CHAPTER XXFIRE!
The Custer School at East Hampton always put a snappy and thoroughly aggressive ball team in the field and Pennington always arranged to crowd that game past the middle of its season, so that there was no chance of the East Hampton boys catching her with an under-developed team.
It was the only over-night trip on the Pennington schedule and Coach Rice summoned the team to appear at the gymnasium ready to take the bus for the three-thirty afternoon train on Friday for a five-hour ride to East Hampton.
It was a lively party that gathered with suitcases, bats and gloves in the big gym. doorway when Terry McCall, the bus driver, swung his big yellow automobile stage down the drive and backed up to receive the load of passengers. Of course, the stage was not large enough to accommodate the whole squad of fourteen boys without crowding and there was a lively scramble for seats and some horse play before they all managed towedge themselves in somehow and get adjusted as the bus started snorting and lurching toward the station.
They only just made the train. It stood puffing impatiently in the station when Terry swung his bus around with a flourish, and the boys streamed out of the rear door and rushed madly for the steps of the day coach. A train trip with a baseball team is always a merry party as Jeff knew for he had taken more than one as a member of the New City Y. M. C. A. team the year before, and he joined in the general fun and gentlemanly boisterousness they indulged in as they took possession of a day coach that held few occupants besides themselves.
But the boisterousness gradually subsided as hour after hour of wearying train travel rolled by, and long before they reached East Hampton even the noisiest of them had long since subsided, raising only an occasional appeal for “eats.”
It was a hungry crew of boys who detrained at East Hampton and made a rush for the Custer School stage that stood backed into the graveled approach waiting for them. And then the clamor that they raised once they got inside was a noisycall for food, for it had been arranged that they would take their evening meal, a little late to be sure, in the dining hall of the school whose baseball team they were to cross bats with the next day.
That evening meal, however, turned out to be a miniature banquet, for the managers of the Custer School team had arranged to have the boys of their squad eat with the Pennington group and a really elaborate spread had been arranged, which was concluded with speeches by the team captains and the coaches and any of the boys who could in any way provide entertainment “stunts.”
The last “stunt” on the program was a really clever dialogue between the Custer School captain, Roy Milliken, and the team’s mascot, “Spike,” a Boston bull dog of very likeable disposition. Roy and Spike talked to each other in “dog language.” Spike, apparently uninvited, jumped on top of the table and stood in front of Roy with one foot in a dish of olives. Roy pretended to be horrified at the dog’s conduct and proceeded to scold the animal in surly tones, whereupon Spike began to talk back in barks andgrowls until he seemed to work himself up to a furious pitch. The little act had all the fellows in stitches before it was concluded and the more they laughed the more Spike seemed to enjoy himself, barking and growling and raising a terrible to-do until Roy affectionately swept him off the table into his arms and gave him several caressing pats on the head before putting him on the floor where he proceeded to make the rounds of the boys in the room, getting acquainted with all the new fellows from Pennington.
Jeff loved dogs and when the animal got around to him he picked him up in his arms and stroked him and playfully pulled his ears, and the dog, satisfied, snuggled down in his arms and stayed there until the party broke up and the boys began to leave for their rooms.
Arrangements had been made to have the Pennington boys occupy extra rooms on the second floor of one of the school buildings during their stay and the entire squad was conducted across the campus by the boys of Custer School with whom they had become really chummy.
It was a big, old fashioned brick building, which a half a century before had represented the entireschool, class rooms, dormitories and master’s quarters all being in the one structure. But the school had grown since and the original building was now one of the minor buildings of the school group and given over entirely to rooms for most of the members of the junior class.
As at Pennington, Jeff and Wade were roommates and it was with a sigh of relief that they found the room they were to occupy, turned on the lights and threw themselves onto the two couch beds that occupied opposite corners.
“Oh, my, I’m tired out,” said Jeff, beginning to unlace his shoes.
“So am I. But we’ve had a bully time so far, haven’t we?”
“I’ll say so,” said Jeff, suppressing a yawn as he kicked off his trousers.
“Some nice fellows at this school. I like ’em all. They are a bunch of huskies, too. Bet they can play ball,” said Wade, crawling into the top piece of his pajamas.
“We’ll know to-morrow, old son. Last in turns out the light. I’m in,” yelled Jeff, tumbling under the blankets and settling down on his pillow.
Wade snapped out the lights and followed Jeff’s example, and in less than five minutes’ time husky snores began to make the room noisy.
A terrific clatter and clanging, yells and the tramp of feet awakened Jeff. He sat bolt upright in bed with a strange frightened feeling. The terrific medley of sounds continued, and above the racket he heard the shriek of a weird whistle—a fire siren.
