It was useless for Ned to protest that he was not a burglar, nor a burglar's partner, or to tell the true story of the ladder, or to ask to be taken to his father. The policeman considered himself too wise for any such delusive tricks.
"Mr. Rogers's boy, eh?" said he. "Why don't you call yourself George Washington's boy, while you're about it?"
"Washington never had any boys," said Ned.
"Didn't eh? Well, now, I congratulate George on that. A respectable man never knows what his sons may come to, in these times."
"Washington didn't live in these times," said Ned; "he died hundreds of years ago."
"Did, eh?" said the policeman. "I see that you're a great scholard; you can go above me in the history class, young man. I never was no scholard myself, but I know one when I see him; and I always feel bad to put a scholard in quod."
"If I had my printing-office and a gun here," said Ned, "I'd put plenty of quads into you."
"Would, eh?" said the policeman. "Well, now, it's lucky for me that that are printing-office and them ere quads are quietly reposing to-night in the dusky realms of imagination, aint it, young man? But here's the quodIspoke about—it's reality, you see." And they ascended the steps of the station-house.
In the midst of sound sleep, I woke on hearing my name called, and saw the dark outlines of a human head and shoulders at my window, projected against a background of illuminated sky. I had heard Father reading an article in the evening paper about a gang of burglars being in the town, and I suppose that in my half-wakened condition that mingled itself vaguely in my thoughts with the idea of fire. At any rate, I seized a pitcher of water and threw its contents toward the light, and then, clubbing the pitcher, was about to make a desperate assault on the supposed burglar, when he spoke again.
"What are you doing? Don't you know me?"
"Oh, is that you, Fay?"
"Yes, and you've drenched me through and through," said he, as he climbed in.
"That's too bad," said I. "I didn't know what I was about."
"It's a tremendous fire," said he, "and I hate to lose the time to go back home and change my clothes. Besides, I don't know that I could, for we made a rope of the bedclothes and slid down from our window, and I couldn't climb up again."
"Oh, never mind, put on a suit of mine," said I, and got out my Sunday suit, the only clothes I had that seemed likely to be large enough for Phaeton. It was a tight squeeze, but he got into them.
"Why did you make your ladder so short?" said he.
"It reaches to the ground," said I.
"No, it doesn't," said Phaeton; "I had hard work to get started on it. I expected to find Ned standing at the foot of it, but he was so impatient to see the fire, I suppose he couldn't wait for us."
We dropped from the shortened ladder to the ground, passed out at the gate and shut it noiselessly behind us, and then broke into a run toward that quarter of the town where both a pillar of flame and a pillar of cloud rose through the night and lured us on.
At the same time our mouths opened themselves by instinct, and that thrilling word "Fire!" was paid out continuously, like a sparkling ribbon, as we ran.
RUNNING WITH THE MACHINE.
RUNNING WITH THE MACHINE.
Presently we heard a tremendous noise behind us,—a combination of rumble, rattle, and shout. It was Red Rover Three going to the fire. She was for some reason a little belated, and was trying to make up lost time. At least forty men had their hands on the drag-rope, and were taking her along at a lively rate, while the two who held the tongue and steered the engine, being obliged to run at the same time, had all they could do. The foreman was standing on the top, with a large tin trumpet in his hand, through which he occasionally shouted an order to the men.
"Let's take hold of the drag-rope and run with her," said Phaeton.
If I had been disposed to make any objection, I had no opportunity, for Phaeton immediately made a dive for a place where there was a longer interval than usual between the men, and seized the rope. Not to follow him would have seemed like desertion, and I thought if I was ever to be a boy of spirit, this was the time to begin.
When a boy for the first time laid his hand upon the drag-rope of an engine under swift motion, he experienced a thrill of mingled joy and fear to which nothing else in boy-life is comparable. If he missed his hold, or tired too soon, he would almost certainly be thrown to the ground and run over. If he could hang on, and make his legs fly fast enough, he might consider himself as sharing in the glory when the machine rolled proudly up in the light of the burning building, and was welcomed with a shout.
There comes to most men, in early manhood, a single moment which perhaps equals this in its delicious blending of fear and rapture—but let us leave that to the poets.
Phaeton and I hung on with a good grip, while the inspiration of the fire in sight, and the enthusiasm of our company, seemed to lend us more than our usual strength and speed. But before we reached the fire, a noise was heard on a street that ran into ours at an angle some distance ahead. The foreman's ear caught it instantly, and he knew it was Cataract Eight doing her best in order to strike into the main road ahead of us.
"Jump her, men! jump her!" he shouted, and pounded on the brakes with his tin trumpet.
The eighty legs and four wheels on which Red Rover Three was making her way to the fire each doubled its speed, while forty mouths yelled "Ki yi!" and the excited foreman repeated his admonition to "Jump her, boys! jump her!"
