coming." jack was willing to rest for quite a while after that, but presently he began to feel more energetic. "come on, pete," he said, "i'll pitch a few balls to you somewhere, if we can get a bat and a ball, and perhaps that'll help you in your batting tomorrow." so they left the park, and went back toward their homes. at jack's room they got a bat and ball, and then wondered where they should go for their practice. "i know!" cried pete. "down by the river there. there's nothing doing there on sundays--it's quiet as can be. and maybe we'll find some little kid around to chase balls for us." "any place you like, pete; it's all the same to me. i'll be glad to limber my arm up a little, too. it feels a tiny bit stiff, and a good work-out will be fine for it." because it was sunday they tried to keep their bat out of sight. "i don't think it's wrong for us to practice this way," said jack. "we have to work all week, and i think we need exercise. if we can't get it except on sunday afternoons, it's all right to practice a little, though i wouldn't play in a regular game, because i do get a chance for playing on saturdays now. they don't give you saturday afternoon off in every office, though, i can tell you." first of all pete, highly elated at the chance to further his secret ambition of developing into a catcher, put on a big mitt and jack pitched all sorts of curves to him. then he took his bat and tried to straighten out the elusive, deceptive balls that jack pitched. "gee, i can hardly see the ball, much less hit it!" exclaimed pete, after whiffing ingloriously at the air two or three times and barely tapping the sphere on several other occasions. "keep on trying, pete. those aren't really bard to hit. the trouble is you don't watch the ball." "it never goes where i think it will, jack." "that's the whole idea of pitching, pete. keep your eyes on the ball after i pitch it, not on me. then you can see just what it does. now you think i'm going to pitch one sort of a ball, and if i pitch anything else, you're up in the air right away." at last, in huge disgust, pete hurled his bat away from him, after making a mighty swing at a slow floater. he seemed to be furious. "easy there, pete!" said jack, amused at this display of temper, as he picked up the bat and advanced toward pete to return it to him. "i wasn't mad," said pete, in a low whisper. "i just wanted to talk to you without anyone knowing that i wanted to. say, jack, there's someone watching us." "watching us, pete? why should anyone do that?" "it's lawrence,--that chap that's going to pitch for the raccoons, jack. i'm sure of it! he and harry norman are behind that fence over there--the sneaks!" jack dropped back to his position without saying anything more. he was careful for a minute or two not to look in the direction of the fence that pete had referred to. but when he did look, his keen eyes were not long in finding out that pete had been right. there were spies behind the fence, and they were studying every ball he pitched. a few moments later he found, or made, another chance to speak to pete. "you were right, pete," he said. "they are watching us from there." "let's chase them out of there, jack!" "not a bit of it, pete. i don't want them to know we've found out they're there--not now, at any rate. if they're mean enough to try to find something out by spying that way, i'll be mean enough to give them something to look at that won't do them much good!" "say, jack, that's the stuff! that's better than giving them a licking, too. what'll you do?" "just wait and see! and hit these balls just as hard as you can." the ball looked as big as a house now to pete as it came sailing up to him. mysteriously all the "stuff" that jack had been "putting on" the ball was gone and done with. the balls jack pitched now were either straight or broke so widely that almost anyone could have batted home runs galore off him. and pete, who saw the point, swung wildly at every one of them, hitting them easily. "that's a fine joke," said pete. "they won't find out very much about what you can do as a pitcher from that--that's a sure thing! if lawrence thinks that's the best thing you can do when you get in the box i'm afraid he'll get an awful jolt tomorrow." "i hope so, pete. the sneak--you were quite right. if he'd come right out to me and told me he wanted to watch me pitch, i wouldn't have minded. but that's a mean trick!" "it won't do him much good, that's one good thing. say, i don't believe he's as good himself as they make out, or he wouldn't have played such a trick. i bet he's got a big yellow streak in him." "we'll find that out tomorrow, pete. i hope not, because he certainly knows how to pitch. if he does a thing like that, though, he'd be apt to try to cheat in the game, or do something like that, i'm afraid. i don't care, though. if he wants to win in any such fashion as that, he's welcome to the victory. he must want to win worse than i do." "i didn't think harry norman would play a dirty trick on you after the way you saved his life, jack. i was surprised to see him there." "he doesn't like me. i've always been willing to be friendly with him, even when i had to fight him up at woodleigh. he forced me into that." "he isn't a scout, is he?" "no, he doesn't like the scouts. i guess he'll never join, either." "he's no great loss, i guess. we can get along better without him than with him if he's going to do things like that. i bet lawrence won't join either, when this game's over." chapter iv the double header pete stubbs had wanted to tell everyone of the trick that lawrence had tried to play on jack, and of jack danby's clever way of turning the tables on him, but jack dissuaded him. "that won't do any good," he said. "after all, he may not have meant to do anything wrong, and we'd better give him the benefit of the doubt." "aw, sure he meant to be mean, jack! i ain't got no use for him. if we told the others he'd get a ragging he wouldn't forget in a hurry, i'll bet." "i guess you can stand it if i can, pete. keep quiet about it, because i want you to." "all right, jack, if you want me to, i will. say, there's one thing i hadn't thought of. if he takes all that trouble to find out how you pitch, he must be afraid of you!" "i hope he is, pete. that's half the battle, you know, making the other fellow think you're better than he is, whether you are or not--and thinking so yourself. often it makes it come out right." full grown men would have been appalled by the program that had been mapped out for the boy scout field day. baseball filled the morning and early afternoon. there were to be three games in all. first the crows were to play the whip-poor-wills. then the whip-poor-wills were to play the raccoons, and finally the crows and raccoons were to meet. there was to be an hour of rest for the baseball players between the games, and during that time there were to be running races and jumping contests, and also a race for small sailing boats on the lake, with crews from the three patrols for three catboats. durland owned one, dick crawford another, and the third, the one to be used by the crows, was lent by mr. simms, the president of the company that employed jack danby and pete stubbs. the first event of all on the program was the baseball game between crows and whip-poor-wills. the whip-poor-wills, or the willies, as they were called for short, by the rooters, were not as strong as the crows and the raccoons, and were expected to lose both their games, leaving the championship to be fought out between the crows arid the raccoons in the afternoon. bob hart, captain of the crows, came up to jack danby in the early morning at the campfire. "we'll let tom binns pitch the first game, jack," he said, "and save you for the raccoons. they're saving lawrence, too, and he'll pitch against you. so you want to be fresh and ready for him. you play left field. that'll give you some exercise, and won't tire your arm out." "i think i could pitch the two games, if you wanted me to," said jack, "but i'll be glad to see tom get a chance to pitch. he's a good pitcher, and he ought to beat them easily." so the teams lined up with jack in left field, and the game began. "gee," said pete, in the fourth inning, as he and jack waited their turn to bat, "we can't seem to hit their pitcher at all. tom's pitching an elegant game, but i thought we'd have eight or nine runs by this time, and the score's really two to one in their favor." "there's plenty of time to begin hitting later, pete. no need to worry about that yet. there's nine innings in a ball game, and a run in the ninth counts for just as much as one we make now." pete stubbs made a home run and tied the score in the sixth inning, and after that, until the ninth there was no more scoring. the despised willies were playing better than they knew how, as pete stubbs said, and the raccoons, who stood around to watch the game, began to look anxious, for they had expected to see the crows walk away with the game. but in the ninth inning there was quite a break in the game. bob hart, who batted first, led off with a screaming two bagger, and went to third, when tom binns was thrown out. pete stubbs batted next, and was so anxious to make a hit that he popped up a little fly to the first baseman. but jack danby, with a rousing drive to center field, put his team ahead, for he ran so fast that he beat the throw to the plate, and made a home run, as pete had done before him. "that's great, jack!" cried tom binns. "gee, i thought we'd never get a lead on them! they can't hit much, but they've certainly got a good pitcher." jack trotted contentedly out to his position for the last half of the ninth inning. the crows seemed certain to win now, because tom binns' pitching had been getting better every inning, and in the last two times they had been at bat the whip-poor-wills hadn't been able to get a man to first base, much less get anywhere near making a run. the first man up now made a little tap, and the ball rolled toward the third baseman, who muffed it. the next got a base on balls, and the third was hit. the whole game was changed in a second. tom binns seemed to be rattled. try as he would, he couldn't get the ball over the plate, despite bob hart's efforts to steady him, and in a moment he passed the fourth batter, forcing in a run, and leaving the whip-poor-wills only one run behind, with the bases full and none out. two or three of the crow fielders looked anxiously at jack, and pete stubbs called from his position at shortstop. "i say, bob," he cried, "better change pitchers. tom's wild and can't see the plate." jack himself was more than anxious. he felt desperately sorry for poor little tom binns, who had been tremendously proud of being chosen to pitch for his team, and he was afraid, as were the others, that the sudden rally was more than tom could check. "he's going to leave him in," cried the center fielder to jack as hart shook his head at pete's suggestion that he take tom out of the box. and tom began pitching again to the fifth whip-poor-will who stood at the plate brandishing his bat. jack danby knew a lot about baseball that was planted in him by sheer instinct. and now he did something that was against orders and entirely different from what any other amateur outfielder would have thought of doing. it smacked more of big league baseball, where thinking is quick. he crept in, inch by inch, almost, while tom binns pitched two balls and a strike, until he was not more than thirty feet behind the third baseman. "if they hit a long fly one run will come in," he reasoned to himself. "a good single, even, will score two runs and win the game. the only chance is to make a double play. that's why the infielders are all drawn in close, so that they can throw to the plate. and that batter will try his hardest to push the ball over their heads." "crack!" the sound of the bat meeting the ball fairly came to him, and in a moment he saw the sphere sailing for the outfield, and about to pass squarely over the place the shortstop had just left. it looked like a sure hit, and the base runners started at once with the ball. the center fielder, running in desperately, was too far out to have a chance to catch the ball. but suddenly there was a shout. jack danby, who had crept far in without being noticed, sprinted over, and, by a wonderful jumping dive, caught the ball. like a flash he threw it to third base, and the runner who had started thence for the plate was doubled easily. he had reached home, and there was no chance for him to turn back. the runner from second, too, had turned third base, and, as soon as the third baseman had stepped on his bag he turned and threw to second base, completing as pretty a triple play as was ever made, and winning the game for the crows. "that was a wonderful play, jack!" said scout-master durland, who served as umpire. "i never saw a better one, even in a big league game. you were out of position, but if you hadn't been, that ball would have fallen fair, and tom binns would have lost his game. really, though, you're the one that deserves the credit for winning it, for your batting put your team ahead, and your fielding kept the whip-poor-wills from nosing you out in the finish." the whip-poor-wills, disappointed by losing when victory seemed to be within their grasp after such a gallant up-hill fight, seemed to have shot their bolt. their pitcher had outdone himself against the hard hitters of the crows, in holding them down so well, and when, after an hour's rest, they lined up against the raccoons, it seemed that they were a different team. the raccoons simply toyed with them. they piled up runs in almost every inning, and won with ridiculous ease, by a score of twenty to three. harry norman, who had come out with his friend lawrence to watch the sport, came up to jack after the raccoons had given this impressive exhibition of their strength. "gee," he said, "you might as well forfeit this game, danby! you haven't got a chance against the raccoons, especially when homer lawrence begins pitching for them. look at the way they beat the whip-poor-wills, and the trouble you had with them. you only beat them four to three, and you wouldn't have done that if you hadn't made that lucky catch in the ninth inning." "that wasn't a lucky catch," protested pete stubbs. "jack knew that the ball might be hit that way, and he took a chance, because if the ball had been hit to his regular position it would have meant a run anyhow. that isn't luck--that's baseball strategy!" "there wasn't any luck about the twenty runs the raccoons made anyhow," said norman, with a sneer. "and i'll bet you five dollars they beat you. money talks--there you are!" "we can't afford to bet," said jack, quietly, while pete stubbs looked angry enough to cry, almost. "we only get small salaries, norman, and we have to use all the money we make to live on. we support ourselves, you know." "oh, i suppose that's right," said norman, contemptuously. like many other boys who are fortunate enough to have wealthy parents and to be relieved from the need of starting out when they are little more than children to earn their own way in the world, norman had an idea that he was, for that reason, superior to boys like jack and pete, when, as a matter of fact, it is just the other way around. "scouts don't bet, anyway," said dick crawford, who had overheard the conversation, and showed, by his manner, that he had little use for norman, of whom he had heard many things that were far from pleasant. "we don't want to win money from one another, and betting on friendly games leads to hard feelings and all sorts of trouble. it's a good thing to let alone. come on to lunch, now, fellows. it's all ready." the members of the crow patrol and two or three volunteers who were trying to prove that they were really qualified to be scouts, though they had to wait for vacancies before they could join, had prepared lunch while the second baseball game was being played. "guess i won't eat much today," said pete stubbs, sorrowfully. "i like eating, but if i eat too much i'm never able to play a good game of ball afterward." "satisfy your hunger, pete, and don't eat too much," advised jack. "then you'll be all right. the trouble with you is that when you get hold of something you like, you always feel that you have to eat all you can hold of it. don't starve yourself now--just eat a good meal, and stop before you get so full that you feel as if you couldn't eat another mouthful." "i guess he never gets enough to eat except when he's out this way," said harry norman, beneath his breath. jack danby heard him and was furious, but he restrained himself, although an attack on his friend angered him more than a similar remark aimed at himself would have done. "i don't want any more trouble with you, norman," he said very quietly, taking the rich boy aside. "but don't say that sort of thing around here. remember that you're a guest, and that pete is one of your hosts and helped to pay for the spread that you're going to enjoy." "mind your own business!" said norman, rudely. "i didn't say anything about you. i will if you don't look out--i'll tell them you haven't got any right to your name, and that you don't know who your father and mother were!" jack bit his lips and clenched his fists for a moment, but he controlled himself, and managed to let the insult pass by without giving norman the thrashing he deserved. after lunch, when the mess had been cleared away, the dishes had been washed and everything had been made neat and orderly, the championship game between the raccoons and the crows was called. there was quite a crowd out to see this game. boys from the neighborhood, attracted by the prowess of the rival pitchers, turned out in good numbers. many of lawrence's school friends were also on hand, and practically every boy employed in the office with pete and jack was on hand, ready to yell his head off for the success of the crows. the defeated whip-poor-wills were anxious for the crows to win, for the raccoons had taunted them unmercifully on the poor showing they had made in their second game, and they wanted to see the team that had beaten them so badly humiliated in its turn. so the crowd of crow rooters was a little the larger, and if jack danby could win this game, his victory was certain to be a popular one, at least. but few thought that he would have a chance against the clever and experienced lawrence. "i've got an idea that the best way to beat lawrence is to let him beat himself," said jack danby to bob hart before the game. "he knows how to pitch two good curves, and he's been striking out ten and twelve fellows in every game he played just because they've swiped at those curve balls." "that's just what i'm afraid our fellows will do," said bob. "that's what's been worrying me." "well," said jack, "about every one of those curves breaks outside the plate. that is, if the batter didn't swing at them, the umpire would have to call them balls. just watch him in practice and you'll see what i mean. why not wait him out and make him pitch over the plate?" "say, that's a good idea, jack! i'll call the fellows together, and we'll see how that works. i think that's a good way to save the game--hanged if i don't!" and bob hart gave his orders accordingly. but it was harder to get the crows to do it than to tell them. time after time they struck at tempting balls, that looked as if they were going to split the plate, only to have them break away out of reach of the swinging bats. so, in the early stages of the game, lawrence looked just as formidable as he had in the school games in which his reputation had been made. bob hart himself, and jack, and pete stubbs, who could and would always obey orders, made him pitch to them, and, because they waited and refused to bite at his tempting curves, they put the star pitcher in the hole each time. he was a good pitcher as far as he went, but his equipment was not as large as it should have been. he knew how to pitch a few balls very well, but if they failed him, he was in trouble. he had nothing but his wide curves--no straight, fast ball with a jump, no drop, no change of pace. the first time jack danby came up, in the second inning, he let the first three balls that lawrence pitched go by, and durland called every one a ball. then, when lawrence had to put his ball straight over or give him a pass, jack smashed it to right for two bases. but he was left on second, for the two who followed him were over anxious, and were victims on strikes. but jack himself was pitching high class ball. he didn't try to strike out every man who faced him, but made it next to impossible for the raccoons to make long hits off him, and he did have some fun with lawrence, striking him out three times in the first six innings. in the seventh inning bob hart waited and got a base on balls. by that time the crows had begun to understand, and they waited now while lawrence's best curves went to waste, never offering to hit at any ball that didn't come straight for the plate. three passes in quick succession filled the bases, and then jack danby was up again. lawrence was no poor player. he had a head as well as a good pitching arm, and he set a trap for jack. his first three balls were curves--and called balls. jack waited. twice before, in the same situation, lawrence had had to pitch him a ball he could hit and he had swung at it. and now lawrence expected him to do the same thing, and sent up a floater that looked good for a home run. but jack only smiled, and the ball broke away from the plate. it was the fourth