“Wade! Fire!” he exclaimed. Then he added, “Great cats, the room is full of smoke. It’s here. In this building. Wade! Wade!”
He bounced out of bed and went groping about the room in the blackness trying to find the electric light switch. He found it, snapped it on but no light responded. The electric current had failed.
“Jiminy crickets! No light! This is a mess! Wade! Wade!”
“Wad’deyah wan’?” grumbled Wade sleepily. Jeff heard him toss in his bed.
“Asleep in all this racket. Think of that,” cried Jeff groping toward Wade’s corner of the room. He found the bed and seizing his roommate he shook him roughly.
“Lemme go. Git out, you chump,” grumbled the still sleeping Wade kicking violently at Jeff.
“Come out of this, you chump,” yelled Jeff, seizing him and dragging him from the bed to the floor.
Wade fell out of bed with a thump and grumblingly got to his feet.
“What’s all the infernal racket for, Jeff? What’s— Say, I smell smoke. Jeff! What—!”
“Oh, you do smell smoke, do you? It’s about time. My golly, the house could burn down on top of you and you’d never wake up. Get into some clothes, quick. Remember where you put ’em? Lights are gone. Have to get something on in the dark. Hurry. Room’s full of smoke,” cried Jeff feeling about in places where he remembered putting his clothes.
He found his coat, trousers and shoes, and he made haste to get them all on, meanwhile feeling about him for his suit case that contained his baseball uniform. He found both his own and Wade’s together and seizing them he cried to Wade:
“Come on, for goodness’ sakes. We’re about the last ones in the building I guess.” Coughingwith the smoke that was getting into his lungs as it swept through the room on the draught created by the open window, Jeff crossed the room, stumbling over various articles of clothing that strewed the room. Gropingly he reached the door and found the knob. A moment he waited as he called:
“Wade, are you ready?”
“Yes, let’s get out of here quick,” said Wade, bumping into him as he, too, groped for the door.
“All right. We’ve got to open the door and close it quickly though, because there is no telling what the draught might do in the way of bringing the fire this way. Ready. Let’s go.”
Jeff swung open the door and stepped out into the hall and Wade crowded close behind him. They slammed the door shut with a bang and looked around.
A dull red glow, ugly and sinister, lighted the long hall, and clouds of smoke, thick and black and disconcerting, rolled past them. The noises in the building had ceased but outside they could hear shouts and calls, the tooting of fire engines’ whistles, the sound of breaking glass and theswishing slosh and steady pounding of streams of water.
“My goodness, the firemen have their hose lines going already!” Jeff exclaimed to Wade. “We must be the last ones in the building. All the rest have cleared out long ago.”
“Yes, and I wonder if we are going to get out before we get trapped,” said Wade with an unmistakable note of concern in his voice.
“Sure, we will,” said Jeff with encouragement that he did not entirely feel.
“Well, let’s go. But which way? Listen! What’s that noise? Sounds horrible!” exclaimed Wade.
Jeff listened and cold chills crept up and down his back. It was a steadily growing moaning roar—the voice of the fire as it gathered in volume and swept through the building. A sinister crackling sound accompanied it, too, and the dull glow through the smoke grew brighter.
“Jiminy, that’s some fire,” cried Jeff, becoming slightly panic stricken as he realized how close the fire was.
They started down the hallway together, makingin the direction they felt the stairs must lay. They hurried forward, through the smoke that was thickening fast, protecting their eyes and nose with their free arms while they lugged their suit cases with the other.
“Jiminy, where are those stairs?” panted Wade after a moment.
“Just ahead, I’m sure,” coughed Jeff.
“See any red exit lights? Might be a short way to a fire escape,” said Wade.
“Nope, all the lights in the building are out, evidently. I wonder if the fire started in the power plant in the basement. Bet it did. Seems to me—”
Crash! Bang!
Somewhere down stairs in the building came a terrific, crashing explosion. Jeff and Wade staggered under the concussion, and the whole building shivered and shook for the fraction of a second.
“Great cats, what was that?” cried Wade in real terror.
“Must have been a boiler in the basement. Come on, for goodness’ sakes, let’s get out of here or we’ll be trapped sure,” cried Jeff, for a momentlosing control of himself and permitting utter panic to sway him.