Phaeton and I hung on for dear life, though I expected every moment to find myself unable to hang on any longer. Sometimes we measured the ground in a sort of seven-league-boot style, and again we seemed to be only as rags fastened to the rope and fluttering in the wind. The men at the tongue were tossed about in all sorts of ways. Sometimes one would be lying on his breast on the end of it where it curved up like a horse's neck, and the next minute one or both of them would be thrown almost under it. Whenever a wheel struck an uneven paving-stone, these men would be jerked violently to one side, and we could feel the shock all along the rope. It seemed sometimes as if the engine was simply being hurled through the air, occasionally swooping down enough in its flight to touch the ground and rebound again. All the while the church-bells of the city, in the hands of sextons doubly excited by fire and fees, kept up a direful clang. I doubt whether the celebrated clang of Apollo's silver bow could at all compare with it.
As we neared the forks of the road, the foreman yelled and pounded yet more vociferously, and through the din we could hear that Cataract Eight was doing the same thing. At last we shot by the corner just in time to compel our rival to fall in behind us, and a minute or two later we burst through the great ring of people that surrounded the fire, and made our entrance, as it were, upon the stage, with the roaring, crackling flames of three tall buildings for our mighty foot-lights.
We had jumped her.
The fire was in the Novelty Works—an establishment where were manufactured all sorts of small wares in wood and iron. The works occupied three buildings, pretty close together, surrounded by a small strip of yard. Either because the firemen, from the recent demoralization of the department, were long in coming upon the ground, or for some other reason, the fire was under good headway, and all three buildings were in flames, before a drop of water was thrown.
Phaeton whispered to me that we had better get away from the engine now, or they might expect us to work at the brakes; so we dodged back and forth through the crowd, and came out in front of the fire at another point. Here we met Monkey Roe, who had run with Red Rover's hose-cart, was flushed with excitement, and was evidently enjoying the fire most heartily.
"Oh, she's a big one!" said he, "probably the biggest we ever had in this town—or will be, before she gets through. I have great hopes of that old shanty across the road; it ought to have been burned down long ago. If this keeps on much longer, that'll have to go. Don't you see the paint peeling off already?"
The "old shanty" referred to was a large wooden building used as a furniture factory, and it certainly did look as if Monkey's warmest hopes would be realized. I observed that he wore a broad belt of red leather, on which was inscribed the legend:
"Monkey," said I, "what's that?"
"Why, don't you know that?" said he; "that's Red Rover's motto."
"Yes, of course it is," said I; "but what does it mean?"
"It means," said Monkey, with solemn emphasis, "we have washed Eight, we can wash Eight, and we will wash Eight."
There were older people than Monkey Roe to whom the washing of Eight, rather than the extinguishing of fires, was the chief end of a company's existence.
"Yes," said I, catching some of Monkey's enthusiasm, in addition to what I had already acquired by running with Red Rover, "I think we can wash her."
The next moment I was pierced through and through by pangs of conscience. Here was I, a boy whose uncle was a member of Cataract Eight, and who ought, therefore, to have been a warm admirer and partisan of that company, not only running to a fire with her deadly rival, but openly expressing the opinion that she could be washed. But such is the force of circumstances in their relative distance,—smaller ones that are near us often counterbalancing much larger ones that happen, for the moment, to be a little farther off. It did not occur to me to be ashamed of myself for expressing an opinion which was not founded on a single fact of any kind whatever. The consciences of very few people seem ever to be troubled on that point.
"The Hook-and-Ladder is short-handed to-night," said Monkey. "I think I'll take an axe."
"What does he mean by taking an axe?" said I to Phaeton.
"I don't know," said Phaeton; "let's follow him, and find out."
Monkey passed around the corner into the next street, where stood a very long, light carriage, with two or three ladders upon it and a few axes in sockets on the sides. These axes differed from ordinary ones in having the corner of the head prolonged into a savage-looking spike.
Monkey spoke to the man in charge, who handed him an axe and a fireman's hat. This hat was made of heavy sole-leather, painted black, the crown being rounded into a hemisphere, and the rim extended behind so that it covered his shoulder-blades. On the front was a shield ornamented with two crossed ladders, a trumpet, and a large figure2.
He took the axe, and put on the hat, leaving his own, and at the man's direction went to where a dozen axe-men were chopping at one side of a two-story wooden building that made a sort of connecting-link between the Novelty Works and the next large block.
Monkey seemed to hew away with the best of them; and, though they were continually changing about, we could always tell him from the rest by his shorter stature and the fact that his hat seemed too large for him.
Before long, a dozen firemen, with a tall ladder on their shoulders, appeared from somewhere, and quickly raised it against the building. Three of them then mounted it, dragging up a pole with an enormous iron hook at the end. But there was no projection at the edge of the roof into which they could fix the hook.