ball, and it forced in the first run of the game. moreover, lawrence, fooled and outguessed, went up in the air, and the crows made six runs in that one inning, and five more for good measure in the eighth, while jack shut out the raccoons. the crows, thanks to jack, also won in the races and jumping contests, so it was a great day for them. chapter v tom binns' bad luck jack danby and tom binns, second class scouts, were ready now to become first class scouts, and so to earn the right to wear the full scout badge, and compete for all the medals and special badges of merit for which scouts are eligible. they had passed all the tests save one. they had proved their efficiency in signaling, in scout and camp craft, in the tying of knots, had given evidence of their ability to save those who were drowning and give first aid to the injured, and they had only to make a hike of seven miles, alone or together, to receive the coveted promotion. they determined, with scout-master durland's permission, to make this hike together the saturday afternoon following the field day that had brought so much glory to jack danby and his patrol, the crows. although tom binns had been a scout longer than jack, jack had been a tenderfoot scout for only thirty days, the shortest time in which a scout can pass out of the tenderfoot class, and he was fully as good a scout now as many of the older ones who had had the right to wear the first class scout's badge for a long time. "gee, jack, i wonder if we'll ever get to be patrol leaders and scout-masters?" asked tom binns, as they met after work that saturday, and prepared to start on their hike. "why not, tom? everyone has to make a start. and mr. durland wasn't a scout when he was our age, because there weren't any boy scouts then." "i suppose it's a lot of responsibility, but then that's a good thing, too." "you bet it is! that's one of the things i like best about being a scout. it teaches you to be responsible, and to understand that you've got to do things just because you are responsible for seeing that they're done, and not just because someone keeps standing over you and telling you what to do." "where shall we go, jack?" "the camp for the troop hike today is out at beaver dam. i thought we might start from the other side of the lake there, go to haskell crossing, and get back to camp in time for supper. then we could get our badges from mr. durland, i guess." "that's a fine idea, jack. i don't know that country very well, though. do you?" "no. that's one reason for going that way. we know that we'll find a place where we can make a fire and cook our supper, though. we don't need to eat it unless we're particularly hungry, but we've got to cook it." "say, jack, if fellows make that hike alone, who's going to tell whether they really did it or not? if a fellow wasn't straight, he could go off somewhere; and then report that he'd hiked the fourteen miles, and there wouldn't be anyone to prove that he hadn't." "i know, but we're all on our honor, pete, and a chap who had got to be a second glass scout wouldn't ever play a trick like that. it wouldn't pay." "i guess that's true, too, jack. that's another fine thing about being a scout. when you see a fellow give you the scout sign in a strange place, you know he's all right, just because he is a scout, even if you never saw him before." "yes. that's why we've all got to be so careful to keep up the honor of the scouts, and not do anything ourselves, nor let any other scout do anything that would give outsiders a chance to say that we preached one thing and did another." they took the trolley to their starting point, on the side of lake whitney away from beaver dam, where their fellow scouts were to gather later in the afternoon for a practice camp, such as durland and crawford arranged for nearly every half holiday. "how will we know when we've gone seven miles?" asked tom. "it's just about seven miles--perhaps a little more--to haskell crossing, so we can tell without any trouble. that's one reason i picked out the place. the trail through these woods is pretty rough, but we can follow it all right." "whose land is this, jack?" "no one knows, exactly. it's a sort of a no man's land. or, at least, two sets of heirs to an old estate are fighting about it in the courts. they've been trying for years to get it settled between them, but the courts haven't decided yet, and they may not for a long time." "and meantime no one can use it?" "that's it. it seems silly, doesn't it? if the courts take so long to decide it must mean, i should think, that both sides were partly right, and i should think they'd want to settle it between themselves, and so each get some use out of the land. there's an old house, more than a hundred and fifty years old, in the woods, too." "doesn't anyone live in it?" "no one now. tramps go there sometimes, i've heard, because it is so lonely. some people say it's haunted, but i guess the tramps played ghost, just so that people would stay away and let them alone." "gee, if there's a ghost around, i hope he stays in when we're passing. i'm afraid of them!" "why, how could a ghost hurt you, tom? anyhow, you don't need to worry about ghosts in the daytime. they only come out at night." "it's pretty dark in here, jack. the woods are mighty thick." "i believe you _are_ scared, tom," said jack, laughing. "well, don't you worry! i'm pretty sure that if anyone ever did see a real thing here that he thought was a ghost it was a tramp in disguise. and i don't believe you're afraid of a tramp--though i'd rather meet a ghost, myself, than a vicious tramp." "gee, that railroad train's whistle sounds good," said tom, a few minutes later. "that must be at the crossing." "yes. it isn't much further now. and the house is near the crossing, too. i believe the people who lived in it made a great fuss when the railroad went through, and that was about the time when the quarrel started. they said it would spoil their property to have the station so near them--instead of which, if they could only see it, it's made it a whole lot more valuable." suddenly tom, who was walking as fast as he could and was ahead of jack, stumbled and fell against a root. when jack got beside him he was white with pain. "i guess i must have twisted my foot pretty badly," he said. "i don't believe i can stand on it for a while." he put a hand on jack's shoulder and tried to walk, but found the pain too great. "here, let me see it," cried jack. "i may be able to do something to make it better." tenderly he removed tom's shoe, and turning the stocking back from the injured ankle, rubbed and examined it thoroughly. "i may hurt you when i rub it around, tom," he said, "but it won't hurt your ankle for more than a minute." for two or three minutes, while tom, with set teeth, endured the pain without even a whimper, jack rubbed and massaged the ankle, already slightly swollen. "it's just a strain, i think, tom," he said. "i'll find a spring or a brook, if they're not all dried up around here, and make a cold compress for it. next to blazing hot water, that's the best thing to do for it, and i think you'll be able to get to haskell crossing pretty soon, with a little help from me. then we can get a train or a trolley back." "gee, i never thought, jack! you can't do that! if you go back with me, you won't be able to get your first class scout badge." "what of it, tom? i guess i can wait a week or two for that without suffering very much. and you didn't think i'd leave you alone here, or to go home alone, did you? you can't walk back on that foot--that's one sure thing." tom protested that all jack should do was to get him to the station, whence he said he could manage to get home all right, but jack wouldn't hear of such an idea, and, after he had put the cold water bandage on tom's ankle, he helped his comrade the short distance that remained to the track, and the little flag station at haskell crossing. the sun was low on the horizon when they got there. in the little shanty that served as a station, loafing and wishing for something to do, was a red-headed, gawky youth whose business it was to set signals and listen at a telegraph key for the orders that went flashing up and down the line. "there's no train back to town for four hours," he told them, when they asked how soon they could get a train. "one went a few minutes ago--you must have heard it whistle. hurt, there, sonny?" "twisted my ankle a bit," said tom binns, with a plucky smile. "sho, that's too bad," said the red-headed one. "here, come into the station and set down! there's a place in the freight daypo where you can be more comfortable like." the shanty was divided into two parts. one was for the sale of tickets, though jack guessed that there were few purchasers, the other held a few empty milk cans, which showed pretty well what made up the bulk of the freight handled there. but there was a pile of sacks in one corner, also, and on those, arranged and spread out like a bed, tom was made fairly comfortable. rest was what his ankle needed, and he could rest there as well as anywhere else. "i ain't got but a little lunch here," said the red-headed telegrapher, station agent and baggage man rolled into one, regretfully. "but you're welcome to share it with me." "no need of that, thanks," said jack, heartily. "we were going to cook our supper in the woods, and if you'll show me a place where i can build a fire, i'll cook it now. we've got plenty for you, too, and i'll give you some bacon and eggs and coffee if you like them." "say, you're all right! my name's hank hudson, and if there's anything i sure do hanker after, it's bacon and eggs. i can't get a hot supper on this job--i have to tote everything along with me from home, and it's all cold victuals i get." "well, we'll have a treat for you tonight, then, and i'm glad we will. it's mighty nice of you to let tom binns lie in the depot." jack was as good as his word. hudson showed him a place where a natural fireplace, as it seemed, was all ready and waiting for the fire to be made, and jack, in a comparatively short time, sent up a fragrant odor of frying bacon and eggs, and of rich, steaming coffee that would have given a wooden indian an appetite. he carried the meal to the station, too, and the three of them ate it together, while hudson's cold lunch, despised now, and not to be compared with the fine fare jack provided, was cast aside in a corner of the station. "do many trains pass here that don't stop?" asked tom. "sure they do!" said hudson. "this last hour is about the quietest one of the whole day. i have to watch them all, too, and report when they pass here, so that the despatchers can keep track of them." "what would happen if you didn't?" "can't tell! but there might easily be a bad wreck. if the despatcher thought he would get a flash from here as soon as the thunderbolt passed, for instance, and i was asleep when she went by, he might let something into the track ahead of her, and then there'd be a fine lot of trouble. you can see that!" "i should say so! you've a pretty responsible place here, i should think. do you like it?" "sure! i think the work's great! i'd rather work on a railroad than anything i can think of. but it gets awful lonely here sometimes. that's the worst part of it. the work's easy enough, but it's not having anyone to talk to, except the fellows and the girls on the wire, that makes it a hard job." "you talk to all of them, i guess, don't you?" "sure." hudson walked over to the telegraph instrument by the window and threw his switch. "there's a girl at beaver dam calls me about this time every evening. things are slack, you know. they send her in a hot supper from the restaurant there, and she calls every evening and tells me what she had and how good it was, so that i'll be jealous. i'll have something to surprise her with tonight though--hullo! there she is now!" both boys knew the morse code, from their signal work with the boy scouts, and jack, indeed, had experimented a little with wireless, so that he could read the code of dots and dashes, if it was not sent too fast. "h-k--h-k--h-k--" he heard now, and, in a minute more, he was trying to interpret the swift interchange of chaffing messages between the two operators. "that's the only break in the loneliness," said hudson, "unless someone comes in for a visit the way you have. i wish there were more of them--except for those tramps back there in the woods. they hang around a lot, and they get my goat!" "in the big house in the woods there, you mean?" asked jack. "the one they say is haunted?" hudson laughed. "that's the one. they say it's haunted, but it's willies and tired toms that haunt it, believe me! they come over here and look up the place, and they'd have stolen everything in it long ago if there'd been anything to steal. they let me alone because they're pretty sure i haven't got any money, and they know i've got a gun, too." chapter vi the attack on the station "what time does the thunderbolt go through?" asked jack. "eight thirty-four she's due, but she's sometimes a few minutes late. then, at eight forty-two there's the second section of the thunderbolt, when there's one running--and there is to-night, and your train for town gets in here at eight fifty-seven." "what's the next station below this?" "conway. that's about eleven miles down the line, and away from the city. 'tisn't much more of a station than this. just an operator who doubles up on all the other jobs same way i do." "i've got to go wash dishes and make up our packs," said jack. "it's eight o'clock now, and that doesn't leave so very much more time than we need. i've got to put out the fire, too." he went off with the dishes on which they had eaten their simple but delicious supper, and left hank hudson to talk to tom binns and watch his key, which might at any moment click out some important order that would make the difference between safety and disaster for a train laden with passengers. the fire on which he had cooked their supper was still glowing in the woods about a hundred yards from the railway tracks, and he hurried toward it to extinguish it, in accordance with the strictest of all scout rules for camping. fires left carelessly burning after a picnic have caused many a terrible and disastrous forest fire, and it is the duty of every scout to make sure that he gives no chance for such a result to follow any encampment in which he has had a part. as he made his way toward the fire he thought once or twice that he heard the sounds of a man or an animal moving through the woods, and once, too, he thought he heard a hoarse and raucous laugh. but he decided, after stopping to listen once or twice, that he had been mistaken, and he laughed at himself when he was startled as he got near the dancing shadows east by the dying fire, by what looked like the shadows of three men. there was no danger in the fire he had built as long as the wind held steady, and he might have left it to burn itself out with little fear of any adverse happening as a result. but that was not thorough, nor was it the way of a scout. a wind may shift at any moment, and a fire that is perfectly safe with a northwest wind may be the means of starting a conflagration no one can hope to check if the wind shifts even a point or two. so jack put his fire out thoroughly, and made certain that no live embers remained to start it up anew. then he washed his dishes, and made his way back toward hank hudson's cabin. inside the cabin, as he approached, he could hear slight sounds, and then, insistent, compelling, the clatter of the telegraph key. he stopped to listen a moment to its clicking, and then found, to his surprise, that it was "h-k," the call for haskell crossing, that was sounding. "why doesn't hudson answer?" he asked himself. still the call sounded. there was a continued noise within the station--someone was there, and it must, surely, be hudson. he could not fail to hear the chatter of his sounder, and yet he was ignoring the steady call from his instrument--a call more than likely to be of the last importance. jack, sure now that something must be wrong, did not rush hastily and impulsively for the door of the cabin. instead, he crept up quietly toward the side, where there was a window, that would give him a chance to look in without being seen himself. and, when he got there, he saw what was wrong. hudson, his face livid, a red handkerchief stuffed into his mouth, was tied in a chair, his arms, legs and body being securely tied up, so that there was no chance for him to work himself free. he could hear what went on, but he could do nothing, and there was no chance for him to reach that key and answer the insistent urging of the wire, though jack could see, from the look in his eyes, that he knew an attempt was being made to raise his office. "they'll think he's deserted his key," said jack to himself. "that's what's worrying him." apparently hudson was alone in the station, and jack was just on the point of rushing in to free the operator when the door into the freight station opened, and three burly men, dressed like tramps, appeared, dragging poor little tom binns with them, despite his twisted ankle. tom was trying to cry out and give the alarm, as jack could see, but in vain, for one of the ruffians had his hand over his mouth, and there was no chance for tom's cries to be heard. jack, horror struck, but, knowing that aid was far away, watched the scene that followed with distended eyes. he was powerless against three such men as the tramps that had attacked hudson and tom binns, and the nearest station, as he knew, was eleven miles distant. but he felt that he must try to find out, at least, what the attack meant. hudson, as the assailants must know, had no money to make such an attack worth while, and, even if they could blow or otherwise open the little safe it was unlikely that more than a few dollars would be there--a poor reward for such a desperate business. suddenly, however, a thought came to him that terrified him a thousand times more than what he had already seen. "the key!" he thought, almost shouting the words aloud and betraying himself in his excitement. that was it! these men were train robbers--or, worse, possibly, train wreckers. they would endanger every life on the onrushing thunderbolt to gain their ends. that was why they had put hank hudson out of business, why they were guarding tom binns with such care, crippled as he seemed to be. men in their desperate business could take no chances. it was all or nothing for them--success, and the chance to rifle the registered mail and the valuable express pouches, or failure and death on the gallows or a life in prison. for a moment jack had the impulse to seek safety in flight. if they caught him spying on them they were likely to have little mercy for him, and well he knew it. but the impulse lasted scarcely a second. "i guess if i'm ever to make good as a scout, this is one of my chances," he said to himself, grimly. "i'm going to stay right by this window and try to hear what they say to one another. they may give away their plans and give me some sort of a chance to foil them." jack was frightened, and he was brave enough to admit that to himself. even the river pirates that he and pete stubbs had helped to thwart when they tried to steal the fittings from mr. simms' yacht were mild mannered criminals compared to these. each of them wore a black mask that hid his eyes and the upper part of his face, but jack, trying desperately to discover something that would enable him to identify them should he ever have the chance, picked out lines about the lower parts of their faces that would, he thought, make it impossible for him to mistake them should he ever have the chance to see them again. one had a prominent, undershot jaw. another bore a furrow across his chin, the mark of a bullet, as jack guessed, that was white against the stubble of his beard. and another had lost part of his right ear, which was not hidden by his mask. "i'm really more certain of knowing them again now than if they hadn't worn those masks," said jack, to himself. "the masks made me look more attentively at the part of each one's face that i could see." "hey, tom," said one of the men, gruffly, looking at his watch, "got them tied? i thought there was another one of the young rips." "if there was, he ain't a comin' back here, or he'd have been here long ago," said tom, scowling fiercely at his two captives. "what's the time, bo?" "time enough. she ain't due for ten or twelve minutes yet, even if she's on time. wish't i could tell what that key was saying." "don't make no difference. it'll be saying a lot more when we get through tonight," said the other. all the time the monotonous calling of the key had kept up--"h-k--h-k." now suddenly there was a change. "b-d--b-d--" clicked the instrument, and jack knew that the sender had given up haskell crossing and was trying now to raise beaver dam, the next station up toward the city. beaver dam answered at once, and jack listened intently to the wire conversation that followed and was sounded by hudson's open key. "hello, b-d," it called. "what's the matter with hudson? i've been trying to raise him for half an hour." "i heard you. he must be asleep or sick--sick most likely." "that's what i thought. there's a hand car with another operator ordered down. but it'll have to run behind the thunderbolt. she's an hour late and trying to make up time." "that's bad! it'll tie up the whole line." "so long!" "so long! i'll pass on word." jack's heart leaped within him. the train the robbers were waiting