But an instant later he got a firmer grip on himself and began to think more clearly than he had at any time since he first discovered the fire. Thicker, blacker smoke was rolling into the hallway now and behind them Jeff could hear the roar of flames more clearly. There was a peculiar slope to the floor, too, which led Jeff to believe that somewhere down the hall in the direction from which they had come a hole had been torn in the floor by the explosion. He realized instantly that if this were true that hole would create a new draught that would bring the flames up onto their floor in terrific volume.
“Quick, Wade, we’ve got to move mighty fast now or the whole building will be in flames. Wow, there are the stairs. There, right ahead.”
Outlined through the smoke he could see the iron railings of the stairway, and seizing Wade by the arm he plunged toward them, Wade following eagerly beside him.
They reached the top step and started down. Great clouds of thick, black, gaseous smoke were rolling upward toward them. They wonderedvaguely whether they could struggle through them and make the first floor and the open air safely. Down stairs they could hear the flames roaring louder than ever. They could hear the hiss and spatter of hose lines, too, and the thunder of the water pounding against the floor and side walls.
“Must be a ripper of a fire. Listen to the water they are pouring into it,” exclaimed Jeff, as they started down the stair well.
Down they went step by step, working their way cautiously, for by this time they could not see where they were putting their feet and each had a vague fear that at any moment they might step off into space and go tumbling down the stair well, so thick was the smoke. The draught was drawing it up the stair well in ever increasing volume and Jeff realized that ere long the flames would follow. He knew that they must get clear of the stairs as soon as possible and out of the building before many minutes had passed or else they would be doomed. Already they were both nearly suffocated with the terrible nauseating smoke fumes.
They continued on. Presently they reached alanding and a bend in the stairs; as they turned they could behold part of the flame-swept lower story of the building, and they gasped with horror as they realized what a terrific fire was developing there. It was a veritable furnace toward the far end of the structure, and they realized too that the flames were sweeping toward their end of the building with terrifying speed. The structure was surely doomed.
Presently they reached the floor, and found themselves in a cooling draught that came evidently from an opened door that led to the campus. They could not see the doorway for the smoke, but they knew in which direction safety lay and they turned to go.
But as they did, a strangely pitiful sound came to Jeff’s ears. It was the sharp whimper of a dog in pain and fright. It came from somewhere up the hall, and Jeff stopped and clutched Wade’s arm.
“Listen. That must be Spike, their mascot. Bet he’s caught in the building. We ought to save him, Wade, if we can.”
“Yes, but where is he? We ought to save ourselves, too, Jeff. Come on, boy. Don’t take achance. Safety is right ahead. Let’s get out while we can.”
“You go, Wade. There, I heard him again. He must be right here somewheres. You go on out. I’ll follow directly. Just want to find that pup. Go, Wade,” and Jeff shoved his roommate ahead of him toward the door and turned back to find Spike, whose whimper he could still faintly hear.
Jeff was coughing and gagging with the smoke. His lungs felt as if they would burst for want of a breath of pure air and his head spun with the blood that was pent up there, yet he took a half dozen steps into the swirling smoke, calling at the same time in hope that the dog would come to him. Presently he found himself in the stair well again, with the thick black cloud of smoke sweeping past him. He turned and stepped aside to avoid the terrible volume of the smoke borne upward on the draught, and called again and again hopefully. But as far as he could make out not even an answering whimper was uttered.
“Perhaps he’s found his own way out. In that case I guess I’d better be going myself,” said Jeff aloud. Then turning, he started in the directionhe thought the doorway lay. A half dozen steps forward he walked, groping blindly. But his hands came in contact with nothing at all. Had he gone in the right direction? No, the door was this way to the left. He moved to his left a little and tried again, only to presently fetch up against a blank wall. This startled him. Perhaps the door was here. He groped about again, panic mounting swiftly. He stepped briskly forward and the next moment he beheld with terror that he was facing tongues of flames that were advancing toward him.
Hastily he retreated. Then in his excitement he tried to recall which was the front and which was the back of the building, but for the life of him he could not remember. Then suddenly the truth dawned upon him. He was lost—lost in a strange, flame-swept building. He had heard of firemen being in similar circumstances, and he recalled with horror the fate of some of them. More than one had perished in this way. Such thoughts were far from encouraging. What should he do? Which way should he turn? The smoke was terrible—almost unbearable now. He knew that if he did not find the doorway soon he would be overcomewith the fumes and gases and then he knew that he would perish.
The flames were drawing closer, too. Weird lights flashed through the swirling smoke. It suddenly seemed to Jeff that he was surrounded by fire. And he knew that he could not stay in the building much longer and not be overcome. Blindly he started in another direction, hoping again to find the stairs, or the doorway, or perchance a window through which he could get one single breath of fresh air. On he plunged until suddenly he brought up with a bump against a jutting corner in the wall. This did not help him to locate himself. Indeed it confused him more. Here were two passages, one straight in front of him, the other leading off to his right. Which way?