"Stay where you are," shouted the foreman to them through his trumpet. Then to the assistant foreman he shouted:
"Send up your lightest man to cut a place."
The assistant foreman looked about him, seized on Monkey as the lightest man, and hastily ordered him up.
The next instant, Monkey was going up the ladder, axe in hand, passed the men who were holding the hook, and stepped upon the roof. While he stood there, we could see him plainly, a dark form against a lurid background, as with a few swift strokes he cut a hole in the roof, perhaps a foot from the edge.
The hook was lifted once more, and its point settled into the place thus prepared for it. The pole that formed the handle of the hook reached in a long slope nearly to the ground, and a heavy rope formed a continuation of it. At the order of the foreman, something like a hundred men seized this rope and stretched themselves out in line for a big pull. At the same time, some of the firemen near the building, seeing the first tongues of flame leap out of the window nearest to the ladder,—for the fire had somehow got into this wooden building also,—hastily pulled down the ladder, leaving Monkey standing on the roof, with no apparent means of escape.
A visible shudder ran through the crowd, followed by shouts of "Raise the ladder again!"
The ladder was seized by many hands, but in a minute more it was evident that it would be useless to raise it, for the flames were pouring out of every window, and nobody could have passed up or down it alive.
"Stand from under!" shouted Monkey, and threw his axe to the ground.
Then, getting cautiously over the edge, he seized the hook with both hands, threw his feet over it, thus swinging his body beneath it, and came down the pole and the rope hand over hand, like his agile namesake, amid the thundering plaudits of the multitude.
As soon as he was safely landed, the men at the rope braced themselves for a pull, and with a "Yo, heave, ho!" the whole side of the building was torn off and came over into the street with a deafening crash, while a vast fountain of fire arose from its ruins, and the crowd swayed back as the heat struck upon their faces.
By this time the engines had got into position, stretched their hose, and were playing away vigorously. The foremen were sometimes bawling through their trumpets, and sometimes battering them to pieces in excitement. The men that held the nozzles and directed the streams were gradually working their way nearer and nearer to the buildings, as the water deadened portions of the fire and diminished the heat. And, through all the din and uproar, we could hear the steady, alternating thud of the brakes as they struck the engine-boxes on either side. Occasionally this motion on some particular engine would be quickened for a few minutes, just after a vigorous oration by the foreman; but it generally settled back into the regular pace.
And now a crack appeared in the front wall of one of the tall brick buildings, near the corner, running all the way from ground to roof. A suppressed shout from the crowd signified that all had noticed it, and served as a warning to the hose-men to look out for themselves.
The crack grew wider at the top. The immense side wall began to totter, then hung poised for a few breathless seconds, and at last broke from the rest of the building and rushed down to ruin.
It fell upon the burning wreck of the wooden structure, and sent sparks and fire-brands flying for scores of yards in every direction.
The hose-men crept up once more under the now dangerous front wall, and sent their streams in at the windows, where a mass of living flame seemed to drink up the water as fast as it could be delivered, and only to increase thereby.
It might have been ten minutes, or it might have been an hour, after the falling of the side wall,—time passes so strangely during excitement,—when another great murmur from the crowd announced the trembling of the front wall. The hose-men were obliged to drop the nozzles and run for their lives.
After the preliminary tremor which always occurs, either in reality or in the spectator's imagination, the front wall doubled itself down by a diagonal fold, breaking off on a line running from the top of the side wall still standing to the bottom of the one that had fallen, and piling itself in a crumbled mass, out of which rose a great cloud of dust from broken plaster.
The two other brick buildings, notwithstanding thousands of gallons of water were thrown into them, burned on fiercely till they burned themselves out. But no more walls fell, and, for weeks afterward, the four stories of empty and blackened ruin towered in a continual menace above their surroundings.
The old shanty which Monkey Roe had hoped would burn, had been saved by the unwearied exertions of the firemen, who from the moment the engines were in action had kept it continually wet.
"The best of the fire was over," as an habitual fire-goer expressed it, the crowd was thinning out, and Phaeton and I went to look for Ned, who, poor fellow! was pining in a dungeon where he could only look through iron bars upon a square of reddened sky.
We had hardly started upon this quest when several church-bells struck up a fresh alarm, and the news ran from mouth to mouth that there was another fire; but nobody seemed to know exactly where it was.
"Let's follow one of the engines," said Phaeton; and this time we cast our lot with Rough-and-Ready Seven—not with hand on the drag-ropes to assist in jumping her, but rather as ornamental tail-pieces.
"I think I shall take an axe this time," said Phaeton, as we ran along.
"I've no doubt you could handle one as well as Monkey Roe," said I,—"that is,"—and here I hesitated somewhat, "if you had on an easy suit of clothes. Mine seem to be a little too tight to give perfectly free play to your arms."