for was an hour late. all sorts of things might happen in an hour. he could only wait. but there was more chance now, at least. the robbers waited patiently until the limited was twenty minutes overdue. then they began to get nervous. "sure the tie will throw her off the rails?" asked one. "go out and see for yourself if you're nervous." and the first speaker followed the suggestion. the others fidgeted about for a few minutes. "let's get out, then," said one of those who remained. "those kids are tied up safe enough. no need to stay here. let's get some fresh air and look to see if she's coming." and in a moment the station was empty, save for the two prisoners. jack acted on the instant. in a second he was at the key, pounding away, and calling b-d, b-d, in frantic efforts to get an answer and have the limited stopped and help rushed. "o-k--" came the answer at last, and in a frenzied rush, but with the hand of an inexperienced operator, jack sent the story over the wire. he had won! he was in time, he was sure. the train had not yet passed the last telegraph station before haskell crossing, and it would be stopped before it could rush on to destruction. then, swiftly, he rushed over to the chair in which hudson was strapped, and quickly cut the ropes that held the operator. as quickly he snatched the gag from his mouth. "gee, that was great!" cried hudson. "i didn't know you knew how to handle a key. you did fine!" "i guess they got the message in time to stop the train. don't you think so?" "listen to it now." the key was clicking away furiously. the sounds were so fast that jack, who was only an amateur and a beginner as a telegrapher, after all, could not understand. "beaver dam's sending the word along the line," said hudson. "the warning's been acknowledged and the train will be held up. they're going to send help, too. i hope those fellows don't come back here too soon. if they'll hold off a few minutes we'll be all right, thanks to you." "haven't you got a gun, hank?" asked jack. "gee, what a fool i am! of course i have! a peach, too. they gave us new automatic revolvers--only they don't revolve--a few weeks ago. i'll get it." he was not a moment too soon. the steps of the train wreckers, as they returned, were heard outside, and in a moment jack disappeared again. "i'll be outside," he called to hudson, from the window. "pretend to be tied up still, and get them covered. then try to hold them in there with your pistol. don't shoot unless you have to, but remember that they're bad men, and don't hesitate to shoot if that's the only thing you can do." in another minute the three tramps were inside the little station again. hudson had thrown the ropes about his body again, and had stuffed the handkerchief in his mouth. they gave him a hasty glance. "there's something wrong, tom," said one of them, anxiously. "that train ought to have been here a good hour ago. wonder if that clicking key means that there's anything loose that we ought to know about. we ought to have had someone along that knows how to read that thing." "throw up your hands!" jack exulted as he heard hudson, in a firm, ringing voice, give the order. the operator had nerve--they would catch the robbers in the neatest sort of a trap. he slipped around to the door. there was a snarl of rage from one of the men, while the others stood in helpless surprise. the one who had cried out rushed at hudson, and a bullet whizzed by his ear. "stop!" cried hudson, savagely. "i'll shoot to hit you next time." "he's got us--better keep quiet," exclaimed another of the men, with a savage curse. "that's what we got for leaving them alone here." jack stepped into the station. "keep them covered, hank," he said. "you forgot me, too, you see," he said to the men. "now, keep your hands up and you won't get hurt. you won't need your pistols where you're going, so i'll just take them away from you now." he was as good as his word, searching them for their concealed weapons, and putting all three of the pistols that he found in a heap beside hudson. then he released tom binns, and in the same moment there was the sound of a distant whistle. a few minutes later an engineer drew up outside, drawing a single car, and from it a dozen armed men streamed into the station, sent post haste from beaver dam. "good work, indeed!" said one man, who was the chief of the railroad detective bureau, captain haskins, famed in a dozen states. "this is a fine haul. omaha pete, tom galway, and 'frisco sammy. glad to see you, boys! there are rewards of about eleven thousand dollars for the three of you. you'll be as welcome as the flowers that bloom in the spring when the police get hold of you." he was curious to know how the three boys, for hank hudson himself was little more than a boy, had effected such a capture, and he was unstinting in his praise when he heard the story. hudson insisted on giving jack danby most of the credit, but jack wouldn't have it that way. "you did the trick with your gun," he said. "i may have given you the chance and helped to save the train, but you were the one that caught them." "there's credit enough for both of you," said haskins, kindly. "and i'm here to see that you get what's coming to you, too, rewards and all. the road can afford to be grateful to a boy who saved the thunderbolt from being wrecked." chapter vii jack danby's peril tom binns was in no condition to go to the scout camp opposite beaver dam, and he was taken back to the city by one of the railway detectives. jack danby was going home with him, but tom wouldn't hear of it. "they'll be wondering why we didn't turn up after our hike, and maybe they'll think there's something wrong with us," he said. "you go on to the camp, jack, and explain. i'll be all right, sure, tomorrow." so jack, reluctantly enough, for he felt, in a way, that he was deserting his plucky little comrade, got off the train at beaver dam, and rowed across the lake to the twinkling fire that showed where the rest of the scouts were gathered. he was welcomed with a shout. "but where's tom binns?" cried pete stubbs finally, when they realized, suddenly, that the little fellow wasn't with them. then jack explained. he told of the accident that had turned out, in the end, to be so fortunate a happening, since, had it not been for tom's twisted ankle, they would never have reached the station, and the train might have been wrecked, with a terrible loss of life. "so we couldn't finish our hike tonight, of course," said jack. "we'll do it the next time, though. and a week or so doesn't make much difference." a tall, bearded man, with a slouch hat, was sitting with scout-master durland at the fire, and at jack's last words he turned to the scout-master with a smile. "i think you can afford to waive the strict letter of the rule this time, durland," he said. "these boys of yours have certainly proved their right to be regarded as first class scouts. i don't know that there's any special badge of merit or honor, except the one for lifesaving, that they are entitled to, but i shall make it my business to see that the scout council takes some action on the heroism of scout danby." then jack learned that the stranger was a member of the national scout council, one of the highest officers of the organization, and a man famous all over the world as a pioneer and a worker for the things that the boy scouts stand for. "you think that scout danby is entitled to his badge, then?" said durland, unsmiling, and, at the other's quick nod, he called jack up to the center of the group around the fire, and pinned the full scout badge, of which jack had thus far been wearing only the bar, to his breast. "you have earned this badge by close attention to duty, and by being always prepared," said the scout-master, while the scouts of the three patrols cheered the reward. "we are all proud of you, danby, and we know that you will never do anything to bring discredit upon your badge, nor do anything that is not strictly in accordance with the scout oath that you took when you were first enrolled as a tenderfoot scout." there was another burst of cheering at that, and all of the scouts who were present crowded up to shake hands with jack and congratulate him. dick crawford was one of the first, and gripped jack's hand heartily. "i guess you'll get a big reward out of the railroad," he said. "that's a splendid thing for you, jack. you can use it to go to college, if you want to. they ought to be generous." "the detective did say something about a reward, dick, but i'd forgotten all about it for the moment. it will be divided up among tom binns, hudson and myself, of course, if there is one. but i wasn't thinking about that." "i know you weren't, jack, but that's no reason why you shouldn't have it. it wouldn't be right to do a fine thing just because there was a reward, but that's no reason why you shouldn't take it. you helped to capture those fellows, and the chances are that they are well-known thieves, who are wanted for more than one crime." "the detective recognized them, i think, dick. he called them by name, and seemed to know all about them. i suppose men who would dare to try to do a thing like that must be old stagers. no man who was committing his first crime would try anything so fiendish as wrecking a train and taking the chance of killing a lot of innocent people, do you think?" "i should say not! and there wasn't any chance about it, either. if the train had been wrecked, going at sixty miles an hour or so, as it would have been, if it was late, and trying to make up lost time, there couldn't have been any result but a terrible wreck." "i wonder if there were only three of them?" said jack, thoughtfully. "i've been thinking since that there may have been others in the gang that weren't caught. there must have been someone to set the blockade for the train, and i don't believe those fellows we caught had time to do everything. they had to put hudson out of the way, you see, and keep him from using the telegraph to give warning. i've got an idea there was at least one other man in it, and maybe more than that, who didn't show up in the station at all." "well, if that's so, you'd better look out for yourself, jack, in case they try to get even with you for spoiling their little game. they'd be apt to try to take that out of you." "perhaps they won't know i had anything to do with it. and, anyhow, i'm not sure there was anyone else mixed up in it. that's only a guess anyhow." "i'd be careful, just the same. don't go around alone at night--though you'll be safe enough in the city, i guess, unless some of those people that were mixed up in that kidnapping case get after you." "they haven't anything more against me, or any more reason to be sore at me, than at anyone else that was concerned in the whole job, anyhow. but i'll keep my eyes open. i'll be glad to turn in pretty soon. i'm pretty tired." "i should think you would be. i am myself, and i haven't done as much as you." soon after that sentries were posted, and the scouts, wrapped in their blankets, were all asleep in their lean-tos. jack's sleeping partner, tom binns, was not there, so he slept alone, on the edge of the camp, and some distance from the campfire. tired as he was, he did not get to sleep at once. out on the lake puffing motor boats, running back and forth from the big summer hotel at the head of the lake to the cottages that were clustered near the dam, made the night noisy. those people were late risers and they went to bed late as well. there was a dance at the hotel, and it was well attended. so the sharp beat of the engines of the little boats disturbed those who were trying to sleep. jack was so tired, too, that it was hard for him to get to sleep. he kept thinking of everything that had happened at haskell crossing, and of the desperate minutes in which, while he knew the fate that was in store for the onrushing train, he had been powerless to prevent the catastrophe that threatened. and then suddenly, while he was half asleep and half awake, he remembered something that had escaped him before, something he had seen and that had been recorded in his brain, although it was only now that the picture stood out vividly and with meaning. there had been three men in the room with hank hudson and tom binns while he had waited at the window and spied upon them. and three men had returned, after he had seized the chance to give the warning that had saved the train. but they were not the same three. he remembered now, with a sudden flash of clear understanding that one of the three had been a stranger--that of the three who were caught, one was a man he had not seen before. he started up in his blanket. "then there _were_ four of them!" he cried, half aloud. "and one of them is free, and able to plan new deviltries. i wish they'd caught them all!" but even that thought, disturbing as it was, did not keep him awake much longer. as he lay there, his tired body resting with the very act of lying down, he grew gradually more drowsy, and he drifted off asleep at last with the humming of a power boat on the lake beating against his ears. he slept a long time. the camp was quiet. in the distance an owl hooted now and then, and until long after midnight the sounds of activity persisted on the lake. the moon had risen early, and was setting soon after midnight, so that it was very dark under the trees, though out on the lake, once the shadow of the trees around the shore was passed, the stars gave abundant light. and, because he was so tired, and trusted so entirely to the sentries, jack had no thought of watchfulness when he fell asleep, and slept more heavily than was usual with him when he was in camp with the scouts. the sentries were posted on all sides of the camp, as a rule, but no one had foreseen the need of any watch on the side of the camp nearest the lake. yet it was from that spot that danger came, in the end. it was two o'clock when a launch, with silenced engine, glided up to the beach near the camp, as silently as a rowboat might have done, and grated softly on the shelving beach. one man, slight and delicate in appearance, was at her wheel, and from the bow, as she touched bottom, another stepped out into the water and made his way cautiously, and in roundabout fashion, toward the sleepers. he was big, strong, and massive. his face was concealed, or nearly concealed, by a black mask that hid his eyes and his nose and he walked with the stealthy footsteps of one long used to avoiding detection as he moved about his business. he seemed to know what he was doing, and where to go, and one might have guessed that he had been spying on the camp, to learn the way in which the sleepers were disposed. he avoided the lean-tos near the fire, and, sneaking back and around through the woods, he approached jack danby's lean-to from behind. for a moment, silent and ominous in the darkness, he stood there, studying the situation, as it seemed, and making up his mind just how to accomplish his purpose. then, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, he took the cork from a small bottle and poured its contents on the handkerchief. at once a strong, sickly, sweetish smell arose, unhealthy, and unpleasant, in contrast to the strong, fresh smells of the sleeping woods. holding this handkerchief in his hand, the newcomer, a savage grin of ugly satisfaction on his lips, approached jack danby, and, with a motion so swift as to be hardly visible, flung his hand, with the handkerchief flat on his palm, over jack danby's face. jack awoke at once and struggled for a second. but he could not cry out, and in a moment the handkerchief, soaked with chloroform, had done its work, and he lay unconscious. jack was entirely helpless, drugged as he was, and, with a triumphant leer, the man who had drugged him picked him up, and, moving as cautiously as ever, carried him to the motor boat. but he had underestimated the watchfulness of the scout sentries. at the sudden, sharp explosions of the engine as it was started, and the launch backed off the beach, there was a sudden cry from one of the watchers, and in a moment his shrill whistle aroused the camp, so that a dozen scouts, turning out hastily, saw the motor boat back out and turn, as if to race for the outlet at the foot of the lake, nearly ten miles away. for a moment all was confusion in the camp. awakened suddenly from a sound sleep, the scouts could not at first tell what had happened. the sentry who gave the alarm had seen only the one thing--the motor boat backing out from the beach. "it's nothing," said bob hart, sleepily. "someone mistook this for their own landing, and, when they found out their mistake, backed out and went for their own cottage." but dick crawford thought suddenly of jack danby. "jack!" he shouted. "jack danby!" there was no answer, and a swift rush to his lean-to proved that it was empty. durland and dick crawford ran there together, and durland recognized the smell of the chloroform at once. "there's been foul play here!" he cried, furiously. "someone has drugged jack and carried him away." he called for crawford then, but the assistant scout-master was already gone to the rescue. "get to the outlet as soon as you can!" he shouted, and they heard him breaking through the woods to the road that was near by. "i'm going there on my wheel!" dick had ridden to the camp on his motorcycle, and now they heard the sharp clatter of its engine as he started it. "if they're making for the outlet, he'll head them off," said durland. "hart, take your patrol and go up to the dam there, in case they went that way. the rest of you follow me. we'll take crawford's route, and see if we can't get there in time to help him. i'm afraid danby is in the gravest sort of danger." they followed him with a shout, half dressed as most of them were. jack danby didn't lack friends, at least, even if he did have powerful and determined enemies. chapter viii the rescue needless to say, it was some time after he was roughly thrown into the bottom of the motor boat before jack came to his senses. the chloroform had taken effect quickly, and the soaked handkerchief had not remained very long over his mouth and nostrils, or jack might have ended his career then and there. as it was, however, the rush of the cool night air as the swift motor boat sped along the quiet waters of the lake did a good deal to revive him, and it was, comparatively speaking, only a short time before he realized where he was--or, rather, realized that he had been snatched from his blanket, and was being carried off somewhere, probably by those who had anything but good-will toward him. his first impulse was to cry out, but he checked himself, for he realized that his best chance just then was to feign an ignorance of his surroundings that would throw his abductors off their guard. if he made them think that he was still senseless, he might find some way of escape opening before him, and he might, too, overhear something that he could turn to his own advantage. it was pitch dark in the bottom of the boat, and his eyes, moreover, were aching. his whole head throbbed as he came out of the effects of the deadly drug that had been used to make him helpless, and he decided that the first thing he should do was to give nature and the healing air a chance to restore him to his senses and some semblance of a better physical condition. he was in no state now to do anything to help himself, and he had no idea of whether or not any of his comrades had taken the alarm when he was carried off. he was senseless when the men who had caught him were making their escape, and he had no way of telling what had happened. he guessed, even before he saw the evil face of the man who sat up in the bow, stripped now of his black mask, and gloating over his success, that it was one of the trapped and disappointed train wreckers who now had him in his power, and he shivered a little at the thought of what his fate might be. a man who had planned such a fiendish crime was not likely to be anything but brutal in his treatment of one of those who had helped to foil him, and jack understood that perfectly well. if he had needed anything more to make him realize his position it was supplied in a moment. "i wonder if that young whelp's shammin', or if we really knocked him out with the dope?" asked the man who had worn the mask. and, by way of finding out, he lurched back, and kicked jack brutally in the ribs. jack expected the blow, and managed to relax so that no bones were broken by the kick, though he was sore for hours. moreover he fortified himself so that, although the pain of the kick was far from trifling, he did not cry out. satisfied, the man made his way to the bow. "dead to the world!" he said. "that's all right! we'll get him through the lock. that's better. i don't want to knock him on the head and throw him overboard here--his body would turn up too soon. once we're through the lock we can get down the river all right, and they'll never know what happened to him. i hope dick don't make any mistake about meeting us with the big boat. this is a tidy little craft, but she's not meant for deep water sailing." "how about the others?" asked the man at the wheel, in a nervous, timid tone that made jack grin. only one of his captors was formidable, anyhow, and that was something to be thankful for. "i don't care about the others," replied the other, with a vile oath. "they'll have to save themselves. and they'll be in jail for the next ten years, sure. more fools they for gettin' caught! an' it was only kids as did them up. if they'd taken my advice, it wouldn't