He started on again straight ahead, then suddenly above the roar of the fast approaching flames he heard one terror-stricken howl, followed by a series of whines. Spike again, and he was close at hand. This seemed to steady Jeff’s nerves. He stopped, listened, then called:
“Here, Spike— Where are you— Good old Spike. Come here.”
Again he heard the whine almost at his feet, and reaching down he groped about in the smoke.
His hand came in contact with the animal, huddled beside a bookcase Jeff had not noticed before. Jeff sensed something strange about the animal and immediately began feeling for his collar. Hooking his fingers into it, he drew Spike out of his hiding place and lifted him into his arms, dropping his suit case with its contents of precious baseball paraphernalia which until now he had not realized he had been carrying through all his peril. In the smoke he made a hasty examination of the dog. He was injured. Something had fallen on him, perhaps as a result of the explosion. One side was badly cut and bruised and his two front legs hung limp and helpless.
“Crackey, Spike, you sure got it rough, didn’t you?” said Jeff soothingly. “How did it happen that the fellows went off and left you. Or did you get lost and—and—say, youarecrippled, aren’t you? You can’t get out of here alive alone, that’s sure. I don’t know whether I’m going to get out myself. But we’ll try, old fellow, we’ll try.”
He snuggled the dog close to his chest and then,still protecting his eyes and nose with his crooked arm, he staggered on down the passageway again, hoping that somehow, by the merest chance, the merest good luck, he would find an exit, or perhaps come in contact with some of the firemen who must be fighting the flames inside the building. He knew that he must find relief soon or—
He tripped. Something smooth and round was under his feet. It was a line of hose! Instantly stories he had read and heard told of how firemen had saved themselves under similar circumstances came to his mind. The hose line led somewhere. It was a guide to the way out of the building. Many a fireman, by following a hose line, had found open air, and relief from smoke punishment. They usually followed it on their knees with their faces close to the cold, pulsating rubber, for the water throbbing through the line generated a layer of cold, sweet, fresh air about the hose which could be breathed.
Jeff dropped to his knees and holding his nose on one side of the hose and Spike’s on the other he struggled forward, following the line. On he crawled. His knees and elbows were soon skinned and filled with splinters. But he knew that if hekept on he would sooner or later find a way out. It was hard going and even with his nose to the hose line he could not get enough clear air to overcome the gases he had swallowed. He was growing weaker. He only hoped that he had strength enough to keep up a little longer. He exerted every ounce of will power he possessed and fought stubbornly. Then suddenly, to make the situation more horrible than ever, the hose line began to move. Some one was pulling away from him his only guide to safety. Jeff in desperation clutched at the smooth black rubber tube madly! Slowly it drew away from him! In desperation he half struggled to his feet and shouted frantically! And the next instant he beheld four vague shapes looming out of the smoke and coming toward him. They were firemen. They had come to his rescue.
The firemen half led and half carried Jeff, semi-conscious and still clutching Spike, to the open air and safety. A great shout went up from the crowd outside when they saw them appear in the doorway of the building and make their way through swirling smoke clouds to the campus.
Eager hands seized Jeff and carried him out ofthe danger zone; then with a crowd of Custer and Pennington boys gathered around, Jeff was laid on the grass, and one of the school physicians began to work over him.
“I’m—all—right— Don’t fuss—over—,” said Jeff, after a moment. “Just—give—me—a—drink—of—water.”
The drink was provided and so were restoratives, but the clear, fresh, invigorating air was the best restorative of all, and soon Jeff was able to sit up and grin sheepishly.
At the sight of his smile Wade Grenville set up a wild shout which developed into a cheer that echoed across the whole campus.
“Where’s Spike?” asked Jeff, when the shouts had subsided.
Roy Milliken crowded forward then and shook Jeff’s hand. “Thanks, old fellow,” he said huskily to Jeff. “Spike and I got separated on our way out and I guess he must have thought I was lost and went back to find me. Poor beast got smashed up. A couple of the fellows took him over to the basement of the gym. and made him comfortable. Thanks again, old man; it was a mighty gritty thing to do.”
“Shucks, don’t mention it. I’m going over to the gym. myself and have a plunge.”
“Right-o, go ahead. It will make you feel a heap better. And I’ll get trainer Al Meyers to give you a good alcohol rubdown afterward. Then you’ll be fit to play baseball this afternoon; that is, if there is to be a game.”