"Oh, as to that," said Phaeton, who had fairly caught the fireman fever, "if I find the coat too tight, I can throw it off."
The new fire proved to be at Mr. Glidden's house. It had probably caught from cinders wafted from the great fire and falling upon the steps. All about the front door was in a blaze.
At the sight of this, Phaeton seemed to become doubly excited. He rushed to the Hook-and-Ladder carriage, and came back in a minute with an axe in his hand and a fireman's hat on his head, which proved somewhat too large for him, and gave him the appearance of the victorious gladiator in Gérôme's famous picture.
He seemed now to consider himself a veteran fireman, and, without orders from anybody, rushed up to the side door and assaulted it vigorously, shivering it, with a few blows, into a mass of splinters.
He passed in through the wreck, and, for a few minutes, was lost to sight. I barely caught a glimpse of a man passing in behind him. What took place inside of the house, I learned afterward.
Miss Glidden had been sitting up reading "Ivanhoe," and had paid no attention to the great fire, except to look out of the window a few minutes on the first alarm. Hearing this thundering noise at the door, she stepped to the head of the stairs, in a half-dazed condition, and saw ascending them, as she expressed it, "a grotesque creature, in tight clothes, wearing an enormous mediæval helmet, and bearing in his hand a gleaming battle-axe." She could only think him the ghost of a Templar, screamed, and fainted.
The man who had gone in after Phaeton, passed him on the stairs, and soon emerged from the house, bearing the young lady in his arms. It was Jack-in-the-Box.
Phaeton came out a few minutes later, bringing her canary in its cage.
"This must be put in a safe place," said he to me; "Miss Glidden thinks the world of it. I'll run home with it, and come back again." And he ran off, just escaping arrest at the hands of a policeman who thought he was stealing the bird, but who was not able to run fast enough to catch him.
Meanwhile the firemen were preparing to extinguish the new fire. There was no water-supply near enough for a single engine to span the distance. Some of them had been left at the great fire, to continue pouring water upon it, while the chief engineer ordered four of them to take care of this one.
They formed two lines, Red Rover Three and Big Six taking water from the canal and sending it along to Cataract Eight and Rough-and-Ready Seven, who threw it upon the burning house.
As Phaeton, Jack-in-the-Box, Miss Glidden, and the canary emerged from the house, half a dozen men rushed in—some of them firemen, and some citizens who had volunteered their help. In a little while, one of them appeared at an upper window, having in his hands a large looking-glass with an elaborately carved frame. Without stopping to open the window, he dashed the mirror through sash, glass, and all, and as it struck the ground it was shivered into a thousand fragments.
Then another man appeared at the window with an armful of small framed pictures, and, taking them one at a time by the corner, "scaled" them out into the air.
Then the first man appeared again, dragging a mattress. Resting this on the window-sill, he tied a rope around it, and let it down slowly and carefully to the ground.
The second man appeared again in turn; this time with a handsome china wash-bowl and pitcher, which he sent out as if they had been shot from a cannon. In falling, they just escaped smashing the head of a spectator. Bearing in mind, I suppose, the great mercantile principle that a "set" of articles should always be kept together, he hurriedly threw after them such others as he found on the wash-stand,—the cake of soap striking the chief engineer in the neck, while the tall, heavy slop-jar—hurled last of all to complete the set—turned some beautiful somersaults, emptying its contents on Lukey Finnerty, and landed in the midst of a table full of glassware which had been brought out from the dining-room.
Next appeared, at another upper window, two men carrying a bureau that proved to be too large to go through. With that promptness which is so necessary in great emergencies, one of the men instantly picked up his axe, and, with two or three blows, cut the bureau in two in the middle, after which both halves were quickly bundled through the window and fell to the ground.
The next thing they saved was a small, open book-case filled with handsomely bound books. They brought it to the window, with all the books upon it, rested one end on the sill, and then, tripping up its heels, started it on the hyperbolic curve made and provided for projectiles of its class. If the Commissioner of Patents could have seen it careering through the air, he would have rejected all future applications for a monopoly in revolving book-cases. When it reached the ground, there was a general diffusion of good literature.
They finally discovered, in some forgotten closet, a large number of dusty hats and bonnets of a by-gone day, and came down the stairs carefully bringing a dozen or two of them. Close behind them followed the other two, one having his arms full of pillows and bolsters, while the other carried three lengths of old stove-pipe.
"We saved what we could," said one, with an evident consciousness of having done his duty.
"Yes," said another, "and it's too hot to go back there, though there's lots of furniture that hasn't been touched yet."
"What a pity!" said several of the bystanders.
Meanwhile the Hook-and-Ladder company had fastened one of their great hooks in the edge of the roof, and were hauling away with a "Yo, heave, ho!" to pull off the side of the house. They had only got it fairly started, separated from the rest of the frame by a crack of not more than five or six inches, when the chief engineer came up and ordered them to desist, as he expected to be able to extinguish the fire.