never have happened." "you oughtn't to have stopped for this kid. it was too risky." "risk? my eye! ain't everythin' we do risky? an' it's the only chance the others have got, anyhow. he's the biggest witness against them. he saw their mugs--no one else did. they'll have trouble getting off, anyhow, even if he ain't there. but he'd finish them, sure. an' he cost me twenty thousand dollars with his infernal buttin' in, too. i ain't overlookin' a chance to get hunk with him, the little rip!" he was almost shouting in his rage. "easy there!" said the timid one, in a low tone. "we're getting near the lock. look out, or you'll have everyone on to us." "right, oh! i'll shut up. time enough to attend to him later, anyhow." the boat slowed down, now, and jack guessed that they were near the lock that formed the outlet of the lake into the river that ran through the city, the same river on which he had his exciting experience with the river pirates. late as it was, the lock was quickly opened at the insistent, shrill call of the power boat's whistle, and in a moment it was in the narrow channel that led from river to lake. it was jack's chance. here, where the banks were close on either side, if he could slip overboard, there was a chance to swim to the safety of the shore. he was still weak and dizzy from the effects of the drug, but he had an idea that if he could get into the water it would complete the work of reviving him, and he determined to make the effort. both of the men who made up the crew of the little craft were busy as they passed through the lock, and, thinking him unconscious, they paid no attention to him. silently he slipped to the side. and, a second later, he dropped overboard. silent as he was, he made a splash as he struck the water, and, at the sudden curse from the robber in front, and his quick leap around, jack determined on the boldest and the riskiest move he could have made. but it was also the safest. instead of striking out at once for the shore, he slipped around behind the motor boat, and clung to the stern as it swept along, clear of the propeller, but hidden by the shadow from the overhanging stern. at the same moment there was a sudden outburst of shouts from the shore, and where all had been silence and darkness lights sprang out and the forms of excited, running men and boys appeared. the headlight of an automobile was suddenly thrown on the scene, and jack, guessing who was there, called out that he was safe and in the water. "swim ashore, jack," shouted dick crawford's welcome voice, and a moment later, all fear of his captors gone now, jack was helped up the steep bank. "we got them in a trap," cried dick crawford. "i figured they'd have to come this way. they can't turn around, and the gate of the lock is closed against them at the river end. they're bottled in here, and they can't escape, no matter which way they turn." in the power boat the big man who had carried jack off was standing up now, cursing volubly, and trying to see what lay ahead of him. but it did not take him long to see and realize that all hope of escape in that direction was cut off. the boat had come to a full stop, and he looked about him in desperation, his mask on his face again. he held a revolver in his hand, but, for some reason, he did not fire. "careful, fellows!" cried dick crawford. "he's got a gun there, and you can't tell how soon he'll begin shooting." "not very soon, dick," said jack danby, with a laugh. "he left his gun within reach of me, thinking i was still senseless, and i took all the cartridges out. there was a box half full of cartridges and i dropped that overboard, too, so i guess his teeth are drawn unless one of them has another gun." "good work, jack! he'd find it hard to hit any of us, but it's good to think he can't even try, anyhow. you surely had your nerve with you to think of that." "i had to, dick. i was going to make a break for it here in the lock, anyhow, and i didn't want him to be able to take a shot at me from behind while i was trying to climb up to the shore. it would have been too easy for him to hit me, and from the way he talked there's nothing he'd like better than to use me as a target." suddenly the roar of the boat's engine broke put again. "what's he trying to do now?" shouted dick, racing for the opening of the lock. the gate that barred the boat was in place. but suddenly dick understood. the desperado in the launch intended to be true to his nature. he saw just one chance of escape in a thousand, and he meant to take it, perilous as it was. straight for the gate he drove the boat. the man at the wheel was crying out in piteous fear and the burly ruffian stepped back from the bow, crushed his friend to the deck of the boat with a brutal blow, and took the wheel himself. "they'll both be killed," cried dick. "he can't mean to drive against the gate." but that was just what was in the desperate robber's mind. he saw and weighed the chances that were against him, but he was ready to risk life itself for liberty, and, in that desperate moment even dick and jack, debased as they knew the man to be, could not but admire his daredevil courage. at top speed the launch crushed into the barrier. there was a terrific crash, and those, including durland, who stood on the gate, leaped back precipitately. for an instant the timbers shivered. then, with a crash, they gave way, and the launch hurled through and dropped to the surface of the river. there, for a moment, it spun around. but the boat was well built. it stood the shock, and the next second, swaying from side to side, it was dashing away, past the possibility of pursuit. jack was saved, but the villain had escaped--for the time at least. chapter ix a swimming party though jack danby, partly through his own courage and determination, and partly by reason of dick crawford's quick thinking, had escaped from the hands of the desperado who had so evidently determined to murder him, scout-master durland was anything but easy in his mind regarding his friend, as he was proud to call the young scout who had done so well whenever he had been put to the test. he did not want to alarm jack himself without cause, but to dick crawford he spoke without hesitation. "i'm worried about jack, dick," he said. "these villains are quite capable of making another attack on him, and that would never do." "i should say not, sir! he might not get off so lightly another time." "that's just what i'm afraid of. if they strike against him once more they are more than likely to realize that to have a chance against him, they must strike quickly. if that scoundrel had had the slightest idea that the alarm had been given, or that poor jack was conscious, i am afraid danby would have had very little chance of his life." "it makes me sick to think of what they might have done. that was what i was thinking of all along as i rode for the lock." "you made good time getting there, dick." "i felt as if i had to! i was helpless as long as they were out on the lake, where it was broad. even a boat would have been useless. if they had seen a boat making for them, they would have known at once that they were in danger, and would have either gotten rid of jack or made a desperate stand, with a good chance of beating off any attack. the lock was the only place to reach them--and that meant fast moving, or i would have been too late." "well, what i meant to say was that we ought, if it is at all possible, to take steps to see that jack does not again expose himself to any such risk. he is too valuable a scout to have him take chances that are not necessary." "especially since he doesn't seem to know what fear is. he never stops to think of the effect of anything he does upon himself. he goes ahead and trusts to luck, if he thinks that it is his duty to do anything, if there seems to be danger. so, when there is no need of his being in peril, it is only right to do all we can to guard him." "tom binns and pete stubbs are devoted to him, aren't they, dick?" "i think either one of them would go through fire or water for him if there was need." "well, then, suppose you get hold of them quietly, without letting jack learn anything about what you are planning, and have them keep a close watch on his movements. they can do it without arousing his suspicion, and, if he seems likely to do anything that would give these fellows a chance to get at him, we will interfere, if possible, and spoil their little plan." "that's the idea, sir! those two boys will be trustworthy, and they've got a lot of good horse sense, too." "this may prove a very important commission for the two of them, though i hope, of course, that we are afraid of a shadow, and that jack has nothing more to fear from these men." tom binns and pete stubbs were delighted when dick crawford told them what he wanted them to do. "gee, dick," said pete, "that makes us like a couple of sure enough detectives, don't it?" "yes--except that you're supposed to prevent anything crooked from being done, and not simply to find out how it was done afterward, and who did it. we don't want any work for detectives that jack danby is the centre of." "i understand," said tom binns. "pete and i are just to keep our eyes open, and if we think jack is running into any danger, we're to let you know, so that you can help to keep him out of it." "i think there's more than one person would like to see jack out of the way," said pete stubbs, thoughtfully. "you know, he's told me something lately about this queer business of his name. it looks mighty funny to me. there are people, he says, who know who his father and mother were, and who are mighty angry and sorry that he's left woodleigh and dropped out of their sight." "is that so, pete?" asked dick, surprised, since he had heard nothing of all this. "yes, indeed! there was a man who has been up at woodleigh, trying to find out exactly where jack had gone, and what he was doing. jack seemed to think that this man was satisfied to have him up at woodleigh, where people wouldn't see much of him and weren't likely to be curious about who he was." "and where anyone who wanted to could keep tabs on him pretty well, eh? that's easier to do in a little country place like that, where everyone knows the business of everyone else, than it would be in a big city like this, isn't it?" dick was very thoughtful. "i've heard funny stories about jack danby and his name," he went on. "in fact, jack's told me himself that danby really isn't his name at all, and that he has no idea of what his real name is. as he gets older, naturally, it means a great deal to him that he isn't like all the rest of us, and doesn't know all about himself. it doesn't make any difference to his real friends, but it bothers him, naturally. i think we'll have to see if we can't help him solve that mystery, don't you?" "i'd give anything if i could make jack happy by telling him all about himself!" cried little tom binns, full of love and loyalty for the friend who had always done so much for him. "well, we'll see," said dick. "meantime, if jack has the best name in the world, it wouldn't do him much good if it had to be carved on a tombstone before he's had a chance to use it at all, and if that fellow that carried him off from our camp ever gets another chance at him, that's what he'll be needing." it wasn't like dick crawford to be alarmed by anything as a rule, and the two scouts were mightily impressed by his solemn tone and the warning he gave, as he meant them to be. he didn't want them to go into the work of guarding jack as if he were simply a figure in a new and fascinating game. he wanted them to take the task very seriously, and give their best efforts to it. and, after such a speech, he had no doubt that they would carry out his intentions, and that if there were any way of making jack safe from future attacks they would find it. jack himself suffered no ill effects worth mentioning from his rough experience, unpleasant as it had been. "gee, jack," said pete stubbs, when he saw his chum the morning after his rescue, "one would think, just to look at you, that you liked having a chap chloroform you and kick you around a little bit of a boat. you look great!" "i had a good night's sleep, pete. that's why. look at the time--it's the middle of the afternoon, isn't it? i felt a lot more tired the day after that baseball double header than i do right now. they didn't really hurt me, you see. and that swim in the cold water was just what i needed to make me feel fine after it, too. that chased the headache the drug gave me, and set me up in fine shape." "i tell you why, jack. it's because you always take a lot of exercise and look after yourself all the time, that things like that don't upset you." "say, pete, tom binns is coming around here again, later. i feel so good that i think i'd like to go and do something this afternoon. what do you say? i think it would be fine to go down to the lake and have a great old swim. summer don't last so long that i want to miss any of the swimming while it's as good as it is now." "i'll go you!" said pete, never thinking that it might be just such expeditions that dick crawford was afraid of. "say, wouldn't it be fine to live in a place where you can go swimming all the year round, like florida, or california, or some place like that?" "i don't know that it would, pete. i think all the seasons are good, in their own time. you wouldn't like never to see the snow, or to be in a place where it never froze and made ice for skating, would you?" "say, jack, i never thought of that! that's a funny thing about you. you never go off the way the rest of us do, without thinking about things. you think of all sides of anything. i wish i was like that. i wouldn't make so many fool breaks!" "old dan used to catch me up every time i said anything in a hurry," explained jack, with a smile. "i guess that's the reason i'm that way, if i really am, pete. it isn't that i'm any more likely to think of things than you, but that i've been trained that way. whenever i said anything reckless, or quick, old dan used to ask me why i said it, and make me try to prove it. so i got to thinking about everything i said before i let myself say it, and i've sort of kept up the habit." "i'm going to try to be like that, too, jack. i think it's a good way to be." "well, here's tom binns! want to go swimming with us, tom?" "you bet i do, jack! sure you feel well enough, though? you don't want to take any chances on being sick after what you were up against last night, you know." "no. i'll be all right. come on." so they went off. the day was warm, but overcast, and there was a threat of a thunderstorm in the sultriness of it. but they cared little for that. "if we're going to get wet," said pete, "we might as well do it comfortably. we won't be any wetter for a thunderstorm than if the sun were shining if we're in swimming." they changed their clothes in a little hut at the camping place, and went in from the little sandy beach there, the presence of which was one of the reasons the scouts had favored it for a camping ground. they had not been in the water very long before great drops of water, began to fall, and then, with a howling of wind, the threatened storm came down. they laughed and enjoyed the novelty of being in the water in such weather, since they were in a sheltered cove. presently the wind died down and furious thunder and lightning came to take its place, but that didn't bother them, either. it was not until, after a vivid flash and an immediate roar of thunder, cries of distress came from the lake, that they were aroused. they looked out, and saw a burning launch. "gee," cried pete stubbs, his face white, "the lightning must have fired their gasolene tank! let's get out there and see if we can't help." at once they swam to the rescue. chapter x the burning launch the launch fortunately was not very far out. had it been more than a hundred feet or so from shore no one could have done much for the unfortunate party on board, since beyond the shelter of the cove the lake was like a stormy sea, with white-capped waves defying swimmers, and giving even the stoutest of the craft that had been caught in the squall all they could do to make headway against the wind. the three scouts, swimming strong and fast, saw as soon as they were within plain sight of the launch that she was doomed. the fire had spread with a rapidity that would have been astonishing had it been anything but gasolene that supplied fuel for the flames over the after portion of the boat, where the tank had been. up in the bow, huddled together, and shrieking for help, were two men and two women. they seemed to be terrified, and none of them had thought to seek safety by dropping overboard. they seemed, indeed, to prefer to stay and wait for the fire to reach them, which it threatened to do at any moment. it was no time to waste breath on words, but jack, who had taken command of the situation, as he always seemed to do, held his head well out of the water to see what lay in front of them and then turned to his companions. "they can't swim," he said. "we'll have to make them jump overboard, though, and take a chance in the water. then, if they don't get troublesome, we'll probably be able to keep them up until help comes. you know how to choke them if they try to drag you down. and don't hesitate, even if it's a woman. it's better to be rough with them than to let them drown." even in the water the heat from the blazing launch was terrific as the three scouts approached the burning boat. for those on board it was even worse. the flames were almost touching them as jack and the others got within a boat length of the burning boat, and jack cupped his hands and shouted through them, so that those on board could hear him above the roar of the flames and their own cries of terror and distress. "jump into the water!" he cried. "don't struggle, and we'll be able to hold you up all right. but jump quick--it's your only chance!" one of the women--she was a girl, not more than twenty, jack thought--jumped at once. sparks had set her hair on fire, but the water put that out as soon as she was in it, and pete stubbs, who was nearest to her, swam to her at once, and supported her in the water. she was plucky, and made no attempt to interfere with him. he told her to put her hand on his shoulder and keep perfectly still, and she obeyed without question. "good work!" cried jack. "swim ashore with her, pete, and then come back here. we need all the help we can get if these others are scared to jump." but whether they were scared or not, the fire left them no choice after a moment more. one after another the three of them jumped. the two men, who were both fairly young, seemed to be plucky enough. they waited quietly enough for tom binns to swim to them, and, by treading water, he was able to let each one of them put a hand on his shoulder, so that they could keep their own heads out of water. he couldn't swim with them, but he could, at least, keep them from sinking until help came. that could not be very long, since the blazing launch was a signal of danger and the need of help for everyone who could see it. but jack's task was more difficult and dangerous by far, both for himself and for the woman he was trying to save. she had been mad with terror when she jumped, and, as soon as she felt jack's arm about her, after she had struck the water, she fastened both her arms about him convulsively, and began dragging him down with her. her strength was greater than jack's, since she was a big, powerful woman, and jack had no chance to break her hold on him by ordinary methods. "let go!" he cried. "i'll save you if you'll leave me alone and just put your hand on my shoulder. you'll drag us both down if you keep this up!" but she only shrieked the louder, when her lungs were not so full of water as to silence her, and jack felt his strength going, and knew, that in order to save either of them, he must be brutal. so, without a moment's hesitation he seized her hair, which had come down about her shoulders, and pulled until he wondered why it did not come out by the roots. she continued to shriek, but it was with pain now instead of fright, and in a moment her arms relaxed their desperate grip about jack's arms and shoulders, so that he was free. she continued to struggle like a madwoman, however, and, since there was nothing else to do, jack hit her again and again, until she was afraid of him, and ready to do what he told her. it had taken him some time, and as he turned with the woman he had saved, limp and helpless now, to swim for the shore, pete stubbs passed him. "want any help, jack?" cried pete. "no, thanks! we're all right now. go on out and help tom and the two he's got, pete. you two can get them ashore all right, i guess." only the woman that jack had saved was in need of attention when they were all finally ashore. she was half drowned, thanks to the struggle she had put up after she had jumped into the water, but it was not much of a task to revive her, and when she had regained her senses she, like the others, was grateful. jack himself was tired and pretty well exhausted by his exertions, but he cared little for that, since he had been successful. a few minutes' rest, and he was all right. "our launch--it's burned up, i guess!" cried the girl who had been so sensible and plucky, the one who had let pete stubbs tow her ashore without making a single movement to hamper him in any way. "look, the fire seems to be out, but i don't believe there's much left of the poor little boat." the driving rain and the lake water had, indeed, put the fire out, and the blackened hull of the launch, which had drifted slightly toward the shore, was floating quietly now. "i'll swim out and see what sort of shape she's in," said jack. "perhaps she's worth saving yet. the engine may be all right, with a little repair work, and i think i can tow her in without much trouble. she's drifted pretty close in already." he plunged in at once, without heeding the protests from the rescued ones, who said he had already done more than enough for them. a minute of fast swimming took him out to the launch, and he climbed aboard, cautiously, to see what damage had been done. the boat smelled most unpleasantly of the fire, and he found that the engine would need a good deal of attention before it would be of service again. but the forward part of the boat had suffered comparatively slight damage, as jack saw with pleasure. then, suddenly, as he looked around him, he saw something that made him jump. "it can't be!" he exclaimed to himself. but a few moments of examination convinced him that he had made no mistake. he searched the boat then from stem to stern, and, when he had satisfied himself, he dropped overboard again, after making a rope he had carried with him from the shore fast to the launch, and towed her leisurely in, until her keel grated on the beach, and the men who had been on board pulled her up beyond high water mark. as soon as he could then jack drew pete stubbs aside. "say, pete," he said, in a low tone, and tremendously excited, "here's a queer business! that launch is the one that was used to carry me off last night. i'm absolutely certain! i stayed on board long enough to make sure. do you suppose these people can be mixed up with that scoundrel? it's the same boat--and if you'll notice, when you get a chance, she's been patched up in front, right where she must have been smashed up in going through that lock. what do you make of that?" pete looked frightened as he realized what it might mean. "i know one thing we ought to do," he said. "that is let tom binns get hold of dick crawford right away and tell him about this. there's something mighty funny doing, and i don't think we can get at the bottom of it by ourselves." "that's a good idea, pete! tom's the fastest runner. you get him off by himself and tell him to get dick crawford. they'll have to stay around here until their clothes dry off, anyhow, so i guess we can manage to hold them here until he comes back." tom had already put on his clothes, and he was able to slip off quietly, so as not to arouse the suspicions of the shivering castaways, who, muffled in blankets that were kept by the boy scouts in the hut near the beach, were waiting while their clothes dried out. when he had gone off jack and pete busied themselves with making a fire. it was still raining, but not very hard, but if the clothes of those from the burned boat were to be dried that night a fire was necessary. and, as they worked, jack got a chance to examine the party more closely. the men didn't please him very much as he looked them over. they looked like cheap, flashy fellows, who might be fond of drinking and smoking because they thought it made them look like men. indeed, one of them, as soon as the fire was made, and he had seated himself as close to it as possible, asked jack if he had a cigarette or the makings of one, and seemed scornful when jack told him that he never smoked. the woman who had given jack so much trouble, too, was hard of face and unpleasant in her speech. she scowled at jack as if she resented the rough way he had handled her, and seemed entirely forgetful now of the fact that he had had to treat her in just that way to save his life--to say nothing of her own. but the younger girl, whose hair had been on fire when she jumped, was sweet of face, and had been trying to show how grateful she was ever since she had been brought ashore. she looked sadly out of place when compared to her companions, and jack wondered mightily how she came to be with them. he couldn't say anything about it, however, and he and pete busied themselves with trying to make those they had rescued comfortable. after all, jack thought, these people had been in the gravest sort of peril, and it made no difference whether they were pleasant or not. to go to the rescue had been no more than their duty as scouts, and no scout is ever supposed to stop and think about personal likes or dislikes when he has a chance to be of service to anyone in trouble or danger and needs help a scout can give. jack, looking around for pete stubbs after he had been off to bring up a fresh supply of dry firewood, since the wood all about the fire itself was damp and too wet to burn with the bright heat that was needed to dry the clothes of the victims of the fire, found that his red-headed chum was missing. the two women, in fact, were the only ones about. he looked in surprise for the men of the party, and then spoke. "your friends haven't gone off without their clothes?" he said. "no," replied the older woman. "they've just gone off to have a look at the launch, and they look like red indians. i'm sure our clothes are taking long enough to dry--and when we get them, i suppose we'll have to walk miles and miles to get anywhere!" "we're lucky to be able to walk at all," said the girl, interrupting, then. "i think we ought to be very grateful, mrs. broom, instead of complaining so much about what's a very little discomfort, anyhow." jack liked her for that speech, as he had already liked her for the pluck she had shown. but before he could answer her, he was seized suddenly from behind, and a cloth was thrown over his head, so that he could not cry out. he heard the girl scream, and one of the men shout roughly to her to keep out and not interfere. then he was carried away swiftly. but his captivity did not last very long. before he had been carried more than a hundred paces the man who was carrying his head stumbled suddenly, and, cursing, went down in a heap. the one behind, who had jack's feet, fell over him, and jack, active as a cat, worked himself free in a second, and twisted the bag from his head. "soak 'em, jack!" cried a cheery voice, and he realized that pete stubbs, alarmed in some way, had been ready to rescue him, and had seized the exact moment to do it. now pete, with a cry of exultation, snatched the blankets from the two men, who were struggling with one another on the ground, and ran off with them. "get their clothes, jack!" he shouted. "they were carrying them in a bundle. they can't go very far that way." jack laughed as he saw the dark bundle of clothes and picked it up. then he ran swiftly after pete, chuckling at the savage threats and exclamations from the two men, who, without a stitch of clothing, would certainly not dare to pursue them very far, for fear of being seen in that state of nature, as well as for the brambles and thorns that would scratch them if they attempted to make their way through the woods without the protection of clothes and, more especially, shoes. at the camp they found dick crawford, who had returned with tom binns. the two women, their clothes dry by this time, had taken possession of the hut to make themselves presentable, and dick in silent astonishment heard jack's story. "there's something queer behind all this," said he. "the attack those fellows made on jack shows that they are pretty hard characters. why, he'd just saved their lives for them!" chapter xi the mystery deepens they stood together for a moment, puzzled and silent, trying to figure out what it could mean. the two women were quiet. so far they had had nothing to do with the attack on jack. in the distance, perhaps a hundred feet or so away, they could hear the men, whose clothes jack and pete had taken, cursing and demanding that their property be returned. "keep quiet, you!" dick crawford called to them. "you'll get your things when you've given some account of yourselves and we're ready to give them to you. if you make any more disturbance around here, you won't get them at all. remember that!" a deep silence followed, and pete laughed. "guess that scared them some, dick," he said. "i don't think they'd fancy the idea of going back to the city that way. in funny papers, if a man loses his clothes, he always fetches up with a barrel. but i always did wonder where he found the barrel!" dick looked doubtfully at the little heap of clothing. "i don't suppose we ought to leave them out there without any clothes at all," said he. "but i do think, after the way they've acted, that we've got a right to look and see if there are any weapons. they would be useless, in any case, after the wetting they've had, but--" he picked up the coats of the two men and shook out the pockets. sure enough, a pistol fell from each, and from one there also dropped a black mask. "that doesn't look very well for them," he said. "i think, tom, you'd better go to a telephone and see if you can get captain haskin to meet us here. he or some of his railroad detectives may know something about these people." tom hurried off at once to obey the order, for such it was, though dick, as he almost always did, had put the order in the form of a simple request. then dick looked more carefully at the things that had fallen from the pockets. "hello!" he cried, suddenly. "say, jack, look here! here's a letter postmarked from woodleigh. that's where you came from, isn't it?" "yes, it is!" cried jack, on the alert, as always, at a sign of any sort from the town where he had spent his boyhood. "i think we've got a right to open this," said dick, "though looking at letters that aren't addressed to one is pretty small business, as a rule. however, when people do the sort of thing that these fellows so nearly got away with tonight they don't have a right to expect decent treatment from others." he looked grave when he had finished reading. "this letter seems to concern you, jack," he said. "it's from a lawyer up there, and it's addressed to a man called silas broom, at the general delivery window of the post office in the city here. it says that the boy jack danby, about whom mr. broom was making inquiries, left woodleigh some months ago, and has since, it is supposed, been working near here. now why does anyone want to know about you? and why does this fellow broom, if that is really his name, have to hear this? he is a great scoundrel, whatever his name is." "you quit callin' my husband names. who are you, i'd like to know?" the older woman emerged suddenly from the hut, in time to hear dick's last words, and she faced him now like a fury, her arms akimbo, and her eyes snapping. she looked around suspiciously, too. "where's silas?" she asked, angrily. "what have you done with him? ain't those his clothes there?" she snatched the clothes up in an instant. before dick, who was astonished by her appearance, could check her she had torn the coat from his hands. "silas!" she yelled. "where are you, honey?" "here i am--out in the woods," cried her husband, frantically. "they've stolen my clothes, carrie. get 'em, and bring 'em here, will you?" "comin'!" she called, and darted off with surprising speed, considering her weight and the terrible exhaustion that had seemed to afflict her when she was being brought ashore from the launch. dick and the two scouts were laughing, although a bit ruefully, as she vanished. "i can't touch a woman," said dick, sadly. "i'm afraid i'll have to admit that i'd like to--but i guess she could lick me at that, if she was put to it. is that the one you dragged ashore, jack?" "that's the one!" said jack. "it's a wonder she didn't drown the two of us. but she certainly seems to have recovered pretty completely." "it's bad business," said dick, frowning. "those fellows will get away now. the only hold we had on them was that they didn't have any clothes. now they'll make tracks, and all ye can do is to tell captain haskin what they looked like and what they did. i think we look pretty foolish, myself." just then the girl, who had won jack's admiration by her courage when she was in real danger and by her reproof of the others when they had shown their ingratitude, stepped into the firelight, fully dressed. she did not look at all as if she belonged with the others. she was more refined, gentler, and sweeter in every way. dick crawford stared at her in astonishment. jack had told him about her, but, since seeing the others, he had thought that jack had made a mistake in praising her. "i beg your pardon," he said, speaking to her as she stopped and looked about her, evidently puzzled by the absence of her companions. "but i'm afraid we'll have to ask you to tell us what you can of the people you were with. you are not related to them, are you?" "no," she said. "no, indeed! i came with them because they promised to show me how to reach a certain person for whom my father has been searching for a long time. then, of course, there was the fire on the launch. but even before that they had kept putting me off, and i didn't like the way they were acting at all. where are they now?" "i wish i knew!" said dick. "however, we can talk more about them later. i think that now the best thing we can do is to get you back to the city. your father will meet you there, i suppose, won't he?" "yes," she said. "my father is not at all well, and he is quite an old man. we are staying at the hotel lincoln. i came with them alone, though father didn't want me to, because they were so very positive that our chase was nearly over." "i think it's my duty to tell you," said dick, "that these people who were with you seem to be a very bad lot. they made an attempt to kidnap this boy, who helped to save the lives of your whole party, and we have every reason to suppose that they are associated with a gang of thieves who have a grudge against him. i think you had better let us take you back to your father. and if you will follow my advice, you will have nothing more to do with any of them. they will only lead you into danger and trouble." dick was anxious to question the girl further, but she was much shaken, and in no condition to tell him anything more. so they all went back to town together, and dick himself acted as miss burton's escort to her hotel. "i will follow your advice," she promised him. "if any of those people try to see me again, i will refuse to have anything to do with them. but won't you come to see us, and perhaps you will be able to help us in our search?" "i'll be glad to do that," said dick. "but if those people approach you again, it might be better to pretend that you still trust them. don't put yourself in their hands in any way, but try to get them to talk to you. in that way you may be able to get valuable information that would otherwise not be available at all." captain haskin, the head of the detective service of the railroad on which jack danby's bravery had averted a terrible wreck, was much concerned when he heard the story of the rescue and the ungrateful conduct of those whose lives had been saved. "we've got to look after danby," he said. "he's an important witness for us, and if he turns up missing, it's going to be more difficult to get a conviction, though perhaps not impossible. but i think there's more than that in their attempt to get rid of him." "what do you mean, captain?" asked dick crawford. "why, i don't know, my boy. but these people are not loyal enough to one another as a rule to lead them to run such risks as these villains have encountered just to get rid of a witness who may be damaging to some of them who have been captured. when one or two of them are caught, those who escape are usually so glad to get off free themselves that they disappear and make no effort to help those who were not so fortunate. the fact that they have kept after danby this way is very suspicious." "well, i happen to know," said dick, "that there are people who seem to have a grudge against jack, or at least who have an interest in maintaining a mystery that exists as to his birth. i don't like to talk about that as a rule, because it's his own-business, but i'd better tell you. he does not know his real name, or who his parents were, and it is the ambition of his life to discover them. since he came away from woodleigh, attempts have been made to find out what has become of him, and a man who was concerned in an attempt to rob me of a considerable sum of money that i was carrying for my employer is one of those who seems most anxious to find out all about jack. he knows the secret of his birth." "that would explain," said the detective, "the whole business at once. now, you see, you've given me something to work on. the railroad can't feel at ease until all the men concerned in that plot that so nearly wrecked the limited the other night are safely in jail. it isn't that we're vindictive, but when men are ready to imperil the lives of the passengers on the trains we run, it isn't safe for us to let them be at large. they may make another attempt, and there is no way of being sure that the next time we shall be able to stop them. it was all a matter of luck that blocked their plan before--and we can't trust to luck in such matters. it might cost a hundred lives to do so." "well, if we can help you in any way, you can depend on us to do anything in our power, captain. i think any of our boys in the scouts would do anything for jack danby, and, of course, we want to do anything we can to help the railroad safeguard its trains, for the sake of all the people who have to ride on them." "the most important thing right now is to see that nothing happens to danby. they have been so bold and so determined in their efforts to put him out of the way already that i am afraid they are not likely to stop at the two attempts. one thing seems very curious to me. the man who carried him off from the camp was entirely willing to kill him--planned to do so, didn't he?" "so jack says. and he is not the sort to be scared by idle threats." "just so! but now here is a queer thing. these people that tried to carry him off to-day used the same boat as the man who took him from the camp. presumably they would have served him the same way as the other scoundrel would have done. and yet they seem also to want to get in touch with jack himself--and not for the purpose of killing him.. it looks as if they were working at cross purposes--as if they did not know that the boy who foiled the train-wrecking plot and the one they have lost are one and the same. don't you see?" "i certainly do! say, this is a confused affair, isn't it?" "it's like a chinese puzzle. but we'll work it out somehow." chapter xii an ungrateful parent when his work was done the next day, jack danby found dick crawford waiting for him. "jack," said the assistant scout-master, "i don't want to raise any false hopes in you, but i think we're on the verge of finding out something about you--about who you really are, and all that." "how, dick? i'd give anything if that were true!" "we were awfully stupid not to think of it last night, jack. you know that pretty girl, that miss burton, who was on the burning launch? she wasn't like the others--we all saw that. she wasn't their sort at all! well, she said she was with them because she believed that they were going to be able to lead her to someone that her father had been searching for." "you mean i might be the one they were looking for, dick?" "i don't know, jack, but it looks possible. not that she might not be looking for someone else. but she was with these people, and one of those men had a letter about you from the lawyer up at woodleigh. i don't believe they really meant to lead her to you at all. i think that there are people who are spending their time in making it impossible for those who are really interested in you to get any trace of you." "then why should they have told her they could find me, if it really is i she's looking for?" "they might think it better to fool her, jack, than to let her deal with people who would treat her honestly. if she thought they were helping her, and trying to earn a reward, if there is one, she and her father would be unlikely to go to anyone else. and as long as they could convince her that they were doing their best they would be in complete control of the situation, you see." "that certainly sounds as if it might be right, dick. what do you think we'd better do?" "go and see mr. burton and his daughter right away. i'm certain of one thing: that girl is all right. she's true and honest, no matter what sort of people may have deceived her and have induced her to fall into their plans and ways. she thinks she's doing the right thing. depend on that!" "i think you're right about her, dick. i thought she was different from the others at once. she was so plucky and so cool, and she helped pete all she could when he swam ashore with her, instead of getting frightened and making it harder, as the old woman did. she was all right." "well, we'll go there right away. they're at the hotel lincoln. that's the best hotel in town, you know, so i guess they're people who are pretty well to do." they had not long to wait at the hotel before they were asked to go up to the suite of rooms occupied by mr. burton and his daughter. the girl, who looked much better, naturally, since she had had a good rest, and a change of clothing, greeted them with a good deal of friendly interest, but her father, who walked with a stick, seemed to be querulous and inclined to distrust them. "a fine lot of people we've run into since we've come here!" he said. "molly, who are these people?" "mr. crawford warned me against broom and his