And now the engines were in full play. A little trap-door in the top of Cataract Eight's box was open, and the assistant foreman of Red Rover Three was holding in it the nozzle of Three's hose, which discharged a terrific stream.
The same was true of Big Six and Rough-and-Ready Seven.
I never heard a more eloquent orator than the foreman of Cataract Eight, as he stood on the box of his engine, pounded with his trumpet on the air-chamber, and exhorted the men to "down with the brakes!" "shake her up lively!" "rattle the irons!" "don't be washed!" etc., all of which expressions seemed to have one meaning, and the brakes came down upon the edges of the box like the blows of a trip-hammer, making the engine dance about as if it were of pasteboard.
The foreman of Red Rover Three was also excited, and things in that quarter were equally lively.
For a considerable time it was an even contest. Eight's box was kept almost full of water, and no more; while it seemed as if both companies had attained the utmost rapidity of stroke that flesh and bones were capable of, or wood and iron could endure.
But at last four fresh men, belonging to Red Rover Three, who had been on some detached service, came up, leaped upon the box, and each putting a foot upon the brakes, added a few pounds to their momentum.
The water rose rapidly in Eight's box, and in about a minute completely overflowed it, drenching the legs of her men, and making everything disagreeable in the vicinity.
A shout went up from the bystanders, and Three's men instantly stopped work, took off their hats, and gave three tremendous cheers.
We had washed her.
Big Six was trying to do the same thing by Rough-and-Ready Seven, and had almost succeeded when the hose burst. Phaeton and I were standing within a step of the spot where it gave way, and we ourselves were washed.
"Let's go home," said he, as he surrendered his axe and fire-hat to a Hook-and-Ladder man.
"Yes," said I, "it's time. They've poured water enough into that house to float the Ark, and all the best of the fire is over."
As we left the scene of our labors, I observed that my Sunday coat, besides being drenched, was split open across the back.
"Phaeton," said I, "you forgot to throw off my coat when you went to work with the axe, didn't you?"
"That's so," said he. "The fact is, I suppose I must have been a little excited."
"I've no doubt you were," said I. "Putting out fires and saving property is very exciting work."
A NEW FIRE-EXTINGUISHER.
A NEW FIRE-EXTINGUISHER.
It was not yet morning, and my rope-ladder was still hanging out when Phaeton and I reached the house. We climbed up, and as soon as he could tie up his wet clothes in a bundle, he went down again and ran home.
When our family were assembled at the breakfast-table, I had to go through those disagreeable explanations which every boy encounters before he arrives at the age when he can do what he pleases without giving a reason for it. At such a time, it seems to a boy as if those who ought to sympathize with him, had set themselves up as determined antagonists, bringing out by questions and comments the most unfavorable phase of everything that has happened, and making him feel that, instead of a misfortune to be pitied, it was a crime to be punished. Looking at it from the boy's side, it is, perhaps, wisest to consider this as a necessary part of man-making discipline; but, from the family's side, it should appear, as it is, a cowardly proceeding.
It was in vain that I strove to interest our family with vivid descriptions of how we jumped Red Rover Three, how we washed Cataract Eight, and how we saved Mr. Glidden's property. I suppose they were deficient in imagination; they could realize nothing but what was before them, visible to the physical eye; their minds continually reverted to the comparatively unimportant question as to how my clothes came to be in so dreadful a condition. As if 'twas any fault of mine that Big Six's hose burst, or as if I could have known that it would burst at that particular spot where Phaeton and I were standing.
The only variation from this one-stringed harp was when they labored ingeniously to make it appear that the jumping, the washing, and the saving would all have been done quite as effectually if I had been snug in bed at home.
Phaeton came over to tell me that Ned was missing.
"I don't wonder that we didn't happen to run across him in that big crowd," said he; "but I shouldn't think he'd stay so long as this. Do you suppose anything can have happened to him?"
"What could happen?" said I.
"He may have taken an axe, and ventured too far into some of the burning buildings," said Phaeton.
"No," said I, after a moment's consideration; "that wouldn't be like Ned. He might be very enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but he wouldn't forget to take care of himself. However, I'll go with you to look for him."
As we went up the street, we came upon Patsy Rafferty and Teddy Dwyer, pushing Phaeton's car before them, with Jimmy the Rhymer in it. They were taking him out to see what remained of the fire. Jimmy said he was getting well rapidly, and expected soon to be about again on his own legs.
His parents never knew who paid the doctor's bill, but thought it must have been the unknown gentleman who was calling him to come across the street when he was run over.
A few rods farther on, we met Ned Rogers walking toward home.
"Hello! Where have you been all this time?" said Phaeton.
"Can't you tell by the feathers?" said Ned.
"What feathers?"
"Jail-bird feathers. I've been locked up in jail all night."
Of course we asked him how that came about, and Ned told us the story of his captivity, which the reader already knows.
"But how did you get out?" said Phaeton.
"Why, when 'Squire Moore came to the office and opened the court, I was brought out the first one. And when I told him my story and whose boy I was, he said of course I was; he'd known Father too many years not to be able to tell one of his chickens as soon as it peeped. He advised me not to meddle any more with burglar things, and then told me to go home. 'Squire Moore's the 'squire for my money! But as for that stupid policeman, I'll sue him for false imprisonment, if Aunt Mercy will let me have the funds to pay a lawyer."
"Aunt Mercy's pretty liberal with you," said Phaeton, "but you may be sure she'll never give you any such amount as that."
When Ned heard of our adventures at the fire, he fairly groaned.
"It would be just like my luck," said he, "if there shouldn't be another good fire in this town for a year."
The lost brother being found, Phaeton said the next thing to be done was to take home the bird he had rescued. I went with him on this errand. As we approached the house, Phaeton carrying the cage, a scene of desolation met our eyes. Nearly everything it contained had been brought out-of-doors, and had sustained more or less injury. The house itself, with all the windows and doors smashed out, the front burned to charcoal, the side so far wrenched apart from the rest of the frame that it could not be replaced, and the whole browned with smoke and drenched with water, was a melancholy wreck.
Mr. Glidden and his son John stood in the yard looking at it, and their countenances, on the whole, were rather sorrowful.
"Good-morning, Mr. Glidden," said Phaeton.
"Good-morning, sir."
"I should like to see Miss Glidden," said Phaeton.
"She is at her aunt's, over on West street," said Mr. Glidden.
Phaeton seemed a little disappointed.
"I've brought home her bird," said he. "I carried it out when the house was on fire, and took it up to our house for safety."
"My sister will be very much obliged to you," said John Glidden. "I'll take charge of it."
Phaeton intimated his entire willingness to run over to West street with the bird at once, saying that he knew the house where she was staying perfectly well; but John said he wouldn't trouble him to do that, and took the cage, which Phaeton gave up with some appearance of reluctance.
"I don't believe the smell of smoke will be good for that bird," said Phaeton, as we walked away. "Canaries are very tender things. He'd better have let me carry it right over to his sister."
"Yes," said I, "and relieve her anxiety of mind about it. But I suppose he and his father are thinking of nothing but the house."
"I don't wonder at that," said Phaeton. "It must be a pretty serious thing to have your house and furniture knocked to pieces in that way. And the water seems to do as much harm as the fire."
"Yes, and the axes more than either," said I. "But it can't be helped. Houses will get on fire once in a while, and then, of course, they must either be put out or torn down."
"I am inclined to think it can be helped," said Phaeton. "I've been struck with an idea this morning, and if it works out as well as I hope, I shall be able to abolish all the engines and axe-men, and put out fires without throwing any water on them."
"That would be a tremendous invention," said I. "What is it?"
"Wait till I get it fully worked out," said he, "and then we'll talk it over. It needs a picture to explain it."
A day or two afterward, Phaeton asked me to go with him to see Jack-in-the-Box, as he had completed his invention, and wanted to consult Jack about it.
"By the way," said he, as we were walking up the street, "I received something this morning which will interest you."
He took from his pocket, and handed me, a note written on delicate scented paper and folded up in a triangle. It was addressed to "Dear Mr. Rogers," and signed "V. Glidden." It acknowledged the receipt of the bird, and thanked him handsomely for his "gallantry in rescuing dear little Chrissy from the flames."
"That's beautiful," said I, as I folded it up and handed it back to Phaeton, who read it again before putting it into his pocket.
"Yes," said he, "that's lovely."
"You never were called 'Mr. Rogers' before, were you?" said I.
"No," said he.
"I tell you what 'tis, Fay," said I, "we're getting along in life."
"Yes," said he; "youth glides by rapidly. It was only a little while ago that we had never run with a machine, never taken an axe at a fire, and—never received a note like this."
"And now," said I, "we—that is, you—have made an invention to abolish all fire departments."
"If it works," said Phaeton.
"I haven't the least doubt that it will," said I, although I had not the remotest idea what it was.
Jack, who had just flagged a train, and was rolling up his flag as we arrived, cordially invited us into his box.
"I want to consult you about one more invention," said Phaeton, "if you're not tired of them."
"Never tired of them," said Jack. "I have found something to admire in every one you've presented, though they were not all exactly practicable. The only way to succeed is to persevere."
"It's very encouraging to hear you say so," said Phaeton. "The thing that I want to consult you about to-day is a method of putting out fires without throwing water upon the houses or chopping them all to pieces."
"That would be a great thing," said Jack. "How do you accomplish it?"
"By smothering them," said Phaeton.