wife, father," she said. "i told you of that. and this is jack danby, who helped to save us all from the launch." "well, what do you want? what do you want?" asked mr. burton, peevishly. "money? i'll give you some--but don't come bothering me!" "i don't want any of your money, sir, and neither does danby," said dick, indignant and surprised by this reception. he looked at the girl. she seemed to be as angry as he was himself, and had flushed until her face was a bright pink. he thought she looked even prettier than before, but she also looked frightened, as if, while angry, she dared not provoke her father further by seeming to resent what he said. "we came here," said dick, facing the old man, "because we have an idea that we can help you in your search. you are looking for a boy, are you not?" "yes, yes!" said the old man. "it's a wild goose chase--we'll never find him! it's a cousin of molly's--my daughter--and my nephew. a worthless young scamp, probably, even if he's alive. no use looking for him--let him stay lost, i say! he's less trouble that way." "the reason i say that i think we may be able to help you, sir, is that we think the gang that had your daughter with them yesterday are on the trail of the boy you are looking for. can you not tell us what you know of his movements?" "i don't see why i should! you're probably just another of the blackmailing crowd that's been after my money since i was fool enough to allow myself to be persuaded to look for the boy. he was stolen from my brother's house when he was a very small boy. we had reason to suspect a man who had a grudge against my brother. that's the only clue we have." "that's not worth very much by itself, sir. but it happens that i know of a boy who was mysteriously brought up by an old man. he knows nothing of his parentage. but he does know, and his friends know, also, that there are people who know all about him, and that these people are very anxious to keep him from learning the truth about himself. and these people who have been trying to locate this boy lately are connected with the ones who were with your daughter last night--people with whom no young woman ought ever to be trusted by her father!" dick was furious by this time at the way in which mr. burton treated him, and he forgot, for the moment, the respect due to age and infirmity. he regarded burton as a careless father, who should be made to understand that he had been criminally careless in allowing so beautiful a girl to be left in the power of wretches like those who had been on the boat when it took fire, and he had no mind to be polite and diplomatic. "get out of my room, you impudent young rascal!" shouted mr. burton when he realized what dick was saying. "don't you think i can see through your game, eh?" he shook his stick threateningly at dick. "i'm not afraid of you, sir," said dick. "i told the truth, and i think you know it. we're not going to stay here--but i warn you that you may be sorry before this business is cleared up. you'll trust a scoundrel like broom, and yet, when we come to you with an offer to help you in your search, you insult us!" molly burton, frightened and distressed by the turn matters had taken, tried to make peace, but her efforts were of no avail. her father ordered the two of them out of his rooms, and they could do nothing but go. "well, we didn't gain much by going there," said dick. "i'm sorry i lost my temper, jack, but it would have been pretty hard not to, when he was talking and acting that way." "i wonder if he can really be my uncle, though, dick. i don't know that i'd be so crazy to have him for a relative, but i would like to think that pretty girl was my cousin!" "she's all right, isn't she, jack? but we have gained something, at any rate. we've got some sort of a starting point. now, if we can get captain haskin to help us, we may be able to start with the time when you turned up at woodleigh, and trace some of old dan's movements. in that way, you see, it may be possible to get at the truth. it's a little more than we knew before we went to see them, at any rate." "i think if we could see miss burton alone, dick, she would treat us better, and tell us anything she knew." "i'm sure of that, jack. i'll try to see her, too. it seems wrong to try to do anything of that sort without letting her father know, but we haven't any choice. he certainly wouldn't allow her to see me if he knew that she was planning anything of that sort. i'll try that in the morning." but in the morning when dick went to the hotel, he was told that mr. burton and his daughter were gone, and that they had left no address. no one at the hotel could give him any idea of where they might be found, and they had left no orders, it was said, about the forwarding of any letters that might come for them. dick, resourceful as he was, felt that he was facing a blind wall. there was nothing more for him to do. he could only wait, and trust that chance, or the detective abilities of captain haskin, would enable him to pick up the trail again. jack danby, needless to say, was bitterly disappointed when he heard what dick had to tell him the next evening, after his fruitless effort to see the burtons again. jack had never wavered in his belief that some time he would settle the mystery of his birth, that had worried him ever since he had been able to understand that he was set apart from others. to see a chance now and then just as he felt that he was about to read the secret have that chance vanish, was doubly hard. it was worse than if he had never had the hope of success. but he tried hard not to let dick crawford see how badly the incident made him feel. dick had done what he had for the best, and he had honestly thought that there was a chance for jack's great ambition to be realized. he felt as disappointed as did jack himself. "gee, jack," he said, "who'd ever guess that a sweet girl like that would have such an old curmudgeon of a father? he's the limit! but there's nothing we can do right away. i think captain haskin will be able to find out where they came from, and where they've gone to without any trouble--that's the sort of thing detectives are supposed to be able to do." "but if the old gentleman won't help us at all it's going to be pretty hard to get anything done. i've seen crusty old fellows like that before. when they've been deceived in a person it takes a long time before they're willing to trust anyone else--and, of course, you can't blame them so very much, at that. "i'm not going to give up, dick, anyhow. i'm surer than ever now that the secret of who i am is worth a lot of trouble, and i'll find out what it is if i never do anything else!" "at that rate you're bound to win, jack. keep on trying." chapter xiii the moving pictures captain haskin, though he took no one into his confidence as to just what he was doing, impressed dick and jack alike as a man who, once started, would never drop any undertaking until he was successful. he might not always succeed, but failure in his case would never be due to lack of effort. so they were not surprised when he came to them a day or two after the burtons had left town and told them that he had what might be a valuable clue. "i want you to come to the theatre with me," he said. he smiled as he said it. "that may seem like a frivolous thing to do when we are at work on a mystery of this sort, but you'll see what i mean when we get there." dick and jack, who liked the railroad detective and trusted him implicitly, were certainly surprised, but they made no bones about accompanying him. he had called for them at dick's house, where jack was spending the evening, and he said he wanted tom binns and pete stubbs to be along, too. so they rode with him in the automobile which he was using, and picked up the other scouts. "i don't believe you ever saw the particular theatre i'm going to take you to," he said, when he had all four of them in the car. "it isn't much of a theatre, even for a moving picture place. it's a little place over near the river, and the films are cheap and not very good. but you'll see why i picked it out later." it was a long ride, after they had picked up tom binns, even in the detective's big car. as they rode, haskin kept looking around behind him. "i've had a queer feeling two or three times to-day," he said, "that i was being followed. i've shadowed so many people in my time that i'm pretty well acquainted with the ways of doing it, and i must say i don't like the look of things. those fellows are desperate enough to do anything at all, but if they're actually shadowing the detective who's in charge of the efforts to run them down and catch them they've got even more nerve than i thought was possible." two or three times, now, as they made their way along, at a slow pace by haskin's direction, those in the car got a glimpse of a smaller automobile that seemed to hang pretty persistently on their track. they were evidently never out of sight of the occupants of the other car for very long. "i suppose they know what they're doing," said haskin, finally, "but what their game is, is beyond me. i'm not trying to hide from them or anyone else. i don't see why they should want to track me down this way. go ahead, full speed, now! we'll give them a chase for it, if they're looking for that." it was not long before the car pulled up in a dirty, tumbledown street near the water front, before a shop that had been turned into a moving picture theatre. haskin paid their way in, and they found themselves in a darkened hall and the pictures were being thrown on to the screen as they entered. "one of the things these people do to attract people to their theatre," explained haskin, as they took their seats, "is to have a film made every week right here in the district where it is to be shown. for instance, this week they are showing a picture that was made on the river front a few days ago. people come and think that perhaps they'll see themselves or their friends in the 'movies.' it's lots of fun for them, you see, and it's a good idea for the company that invented it." jack and dick suddenly began to understand. "is there anyone we know in the pictures, captain?" asked jack. "that's what i hope, jack. what i do know is that there is a section of the film that shows three of the men who tried to wreck the train the other night. they are talking with some other men, and it is because i think that one of these others may be this man broom that i want you to see it and identify him, if you can. then, you see, we can send out his picture and have a much better chance of catching him." haskin had looked around carefully before he spoke. he had no idea that there would be anyone around who would be able to make head or tail out of what he was saying, but he was trained to take chances only when he had to. but there seemed to be no one near except a sleepy, slouchy sailor in a seat immediately behind him. the man had been drinking, and his heavy breathing convinced haskin that he was harmlessly asleep. but the next time he looked around the sailor was gone. he must have moved very quietly to escape the notice of haskin, and he was just passing out through the door when the detective saw him. "that's bad business!" he said to himself. "it was mighty careless of me. i ought to have known better, certainly, than to talk that way, even if there didn't seem to be anyone around to hear me. i only hope he didn't understand, or that he really is what he seems to be--just a sailor on a spree." they had a long and tedious wait for the time to come when the all-important film should be begun. what was reeled off first had little interest for any of them. the three scouts all liked the moving picture shows well enough, but they preferred the other kind, the sort shown in the better houses uptown, and they could not get up much interest in the pictures that seemed to delight those who were seated all about them. the place grew constantly more and more crowded. it was evidently a popular diversion near the river, and the attraction of the local scenes film, with the chance that any spectator might suddenly find himself a part of the performance, was what pleased them the most and attracted the greatest attention. at last it was time for that particular film to be begun. it was quite a long one, as it turned out, and it was not until a number of pictures had been shown that haskin suddenly leaned forward and pointed to a little pier, beside which a motor boat was bobbing up and down. jack, with a gasp, and a queer little thrill running up and down his back, recognized three men who stood by the boat. they were quarreling about something, and were by no means still, but there was no mistaking them. they were three of the men that he had seen in the little station on the night that the attempt to wreck the limited had failed. and, from the edge of the screen, another man was walking toward them. "there," said haskin, "that's the fellow i want you to watch. is that broom? if it is--" he couldn't finish. there was a sudden sputtering by the film. the lights went out--only to give place to a dark, red glare near the film. and, at the same moment, there was a wild shriek from the back of the hall--"fire!" the lights winked on again in a moment, and then went out and on again, alternating for two or three minutes, so that at one moment the little, crowded theatre was black as ink and the next as light as day. most of those in the audience were women and children, and they were in a panic in a moment. "come on, scouts!" roared dick crawford. "if they don't stop crowding and pushing, not one of these people will get out of this place alive." the three scouts knew what to do and how to do it. they were prepared for this as well as for any other emergency. they were, perhaps, the only cool-headed ones in the place. adding their voices to dick's, and with haskin to help them, they managed somehow to restore some sort of order. they fought their way through the packed aisles, and, though the fire was gaining, back by the film, they made the people pass out in good order. great as was the peril, not one of them flinched. jack danby, in the center aisle, had to bear the brunt of the wild rush for the door, but he managed to keep the people from piling up against the door, and so making a human dam that would have kept everyone from safety. one or two men, and the braver of the women, inspired by the actions of the scouts, pulled themselves together, and helped them, and before the flames had made much headway, everyone, it seemed, was out. but jack danby remembered seeing a child fall just before the last group had gone through the door. he did not see it outside, and, despite protests from all who saw him, he made his way back. the lights had gone out for good now, but there was plenty of chance to see even in that grimy, smoke-filled place, by the fitful glare of the flames that were reaching out and licking up the seats and the tawdry decorations now. and he had not very far to go before he found what he was looking for--the body of a little girl who had fallen and been overcome by the smoke. he picked her up and with little difficulty carried her out to the street, where a fireman took her from him. the firemen made short work of the blaze, and haskin, with the four scouts, walked away and reached the automobile, which had been forced to move several blocks on account of the fire. "that fire wasn't any accident," said haskin, gravely. "now i know why those fellows were following me. they were afraid of something of this sort. my heavens, what cold-blooded scoundrels they are! they were willing to wreck that train--now they took the chance of killing everyone in that little theatre to keep me from seeing that film--and, i suppose, with the idea that they could get rid of me and the most dangerous witness against them at the same time, and by a single blow." "do you really think they did that?" cried dick, shocked by the idea. "i think so, yes. but it's one thing to think so, and to say that i think so, and it's quite another to prove it. that's the trouble! but i'm going to try pretty hard, and i'll fix the blame on them and see that they go to jail for it if there's any human way of doing it. it's a pity they succeeded as well as they did. they've destroyed that film, and it would have been mighty useful as evidence against them, let me tell you!" "is there no duplicate?" "i'm afraid not. but we'll try, anyway. there's no harm in that." chapter xiv a foolish strike the next morning jack danby, arriving at the factory, found pete stubbs already there, for it was his duty that week to arrive a little in advance of the rest of the boys, and open up. he was wearing a glum face. "gee, jack, here's a peck of trouble," he said. "i got down here and found that mr. simms, the big boss, and mr. carew, the manager, had been here since five o'clock." "what's wrong, pete?" "i dunno, for sure, jack, but i heard somethin' bein' said about a strike. and there ain't a man here yet!" "well, we're not on strike, pete. i guess we'd better get busy and do our work just as if there wasn't anything wrong. then _we'll_ be all right, anyhow." they were busy for a few minutes, as the other office boys and the clerks began to appear. "keep quiet about anything you know or suspect, pete," said jack, warningly, as the rooms began to fill up. "it's all right to tell me, but you'd better let the others hear anything there is to be known from mr. carew. he'll tell us all, probably, when he gets ready." but the morning was well advanced before the conference in mr. carew's room was over. there was an unusual silence about the big factory. none of the machinery was running, which was sufficiently out of the ordinary to excite a lot of talk and gossip, although pete gave out none of the information with which he was almost bursting. finally, however, mr. carew came out. "this company," he said, when everyone had turned in silence to face him, "has done business for a good many years and has never had any sort of trouble, until now, with any of the people who have worked for it. now, unfortunately, some malcontents among the hands here have spread their ideas, and a strike has been called. we have tried to reason with the men, but they have quit work, and this factory will be closed for at least a week, beginning to-day." "gee, jack, that's just what i was afraid of," said pete, his face falling. "that means a week's wages gone!" murmurs arose from all over the room. but carew, a smile on his face, held up his hand for silence, and went on. "the company has no intention of making you suffer," he said. "your wages will go on just the same, and we will simply consider this week's lay-off as a sort of a vacation. that will be all for now. you will get notice when it is time for you to return to work." there was a wild cheer then. a week's wages meant a great deal to most of the boys and clerks employed in and about the factory, and the revulsion of feeling when they learned that they were not to lose their pay was enough to justify even a louder cheer than they gave. "danby and stubbs," said mr. carew next, "i wish you'd wait when the others go, and come into my office. i want to talk to you." they waited accordingly, and when they went into mr. carew's room they found mr. simms, the president of the company, waiting there with the manager. "this is very serious business, boys," said mr. simms, gravely. "a strike is one thing, and if the men stopped at a strike they would be entirely within their rights. unfortunately, some of them, bad workers, who had been threatened with dismissal, and others who were discontented, for one reason or another, have succeeded in stirring up a lot of hard feeling. and there is no telling what may happen." "do you think they'll try to put the place on the bum, sir?" cried pete, the irrepressible, his eyes flashing. both the men laughed, though their faces showed that they were too worried to do much laughing. "i certainly hope they won't attempt anything of the sort, for their sake, as well as ours, pete," said mr. simms. "if they were let alone, our old men, even if they were to go on strike, wouldn't make a move against the company's property. but these rascals who are leading them want to make it impossible for them to back down and come back to work. and i am afraid that there are no lengths at which they would stop in the effort to injure us." "here is the point, boys," said mr. carew. "we know, from past experience with you, that you are trustworthy, and loyal to us. now, what we want to do is to get through this strike with as little trouble as possible. we don't want any shooting, as there might be if we brought in armed men to guard the property. what we want is to prevent any attempt to destroy the place by getting ample warning of anything that is tried." "and you're going to let us look out for them?" cried pete. "gee, that's great, jack! we can do it, too, can't we?" "the idea we had," said carew, "was that you boys, and perhaps some of your companions in the boy scouts, being used to tracking and trailing in the woods, could keep a better watch than our regular watchmen. they are faithful enough, and would mean well, but what we are afraid of is that a lot of clever scoundrels could get inside and set the place on fire before they knew it. they wouldn't expect boys to be on the lookout, and we can arrange to have the place protected amply if we can have a few minutes warning. in that way the plans of the violent ones among the men would be blocked, and at the same time there would be no danger of bloodshed, or of anyone being hurt. i would rather lose a year's pay than have a man of them all injured." "and i a year's profits, or a good deal more," said mr. simms. "understand me, boys, we want you to do this in a way that will not get you yourselves into any danger. simply stay here tonight, after, the place is closed up. mr. carew and i and a few other men will be inside, but we don't want to show ourselves. i am having telephones put in all over the factory, with instruments out in the courtyards, so that you can get word to us without delay if you see anything suspicious. now suppose you run home and get your scout uniforms. we will have plenty to eat here, and we will have cots rigged up for you, too, so that you can sleep in the day time." "this is almost as good as being in the militia, isn't it, jack?" said pete, as they hurried out. "i think it's a lot better, pete. in the militia, if there's a strike, the men sometimes have to fire into a crowd, and a lot of foolish people who don't mean any harm may get hurt or killed. i'd hate to have to do anything like that. i suppose it's necessary, but i'd feel like a murderer if i'd ever fired into a crowd that way, i know." "well, this is going to be a great lark, anyhow, jack. i'd rather do this than work, any day!" "it may be pretty hard work before we're through, pete. look over there!" they were leaving the factory then, and across the street was a crowd of men, in their working clothes, sullen and unhappy in appearance. two or three men, dressed more like brokers than workmen, were passing to and fro among them, and leaving a wake of scowls and curses wherever they passed. "strikers!" said pete. "gosh, but they don't look like the crowd that we see coming to work every morning, do they, jack? they look different--like wild men, almost." "it's too bad," said jack. "i'm mighty sorry to see them go out, because i know that they're treated as well here as they would be anywhere in the state, and a lot better than at most places. it's men like big ed willis, who never wants to work at all, who make the trouble." "just listen here, young feller," said a big man, who appeared suddenly from behind them, "keep a quiet tongue in yer head about me. i'm big ed, i am, and i'll smash your ugly face in for ye, if ye don't look out! there's a strike on for higher wages and shorter hours here, see, and we don't want no scabs, man or boy, goin' into that factory." "we're not in the union, ed willis," said jack, unafraid. "we make our own rules about working or not working, and don't you forget it! you can beat me up easily enough, if you want to, but you won't be much of a man if you try it." "for two cents i'd smash you in the jaw, so i would!" said willis, blustering, like the true bully he was. "let the kid alone, ed," cried another man, coming across the street. "he ain't in the union. i think we're fools to strike ourselves. don't go to making no more trouble without you need to." "i'll let you off this time," said big ed, a little abashed. "but see to it that you keep away from the factory over there." "you mind your business and we'll mind ours!" said jack. "that'll keep you plenty busy enough, ed willis!" "gee, i thought he was going to hit you that time, jack," said pete stubbs. "i'm pretty small, and if i hit him he'd never know it unless someone told him, but i was going to smash him behind the ear with a stone if he tried that." "he's all bluff and talk," said jack, disgustedly. "if he does any fighting, it'll be by letting someone else strike the blows while he looks on from a place where he knows he won't be hit. there's lots of fighters like that." they hurried on home then, and changed from the clothes they wore every day to work in to their boy scout uniforms. each of them took, too, his axe and scout knife, in case of emergencies, though it was hard to imagine any use they were likely to have for them. "look here, pete," said jack, when they had changed their clothes and were ready to start back to the factory, "if we go in the way we came out they'll see us, and they're likely to watch for us to come out again. that wouldn't be much use, so i think we'd better try to get back without being seen." "how can we do that, jack?" "i know a good way. we'll go down to the freight yard and find a car that is going to be shunted onto the private track. there's a car-load of wagon wheels due to-day, i know, and the chances are that we can find that and hide in it. the men at the freight yard would never know, and when we got inside we could get out and the strikers wouldn't know we were inside at all." "that's a fine idea, jack. we'll do that. say, that'll be a great joke on ed willis and those other toughs he's got on his side, won't it?" "i'll bet they'll never guess we're inside at all, pete!" both boys knew their way around the freight yards very well indeed. both had been sent there a good many times by mr. carew to look up delayed shipments, that were needed in the factory, and, as a consequence, the men at work in the yards, knowing that they worked in the factory, were not suspicious when jack began asking about the wagon wheels. they found the car with little difficulty, and, once they had discovered that it was to be shunted into the private spur of track leading into the factory within an hour or two, they did not hesitate to get inside and hide themselves in one dark corner of the car. there was plenty of room for them, and they crouched behind a case of wheels, and told one another stories. it was good fun, they thought, and they only wished that it was time for their ride to begin. "listen!" whispered pete, suddenly. "that sounds like someone fumbling for the catch of the car door, jack." it was dark in the car, and suddenly, there was a stream of light as the door was pushed cautiously open. "right, oh, ed," said a hoarse voice, trying to be quiet. "we can shove the stuff right in here. then, about midnight, we can get in and let it off. they'll never open this car up tonight, and they won't know the stuff's in here." "not unless it goes off as she bumps over the frogs going into the spur," said big ed willis, chuckling. "but if she lets go then there'll be a pretty big explosion, just the same. may leave a bit of the factory standing, but it'll take them a long time to make repairs. it would blow number four shop and this car to smithereens, anyhow." horrified, but unable to make a move, the two scouts saw three heavy boxes being loaded gingerly onto the car and hidden under some sacking. "there!" said big ed. "that's a good job, well done! and it looks mighty neat. no one'd ever guess, just to look at that sacking, that there was enough dynamite underneath it to blow half the town up if it was set properly." scarcely had the two men closed the door when the scouts made a simultaneous leap for it. but, as they moved, they felt the bump of the freight engine against the car and a moment later it began to move. it was too late for them to get off, and they could only sit and watch that pile of sacking, with its deadly secret beneath it, wondering if every moment was not to be their last. every time the car jolted over a frog in the rail they jumped, wondering why the deadly stuff did not explode, and jack was not ashamed to admit afterward that he was sick with fear during the whole terrible ride. but it ended at last, with the dynamite still safe and undisturbed, and they breathed great sighs of relief as they realized that the first and probably the worst of their perils was really over. mr. simms was incredulous when they reached him and told him of what they had discovered, but the dynamite was a witness not to be discredited, and he had to believe when he saw that. with the utmost care it was removed and placed in water, and then they began to make fresh plans. chapter xv the dynamiters "well," said mr. simms, "that is a providential discovery, certainly! if they had been allowed to reach that car of dynamite and set off all that stuff there would have been precious little left of us or the factories tomorrow morning. now the question is what to do to prevent them from doing anything else?" "i think we'd better leave the car just as it is, and even fix something under that sacking to look like the dynamite," said jack. "if they get to it at all they will be in a terrible hurry, certainly, and they won't stop to look to see if it's the right stuff. then, if we are watching them we can catch them red-handed, and it will be just the ones that are making all the trouble that will be caught. big ed willis and his gang are perfectly willing to sneak up in the night and set some dynamite to blow up innocent people, but they'll leave others to bear the brunt of their crimes, every time." "that's a good idea," said carew. "i think we'd better fix that up right away, mr. simms. now, how about you, boys? do you think you can keep a sharp enough lookout to be able to spot those fellows when they come in?" "yes, sir, i do! they'll be careful to dodge the places that would ordinarily be watched. i think they'll try to come in by the fence near the railroad spur. they'll know that the main gates would be closely guarded, and the spur itself. but the fence near the spur is easy to climb, and i think that's where they'll try to get in." "and i'll tell you how to catch, them, too, mr. carew," said pete stubbs. "they'll have to get inside the car to fix that dynamite, you know, and get it ready to set off, and if jack and i are right behind them, i don't see why we can't lock them inside the car. then, if the gate is open, we can start the car rolling down the grade, and it will run right outside of the yard and down toward the freight yard. if we really catch them we'll have plenty of time to give the alarm, and they can be taken right out of the car. if they made a racket here they might make trouble." "that's so," said jack. "i think pete's got the right idea, mr. carew. you see, those strikers, if they have an inkling of what's going to happen, are likely to be pretty close by, watching for the chance to rush in after the explosion, if i know anything about the way big ed manages things." "you mean they might make an attempt at a rescue?" "that's just the danger i should guess, sir. big ed and his precious friends probably plan to set a time fuse, and then disappear, and get as far as possible away before the explosion, so that they can have witnesses to prove that they were a long way off when the explosion took place." they spent the afternoon not in sleep, as jack and pete had planned to do, but in going all over the ground outside the shops of the big factory, trying to determine the places most likely to be selected by willis and his gang in their effort to reach the dynamite. then, when they were satisfied that they had inspected the whole place, and that they could find their way even if they were blindfolded, jack and pete rested. after supper mr. simms insisted that they should have some sleep. he told them they would have a hard night's work ahead of them, and that, as there was no telling at what time the attempt to reach the dynamite would be made, they must guard against the danger of getting sleepy. "we're still depending a good deal on you two," he said, "although you have, of course, already made the complete success of this plot impossible. but if they got to that car without being seen, and discovered that their dynamite had been taken away, they might still make an effort to set the whole place on fire, and, if they succeeded in that, and had a mob outside to hamper the firemen, there might be terrible damage, that would cripple the company for a long time." it was about ten o'clock when pete and jack, in their scout uniforms, hard to detect at any distance, even in broad daylight, and making them almost invisible at night, took up their vigil. the place seemed to be as silent and deserted as a tomb. lights were few and far between, but each of them carried an electric torch supplied by mr. carew. these they did not intend to use except in an emergency, since to use them would mean betraying their position to the enemy, and it was their chief opportunity to succeed that they were not known to willis and the others to be in the place at all. the strikers would be on the lookout for regular watchmen, not for keen-eyed boys. there was a high wall around the greater portion of the grounds, topped with broken glass, so that the place was really well fortified against the attack of a mob. but the danger tonight was even greater than it would have been from a mob, more insidious, and harder to guard against. the two scouts, to make sure, if that were possible, that there should be no surprise, agreed to patrol the whole wall, and thus have the best possible chance of seeing anyone who tried to climb over. they could do this, meeting in the center of the trip, and leaving no spot unwatched for more than two or three minutes. "if i hear anyone, pete, or see anything wrong," said jack, "i'll give the patrol call--the cry of a crow." "sure! i'll understand, if i hear it, and i'll give the same call if i'm the one that sees something." "right! if we hear that call the one who hears it will stop patrolling at once and go for the sound." "they can't see us if we keep in the shadow, can they, jack?" "i don't believe so, pete. it is a pretty heavy shadow, and anyone coming over the wall is likely to have his eyes more or less dazzled by the arc lights on the other side." "don't call unless you have to, pete. remember that they're not fools, these fellows, and they're apt to know that such a call means danger, even if they don't know who's here. we don't want just to scare them off--they might come back if we did that. we want to catch the ring-leaders." they started from the railroad spur, so they would meet there each time as they completed a round of the walls, since that was where they felt the enemy was most likely to appear. "sleepy, pete?" asked jack, when they had been at it nearly an hour. "i would be, i think, if i wasn't walking around, jack. that's fine, though. it helps to keep me awake." "same here! i've heard of being so tired that you can go to sleep standing up, or even when you're walking about, but it doesn't seem possible to me." for a long time they kept up the patrol. all sorts of strange noises startled them, but, with their training as boy scouts, which had accustomed them to the night noises of the woods, and to keeping their heads, they did not give the alarm. at last, however, after jack had met pete and passed on, he heard the sound of a crow's call. gently and silently he slipped back. as he came near the spur he saw two dark figures climbing over the wall. and a moment later pete, moving with the stealth of an indian, touched his hand. "i guess they're here, jack," he whispered, tense with excitement and delighted that the long vigil was over at last. big ed willis was easy to recognize. the other man was a stranger to them, and, since both wore handkerchiefs over the upper part of their faces, it was impossible to tell what he looked like. the strikers, full of their murderous intention, moved quietly and cautiously along toward the car, which stood by itself. it was on a sharp grade, but a billet of wood held it in place. the two scouts, hardly daring to breathe, lest they be heard, followed the men not more than twenty paces behind them. they wore moccasins instead of their stout scout shoes, so that their movements were without noise, and they could see and hear everything the two men did. "we'll both have to get in the car," they heard big ed whisper. "the stuff's heavy, and we want to fix the fuses in there, so that we'll have less time to spend out in the open, where someone might see us." "right!" said the other man. "come on, then!" "as soon as they get inside, pete," whispered jack, now, with a little thrill of exultation at the way the strikers were walking into the trap set for them, "kick that bit of wood that holds the car out of the way. i don't believe it will start moving right away. then rush around and help me with the door, if i need you." "all right, jack! be ready to slam it shut as soon as you hear me coming, will you?" in a moment, as jack crouched outside the door, with the heavy hasp in his hand, he heard the slight jar that showed that pete had done his part. at once he slid the door close, and pushed the hasp in. with pete to help him, they had it securely locked in a moment, so that no one inside could hope to get out. then, while a yell of rage and surprise, mingled with terror, came from inside the car, the two boys leaned all their weight against it. so slight was the resistance it could offer, owing to the grade, that it started to roll at once. "come on, pete," cried jack. "get aboard the car--swing up the way the brakemen do." yelling in triumph, to let carew and the others know that they had succeeded, the two scouts leaped to the top of the car. a man had been stationed in a nearby building, and, as he saw the car begin to move, he leaped to the gates and opened them. then he swung aboard and joined the two boys on the top of the car. carew had telephoned to the freight yard as soon as he knew the men were locked in the car, and by the time it rolled into the freight yard and came to a stop on the level section of track there a score of men stood ready to capture the strikers as they emerged. the regular police were not on hand, but captain haskin, and some of his railroad detectives, well armed, were ready and waiting, and they were so strong that there was no chance for ed willis and his chum to make a successful rush. "surrender, you two!" cried haskin, as the door was opened. "don't attempt to escape or make any trouble, or you'll be riddled with bullets. we've got you covered!" "don't shoot, boss! we'll come down!" big ed willis, all the bluff stripped from him, so that his real cowardice was exposed, was the speaker. his tone trembled and terror filled him. he crawled out abjectly, and held up his hands for the handcuffs which haskin at once fitted on. "you're a fine sort of a low hound!" exclaimed the other. "i thought you were a man, willis, when you proposed this game. i'd never have gone in with you if i'd thought you were going to quit cold this way." but he saw that he could do nothing, single-handed, against such a show of force as haskin and his men made, and he, too, came out of the car and surrendered. haskin whipped the handkerchief from his face, and jack, with a cry of surprise, saw that he knew him. it was silas broom--the man of the burning launch. "that's broom, captain haskin--the man that escaped!" "i thought so," said haskin, grimly. "he has some other names, but that will do for the present. you see it didn't do you any good to have that film destroyed, broom!" "i didn't do that," cried broom. "so help me, i didn't!" "i never said you did, did i?" asked haskin, with a smile that wasn't pleasant to see. "better wait until you're accused of a crime next time before you're so ready to deny it. the cap seemed to fit you when i threw it." broom, snarling, turned on jack then. "it's you, is it, you young whelp?" he gritted. "i might have guessed it. it's a pity i didn't smash your brains out the other day when i had you in my power. you're the one that's been in the way every time we've turned a trick for the last two weeks. but we'll get you yet--be sure of that!" "never mind him, jack," said pete. "he talks mighty big, but he can't do anything to you. every time they've tried it, they've got into pretty serious trouble. i guess they'll learn to let you alone before long. if they don't, they'll all be in jail anyhow, won't they, captain haskin?" "it looks that way, my boy," said the detective. "take these fellows off, men. turn them over to the police at headquarters. tell them that mr. simms and the railroad will both make a complaint. the federal marshal will be after them, too, for trying to transport dynamite on a railroad car. that's a very serious offense nowadays, under the interstate commerce law." chapter xvi off on a long hike jack and pete, with a week's vacation on their hands, were puzzled as to what they should do. but dick crawford, anxious to get jack away from the city for a time, until things should blow over, suggested a plan. "i heard from jim burroughs the other day," he said. "you remember jim, the fellow that is engaged to miss benton, up at eagle lake?" "sure--she's chris benton's sister," said pete stubbs. dick smiled. "you'll get over thinking about girls as some fellows' sisters when you get a little older, pete," he said. "then you'll remember that the fellows you know are girls' brothers. anyhow, jim says they're all up in camp there again, and they were asking me if some of the scouts couldn't go up there to see them. why don't you make a long hike and go up there? you could tramp it in two days, easily enough, and the weather's just right for a hike like that." "say, i think that would be fine!" cried pete. "let's do it, jack, shall we?" "i'd like to, if i thought we wouldn't be in the way," said jack, his eyes lighting. "you won't be in the way," said dick. "i know they'd be glad to see you. come on over to scout headquarters and we'll see what we've got in the way of equipment for your hike." at headquarters they found everything they needed. they made up a couple of packs for each them to carry, with a frying-pan, a coffee pot, and the other cooking utensils necessary for their two days in the open, since they would cook their own meals and travel exactly as if they were in a hostile country, where they could expect no