"I know you can smother a small fire with a thick blanket," said Jack, "but how are you going to smother a whole house, when it is in a blaze?"
"If you will look at this drawing," said Phaeton, "you will easily understand my plan." And he produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it.
"I first build a sort of light canvas tent," he continued, "somewhat larger than an ordinary house. It has no opening, except that the bottom is entirely open, and there is a long rope fastened to each of the lower corners. Then I have a balloon, to which this tent is fastened in place of a car. Of course the balloon lifts the tent just as far as the ropes—which are fastened to something—will let it go."
"That's plain enough," said Jack.
"Then," continued Phaeton, "whenever a fire occurs, the firemen (it needs only a few) take these ropes in their hands and start for the fire, the tent and balloon sailing along over their heads. When they get there, they let it go up till the bottom of the tent is higher than the top of the burning house, and then bring it down over the house, so as to inclose it, and hold the edge close against the surface of the ground till the fire is smothered."
"I see," said Jack; "the theory certainly is perfect."
"I have not forgotten," said Phaeton, "that the tent itself might take fire before they could fairly get it down over the house. To prevent that, I have a barrel of water at this point,—below the balloon and above the tent,—and have a few gimlet-holes in the bottom of the barrel; so that there is a continual trickle, which just keeps the tent too wet to take fire easily."
"That's as clear as can be," said Jack. "It's the wet-blanket principle reduced to scientific form."
"And how shall I manage it?" said Phaeton.
"As to that," said Jack, "the most appropriate man to consult is the chief engineer."
HOW A CHURCH FLEW A KITE.
HOW A CHURCH FLEW A KITE.
As soon as possible, Phaeton went down town with his drawing in his pocket, and hunted up the office of the chief engineer. This, he found, was in the engine-house of Deluge One,—a carpeted room, nearly filled with armchairs, having at one end a platform, on which were a sofa and an octagonal desk. The walls were draped with flags, and bore several mottoes, among which were "Ever Ready," "Fearless and Free," and "The Path of Duty is the Path of Glory." Under the last was a huge silver trumpet, hung by a red cord, with large tassels.
This was the room where the business meetings of Deluge One were held, and where the chief engineer had his office. But the young men who were now playing cards and smoking here, told Phaeton the chief engineer was not in, but might be found at Shumway's.
This was a large establishment for the manufacture of clothing, and when Phaeton had finally hunted down his man, he found him to be a cutter,—one of several who stood at high tables and cut out garments for the other tailors to make.
"I've come to consult you about a machine," said Phaeton.
"How did you happen to do that?" said the chief engineer, without looking up.
"A friend of mine—a railroad man—advised me to," said Phaeton.
"Clever fellers, them railroad men," said the chief engineer; "but what's your machine for?"
"For putting out fires," said Phaeton.
"One of them gas arrangements, I suppose," said the chief engineer,—"dangerous to the lives of the men, and no good unless applied in a close room before the fire begins."
"I don't know what you mean by that," said Phaeton; "but there's no gas about mine."
The chief engineer, who all this time had gone on cutting, laid down his shears on the pattern.
"Let's see it," said he.
Phaeton produced his drawing, spread it out before him, and explained it.
"Why, boy," said the chief engineer, "you couldn't—and yet, perhaps, you could—it never would—and still it might—there would be no—but I'm not so sure about that. Let me study this thing."
He planted his elbows on the table, each side of the drawing, brought his head down between his hands, buried his fingers in the mass of his hair, and looked intently at the picture for some minutes.
"Where did you get this?" said he, at last.
"I drew it," said Phaeton; "it's my invention."
"And what do you want me to do about it?"
"I thought perhaps you could help me in getting it into use."
"Just so! Well, leave it with me, and I'll think it over, and you can call again in a few days."
Phaeton did call again, and was told that the chief engineer was holding a meeting in the engine-house. Going over to the engine-house, he found it full of men, and was unable to get in. The next time he called, the chief engineer told him he "hadn't had time to look it over yet." Next time he was "not in." And so it seemed likely to go on forever.
But meanwhile something else took place, which called out Phaeton's inventive powers for exercise in another direction.
It happened that the pastor of the Baptist church, in talking to the Sunday-school, dwelt especially on Sabbath-breaking, and mentioned kite-flying as one of the worst forms of it.
"This very day," said he, "as I was coming to church, I saw three wicked boys flying kites in the public street, and one of them sits in this room now."
A boy who knew whom the pastor referred to, pointed out Monkey Roe.
As many of the school as could, turned and stared at Monkey. The truth was, he had not been flying a kite; but on his way to church he passed two boys who were. It was the universal practice—at that time and in that country, at least—when a boy was flying a kite, for every other boy who passed to ask "how she pulled?" and take the string in his hand a moment to see.
If she pulled hard, the flyer was rather proud to have his friends ask the question and make the test. In fact, I suppose it would hardly have been polite not to ask.
Monkey had just asked this interesting question, and had the string in his hand, when the pastor happened to pass by and see the group. Of course it would have been well if he could have stood up in the Sunday-school, and simply told the fact. But he was not the sort of boy who could do such a thing at any time, and he was especially unable to now, when he was taken by surprise, and felt that an outrage had been committed against his character and reputation.
But perhaps the pastor was not much at fault. He had probably been born and brought up in a breezeless country where kite-flying was unknown, and therefore was ignorant of its amenities.
Just before the school closed, Monkey was struck with a mischievous idea.
"I prophesy," said he to the pastor's son, who sat next to him, "that this church will fly a kite all day next Sunday."
"I should be greatly delighted to see it," answered the pastor's son.
Early Monday morning, Monkey went over to Dublin, and found Owney Geoghegan, who had chased and recovered one of the kites that drew Phaeton's car. Monkey obtained the kite, by trading a jack-knife for it, and carried it home. Every day that week, as soon as school was out, he took it to a large common on the outskirts of the town, and flew it. He thoroughly studied the disposition of that kite. He experimented continually, and found just what arrangement of the bands would make it pull most evenly, just what length of tail would make it stand most steadily, and just what weight of string it would carry best.
It occurred to him that an appropriate motto from Scripture would look well, and he applied to Jack-in-the-Box for one, taking care not to let him know what he wanted it for. Jack suggested one, and Monkey borrowed a marking-pot and brush, and inscribed it in bold letters across the face of the kite.
Finally he procured a good ball of string, a long and strong fish-line, and a small, flat, light wooden hoop, which he carefully covered with tin-foil, obtained at the tobacco-shop.
Saturday night Monkey's mother knew he was out, but not what he was about, and wondered why he stayed so late. If she had gone in search of him, she might have found him in Independence square, moving about in a very mysterious manner. The Baptist church, which had a tall, slender spire, ending in a lightning-rod with a single point, faced this square.
It was a bright, moonlight night, and it must have been after eleven o'clock when Monkey walked into the square with his kite, accompanied by Owney Geoghegan.
Monkey laid the kite flat on the ground near one corner of the square, stationed Owney by it, and then walked slowly to the opposite corner, unwinding the string as he went.
After looking around cautiously and making sure that nobody was crossing the square, he raised his hand and gave a silent signal. Owney hoisted the kite, Monkey ran a few rods, and up she went. He rapidly let out the entire ball of string, and she sailed away into space till she hovered like a night-hawk over the farthest corner of the sleeping city.
The Sunday-school room was hung round with mottoes, printed on shield-shaped tablets, and Monkey had made copies of some of them on similarly shaped pieces of paper, which he fastened upon the string at intervals as he let the kite up.
Among them I remember "Look aloft!" "Time flies!" and "Aspire!"
Then Monkey took up the hoop, and tied the string through a hole that was bored near one edge. Through a similar hole on the opposite side of the hoop, and near the same edge, he tied about a yard of comparatively weak string. To the end of this he tied his long fish-line, which he carefully paid out. The kite sailed still higher and farther away, of course carrying the hoop up into mid-air, where it was plainly visible as the tin-foil glittered in the moonlight.
So far, Monkey's task had all been plain mechanical work, sure of success if only performed with care. But now he had arrived at the difficult part of it, where a great amount of patience and no little sleight-of-hand were necessary. The thing to be done was, to let out just enough string for the kite to carry the hoop exactly as high as the top of the steeple.
It took a vast deal of letting out, and winding in, walking forward, and walking backward, to accomplish this, but at last it seemed to be done. Then he must walk back and forth till he had brought the hoop not only on a level with the top of the spire, but directly over it, which took more time. As the strings were fastened at one edge of the hoop, of course it remained constantly horizontal.
When, at last, Monkey had brought it exactly over the point of the lightning-rod, he carefully and steadily brought the hand in which he held the string down to the ground. The hoop encircled and slid down the rod, and, after two hours' hard work, his task was virtually done. He had now only to walk up to the church, and give a steady, hard, downward pull at the fish-line, when the weak piece of string that fastened it to the hoop snapped in two. Winding up the fish-line, he slipped it into his pocket, looked about once more, said good-night to Owney, walked rapidly home, and went softly up to bed.
Sunday morning dawned beautifully, and everybody in town, who ever went to meeting at all, prepared for church. As the time for services approached, the bells rang out melodiously; down every street of residences, door after door opened, as individuals and families stepped forth, attired in their best, and soon the sidewalks were full of people passing in every direction.
Somebody discovered the kite, and pointed it out to somebody else, who stopped to look at it, and attracted the attention of others; and thus the news spread. A few groups paused to gaze and wonder, but most of the people passed on quietly to their respective places of worship.