aid from those whose houses they passed. "let's take sleeping bags instead of a tent," said jack. "i think it's much better fun to sleep that way. the weather seems likely to be good, and, anyhow, if it gets very bad, we can find some sort of shelter. they're a lot easier to carry, too." scout-master durland, when he heard of the plan, approved it heartily. they planned to ride for the first twenty miles of their journey by trolley, since that would take them out into the real country and beyond the suburbs, where there were many paved streets, which were anything but ideal for tramping. "now we're really off, jack," cried pete, as they stepped off the car the next morning. they had taken the car on its first trip, and it was but little after seven o'clock when they finally reached the open road and started off at a good round pace. "it's fine to travel on a regular schedule," said pete. "now we don't have to hurry. we know just when we ought to reach every place we're coming to, and how long we can stay. that's much better than just going off for a long walk." "sure it is! it's systematic, and it pays just as well to be systematic when you're starting out to have a good time as it does when you're at work. i've found that out." "i never used to think so. when i first went to work i hated having to do everything according to rules. but now i know that it's the only way to get things done on time. the work's been much easier at the office since we began doing everything that way." "look at our scout camps, pete. if we didn't do things according to a system we'd never get through with the work. as it is, we all know just what to do, and just how to do it. so it takes only about half as long to cook meals and clean up after them, and we have lots more time for games and trailing and swimming and things like that. it surely does pay." "gee, i hope it doesn't rain, jack. it would be too bad if we had to run into a storm after having good weather all this time when we were at work." "i don't believe it's going to rain. but it ought to, really, and it seems selfish to wish for dry weather when the country needs rain so badly." "it's been a mighty dry summer, hasn't it, jack?" "yes. these fires in the forests around here show that. they started much earlier than they usually do. as a rule october is the time for the worst fires." "they seem to be pretty well out around here, though." "that's because there are so many people to keep them under. but up in the big woods, where we're going, they're likely to have bad ones, when they start. you see a fire can get going pretty well up there before anyone discovers it, and then it's the hardest sort of work to stop it before it's done an awful lot of damage." "how do those fires in the woods start, jack?" "that's pretty hard to say, pete. careless campers start a whole lot of them. they build fires, and just leave them going when they get through. then the sparks begin to fly, and the fire spreads." "they ought to be arrested!" "they are, if anyone can prove that they really did start the fire. but that's pretty hard to do." "don't the fires start other ways, too?" "you bet they do! sometimes the sparks from an engine will set the dry leaves on the ground on fire, and, if there happens to be a wind, that will start the biggest sort of a fire." "isn't there any way to prevent that?" "yes--but it's expensive and difficult. but gradually they're giving up the coal engines in the woods, and use oil burners instead. there are no sparks and hot cinders to drop from an oil burning engine, you see, and it makes it much safer and cleaner, as well." "how about when a fire just starts? that happens sometimes, doesn't it?" "yes, and that's the hardest sort of a fire of all to control or to find. sometimes, when the leaves and branches get all wet, they will get terribly hot when the sun blazes down on them. then, because they're wet, some sort of a gas develops, and the fire starts with what they call spontaneous combustion." "they have a fire patrol in some places, don't they?" "yes, and they ought to have one wherever there are woods. out west the government forest service keeps men who do nothing all day long but keep on the lookout for fires. up on the high peaks they have signal stations, with semaphores and telephone wires, and men with telescopes who look out all day long for the first sign of smoke." "i think that must be a great life. they call them forest rangers, don't they?" "yes. and it is a great job. those fellows have to know all the different trees by sight. they have to be able to plant new trees, and cut down others when the trees need to be thinned out. forestry is a science now, and they're teaching it in the colleges. an awful lot of our forests have been wasted altogether." "they'll grow again, won't they, jack?" "y-e-s. they will if the work is done properly. but you see those great big mills, that use up thousands of feet of timber every season--even millions--don't stop to cut with an idea of reforestation. they just chop and chop and chop, and when they've cut all the timber they can, they move on to another section, where they start in and do it all over again. i'm working to get a conservation badge, you know. that's how i've happened to read about all these things." "i'm going to try to get a conservation badge, too, jack. i can start working for it as soon as i'm a first-class scout, can't i?" "yes. and this hike will be one of your tests for your first-class badge, too. you're only supposed to have to go seven miles, and we'll make a whole lot more than that. how about your other qualifications? coming along all right with them?" "yes, indeed. i think i can qualify in a couple of weeks." "that's fine, pete! you know i enlisted you, and a scout is judged partly by the sort of recruits he brings into the troop. they'll never have a chance to blame me for enlisting you if you keep on the way you've begun." they were going along at a good pace all this time, not too fast, but swinging steadily along. the road did not seem long, because their hard, young bodies were used to exercise, and they took the walking as a matter of course. "they'll be expecting us up at the bentons, won't they, jack?" "dick crawford said he would write and let jim burroughs know we were coming, pete. so i guess they'll be on the lookout all right." "do you remember the night we got to the lake, and jim burroughs and miss benton were lost in the woods?" "i certainly do! they would have had a bad night of it if we hadn't found them, i'm afraid. but all's well that ends well. it didn't hurt them at all, as it turned out, and i guess it taught them both to be more careful about going out in woods when they weren't sure of the trail." "gee, jack, i could have got lost myself then. i didn't know how to travel by the stars, and i wasn't any too sure how to use a compass." they had traveled more than half the distance when they picked out a sleeping place that night. they went to a farmer's house, and when he found that all they wanted was permission to camp in his wood lot, and to make a fire there, he told them they could do as they liked. he invited them to spend the night in the house, too, but they told him they preferred to sleep out-of-doors, and, laughing at them, he consented. they were off at five in the morning, and at noon, when they built a fire and cooked their dinner, they could see the wooded crests of the hills that were their destination rising before them. "look at that haze, jack," said pete. "that isn't a storm, is it, coming along?" "i don't think so, pete. i don't like the looks of it. it looks to me more like smoke, from a woods fire. i've been thinking i smelled smoke for some time, too." "could you smell it as far as this?" "smoke from a big forest fire sometimes travels for two or three hundred miles, if the wind's right, pete. in the city, even, in the fall, there will be smoky days, though there isn't a forest fire of any sort for a good many miles." "i suppose that's because the wood smoke is so thick." the further they traveled, the thicker grew the smoke. there could no longer be any mistake about it. the woods in front of them were well alight. "i only hope the fire doesn't reach eagle lake," said jack. chapter xvi a timely warning it was nearly dark when they finally arrived at the lake. chris benton and jim burroughs were waiting for them at the landing with a couple of canoes, and they were soon skimming over the placid waters of the lake to the benton camp. "this smoke's pretty thick here," said jack. "the woods are on fire all around us," said chris. "that's the trouble," said jim burroughs. "the summer's been mighty dry. see how low the lake is. a lot of the streams around here have dried up. this lake is partly spring fed, and it doesn't depend altogether on the little brooks that flow into it. otherwise i'm afraid this wouldn't be much of a place just now." "is there any danger of the fire coming this way, jim?" asked jack. "not a bit, jack. the wind's the other way, and if it shifts it's certain to bring rain with it and put the fire out, anyhow. it would take a good, strong, east wind to blow the fire over this way, and that would mean a regular rain storm, sure. so we're safe enough here. fires never have reached eagle lake." "i'm glad of that. it would be a shame to have any fire here. it might burn up the camps, you know, and that would be a pity." "it sure would! but i guess we're safe enough here. the guides all say so, and they ought to know, certainly. they've lived in the woods most of their lives, from what they say, and they don't seem to think that there's any danger at all." "they certainly ought to know," agreed jack. "they know more than we do, anyhow. that's a sure thing." the two scouts were pretty well tired out from their long hike, and they enjoyed their comfortable beds that night. it was warm, and even though the air was full of smoke, it was strong and bracing. so they awoke in the morning refreshed and full of life, and, when chris hailed them, they joined him with a will in a plunge into the chilly water of the lake. "how far away is the fire, jim?" jack asked, after breakfast. "two or three miles to the west, i guess," said jim, carelessly. "it won't come any nearer, either, jack." "i think i'll go take a look at it," said jack. "coming, pete and chris?" "sure we are!" they cried. their eyes smarted, and their throats were parched as they made their way toward the burning timber, but they didn't mind such small discomforts, and soon jack had a chance to see a real woods fire burning at its height. "this is the real thing, pete," he said, when they got a good look at the fire from the ridge where they had found bess benton on the first night they had been at eagle lake, some weeks earlier. "gee," said pete, "i thought that fire we helped to stop near the city was big enough, but this beats it all hollow, doesn't it, jack?" "come on!" said jack, with sudden determination. "this isn't safe, no matter what the guides say. if the wind changes this fire would sweep right down to the edge of the lake. a little rain wouldn't make any impression on it at all." jack, once his mind was made up, wasn't afraid of ridicule or anything else. he went back to camp, and sought out mr. benton. "i think that fire's mighty dangerous, mr. benton," he said. "i know the guides say you're perfectly safe here, but i've lived in a place where they had big woods fires nearly every year, and this is the biggest fire i ever saw. it would take a week's soaking rain to stop it, and if the wind turns to the east, even if it does bring some rain, it will turn that fire straight for the lake here, and burn up everything it meets on the way." "what would you advise, jack?" asked mr. benton. there was a twinkle in his eye, for he thought the guides knew more than jack, but he wanted to humor the scout, who stood very high in his estimation. "i'd dig a deep, broad ditch, and fill it with water. i'd make it at least five feet deep, and ten or twelve feet broad, mr. benton. that would give us a chance to keep the fire from reaching the buildings here. there's still some water in that brook that runs down from the ridge, though there won't be very long, and you could divert that into the ditch, and then dam the ditch at the lake, so that you'd have quite a little pond behind the houses on the side nearest the fire. if you could get half a dozen men they could dig a ditch like that, roughly, in a day. and i'd certainly do it, sir!" mr. benton was impressed, despite himself, by jack's earnestness. his camp had cost him nearly ten thousand dollars, and practically nothing would survive the fire if it should sweep over it. so, after a little thought, and not heeding the laughter of jim burroughs and the guides, he decided to take jack's advice. the guides, pressed into service for the digging of the ditch, thought that the task was foolish. they grumbled at having to do it, but they had no choice but to obey, once mr. benton had given the order. and before they were half done, the wind, which had died away completely, began to come again in short puffs from the east. "that means rain," said jim. "jack, you young rascal, i believe you started this scare just to see us all work!" "i've known the wind to blow from the northeast for a whole day before the rain came," said jack, "especially at this time of the year." the fire was a mile nearer the camp when the ditch was finished. it wasn't much of a ditch, and it wouldn't last very long, but looking it over, jack decided that it was much better than nothing. and it held the water, at least, which was the most important thing. as the wind continued to come from the east, without a sign of the hoped for rain, mr. benton looked very grave. "i think you've saved us from a real disaster by your insistence, jack," he said. "i'm certainly glad that we took your advice." the roaring of the fire could be plainly heard now. the smoke was so thick that all of them went around with wet cloths tied over their mouths, and smoked glasses to protect their eyes. even the guides looked serious, and seemed to have a new and greater respect for jack danby and the precaution he had forced them to take. "never saw nothin' like this," said one of them. "never in all the years i've been in the woods. the youngster sure do know a fire when he sees it." "i'm sorry i laughed at you, jack, old man," said jim burroughs, choking as he spoke. "you certainly had the right dope on this fire. gosh, listen to it roaring back there!" the ditch was in the form of a rough half circle, and went completely around the benton clearing. it was dug so that the brook from the ridge ran into it and filled it, and a space of a foot or so was left untouched at each end of it where it reached the lake. this made a natural dam, and held the water in, so that, as the brook continued to flow in, a small pond was formed behind the clearing, just as dick had suggested. that made a wide space for the fire to leap, and jack felt that, even if the fire swept completely around his ditch, the men in the clearing, by constant vigilance, would be able to beat out any sparks and flying embers that might otherwise have set fire to the buildings. but, as a further precaution, the boats of the camp, with water and provisions, were kept ready, so that the family might take to the lake if the need arose. "gee," said pete, suddenly after nightfall, "we forgot the stuff at camp simms, jack!" "so we did!" cried jack. "well, there's time enough yet. the fire will burn right over the camp site there, but it's better cleared than this, and there won't be much damage if we take the stuff from the shack and bring it all over here. we can't save the shack, but that can be built up again in a hurry after the fire's all over. come on!" they told the others what they planned to do, and jim burroughs volunteered to go with them and help them. in an hour they had brought everything portable from camp simms to the benton camp, which was not very far away, and then they felt that they had taken every possible precaution. there was nothing more to do after that but wait on the fire. it could not be hurried, and, so great had it become, it could not be delayed or checked by any human agency. there was no question in the mind of any of them now of the wisdom of jack's fears. had it not been for the ditch, they admitted, they could not have done anything to save the camp. "there'll be no sleep for any of us to-night," said mr. benton. "we'll have to be ready when it gets near enough to keep it from jumping the ditch and the pond. there's nothing else to stop it, certainly." the guides were on watch, beyond the water, like pickets, and before long they were driven in by the advancing fire. the heat was terrific, and, under mr. benton's direction, lines of hose were laid to the lake, and with the windmill that pumped fresh water to give pressure, the hose was played constantly on the roofs and walls of the buildings of the camp, to make it harder for flying sparks to set them afire. there was plenty of hose, and as the fire advanced jack was thankful for that. water was better than branches and sticks for beating out any fire that leaped the water wall, and the hose was easier to handle, too. soon after eleven great drops of water began to fall, and then there was a steady downpour of rain. "there's your rain, at last, jim," said jack. "you can see how much effect it has. it's like pouring water from a flower pot down a volcano and hoping to put it out. the fire doesn't even know it's raining!" "i guess you're right, jack," said jim. "don't rub it in, though. i'll admit that you saved the situation by making us do what you wanted." now began the real fight with the fire. roaring, bellowing, furious in its onslaught, it swept all about the ditch that held it from its prey. it seemed maddened with rage at the obstacle that man had opposed to its conquering rush, and, raging, it flung sparks and flaming embers at the defenders of the camp. for two hours they worked, looking, through the light of the lurid flames, like fiends. their faces were blackened by the smoke, but they never ceased their efforts. buckets of water were placed all about the clearing, and into these they plunged the cloths that they kept over their faces. other buckets of barley water, with dippers, were also there, and when there was a chance for a moment's pause, they drank deep draughts of the most cooling and refreshing drink that man has yet devised. barley water with a little lemon juice did more to moisten parched throats and mouths than the most elaborate drink could have done. it was food and drink alike. the rain came down to help them all this time, pouring a great volume of water on the fire. and, after about two hours of fighting, the fire was beaten. it had burned over the whole section near the camp. the lake stopped it, and the fire, growling and angry, died away because there was nothing else for it to burn. but the vigil lasted all night. morning saw camp benton standing like an oasis in a desert of blackened trees and stumps. the whole side of the lake was a wilderness. but the camp, thanks to the boy scout fire fighters, was saved. "you're certainly welcome guests!" said mr. benton. "thanks to you, we still have the camp. the trees will grow again. and now i think we can all go to sleep for about twenty-four hours." _the braden books_ far past the frontier. by james a. braden the sub-title "two boy pioneers" indicates the nature of this story--that it has to do with the days when the ohio valley and the northwest country were sparsely settled. such a topic is an unfailing fund of interest to boys, especially when involving a couple of stalwart young men who leave the east to make their fortunes and to incur untold dangers. "strong, vigorous, healthy, manly."--_seattle times_. connecticut boys in the western reserve by james a. braden the author once more sends his heroes toward the setting sun. "in all the glowing enthusiasm of youth, the youngsters seek their fortunes in the great, fertile wilderness of northern ohio, and eventually achieve fair success, though their progress is hindered and sometimes halted by adventures innumerable. it is a lively, wholesome tale, never dull, and absorbing in interest for boys who love the fabled life of the frontier."--chicago tribune. the trail of the seneca by james a. braden in which we follow the romantic careers of john jerome and return kingdom a little farther. these two self-reliant boys are living peaceably in their cabin on the cuyahoga when an indian warrior is found dead in the woods nearby. the seneca accuses john of witchcraft. this means death at the stake if he is captured. they decide that the seneca's charge is made to shield himself, and set out to prove it. mad anthony, then on the ohio, comes to their aid, but all their efforts prove futile and the lone cabin is found in ashes on their return. captives three by james a. braden a tale of frontier life, and how three children--two boys and a girl--attempt to reach the settlements in a canoe, but are captured by the indians. a common enough occurrence in the days of our great-grandfathers has been woven into a thrilling story. the saalfield publishing co, akron, ohio the boy scout series the boy scouts in camp the boy scouts to the rescue the boy scouts on the trail the boy scout fire-fighters the boy scouts afloat the boy scout pathfinders the boy scout automobilists the boy scout aviators the boy scouts' champion recruit the boy scouts' defiance the boy scouts' challenge the boy scouts' victory