THE GREAT FIRE
A startled exclamation came from the front room. A moment later Mr.
Powell, wrapped in a bathrobe, stumbled sleepily into Jane’s room.
Jane could see Mrs. Powell’s face peering at her, white and startled,
over her husband’s shoulder.
Jane pointed with unsteady hand at the dancing red light on the wall.
“Fire!” she cried again, in a breathless voice. “It must be a
terrible one!”
Mr. Powell flung himself across the room to peer from the window. At
the same moment the hideous shriek of a siren rent the air.
“The fire department is on the job,” muttered Mr. Powell. “It’s a
regular blaze, all right! Look at that sky!”
“Is it near by, Dink?” Mrs. Powell’s teeth chattered with excitement.
“Can you see where it is?”
Jane had ducked beneath Mr. Powell’s arm and was staring out with
dilated eyes at the sky that was stained bright red.
“Maybe it’s the grocery store!” she cried. “Oh, I do hope Billy
Dobson doesn’t keep his invention there!”
With an exclamation of anxiety and dread Mr. Powell jerked himself
from the window and started to leave the room. His wife caught him by
the arm.
“Where do you think it is?” she cried.
“Seems to be right in the center of town,” returned her husband. “I’m
worried about Martin and Hull!”
“Oh!” cried Jane, following out into the hall. “Do you think it’s the
feed and grain place?”
“I think it is!” replied Mr. Powell, as he flung into his room. “But
you can bet I’m going to find out! I’ve got some papers in my desk
that I’m going after, if it is!”
In a short time he came out of the room again fully dressed and Jane
heard him clatter down the stairs.
“Don’t bother to dress,” he called up to his wife. “The fire will
probably be out soon and not much damage done. I’ll be home as soon
as I can.” The door slammed behind him.
All this time Jane had been standing at her window looking out,
fascinated by the illuminated sky. Now she heard a noise in the
doorway and turned sharply.
Mrs. Powell was there.
“I’m going out, Jane,” said the older woman in a strained voice. “I’m
dreadfully worried. If it really is Martin and Hull’s, nobody--police
nor fireman--can keep Dink from rushing in for those papers.”
“Wait a minute and I’ll be with you,” Jane cried.
It never took long for Jane to dress. This time it did not take as
long as usual. She flung on her clothes and ran down the stairs
two at a time just after Mrs. Powell had opened the front door and
stepped into the street.
Other people had been alarmed by the red glow in the sky and by the
wailing siren of Greenville’s fire department.
Mad Marion and her sister Lydia joined Mrs. Powell and Jane almost
immediately. The former was in a pitiful state of excitement and
alarm while the “granite sister” appeared entirely unmoved. Lydia
scarcely spoke except to tell Marion not “to talk so much.”
People began to straggle from the houses, looking sleepy and
frightened.
A large fire in Greenville might easily prove a serious thing.
The small fire department was probably inadequate to cope with
anything but small unimportant fires. And to make things worse, a
brisk breeze had sprung up--a breeze that might whip the flames from
house to house, perhaps destroying the entire town.
Such was the anxious prophecy that fell in fragmentary sentences from
the lips of passersby--people who were running toward the fire.
Mrs. Powell and Jane started to run, too, caught in the general
hysteria.
Jane clutched at the arm of a man who seemed to have come from the
scene of the fire and whose face was grave and anxious.
“What is it?” cried the girl. “Is it the grocery store?”
The man shook his head.
“Feed and grain place--Martin and Hull’s,” he replied briefly.
“Better keep away from there, girl. The walls are apt to cave in any
minute, and then some one may get hurt!”
Mrs. Powell gave a cry that was very terrible to Jane’s ears.
“He’s in there! He’s in there, fighting that fire! I knew it!” Mrs.
Powell muttered, as she took Jane’s arm and hurried her along. “Oh,
what shall I do? What shall I do?”
“He won’t get hurt. Uncle Dink won’t get hurt!” Jane’s teeth were
chattering so that she could scarcely force the words between them.
“P--probably the man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Oh, please
don’t look that way, Aunt Lou! Please d--don’t!”
“Hurry, Jane! Hurry!” Mrs. Powell’s grip upon the girl’s arm was
almost painful. She broke into a swift run. “We may be too late!”
Other people were running, other faces were lined and anxious, but
Mrs. Powell did not seem to notice them.
At the next corner she stopped short and her voice rose almost to a
shriek as she pointed ahead of them.
“Look! It _is_ the feed and grain place! Oh, Dink, Dink, where are
you?”
It was a magnificent spectacle for any one who could enjoy it.
The granaries of Martin and Hull were one mass of flame, shooting
skyward. Showers of sparks and burning brands fell on the roofs of
buildings near by only to hiss and go out on timbers watered by the
fire-fighters.
Against the flaming background black figures crawled or ran,
pigmy-like, against the unleashed giant they were fighting. It seemed
an unfair battle with only one result possible.
Before Jane could stop her Mrs. Powell broke away and ran toward the
burning buildings. The heat almost blistered her face, but she did
not stop until a fireman caught her and pushed her backward.
“Can’t go any nearer, lady,” said the man, looking pityingly at her
haggard face. “You’ve got to get back. Do you walk or will I have to
carry you? Say which, quick I ain’t got no time to waste!”
“My husband!” gasped Mrs. Powell. “He’s in there! I’ve got to get to
him----”
There was a wild shout. People began running backward.
The burning wall of the building nearest the street swayed for an
awful second; then, like the wall of a card house, toppled to the
street.
A wild wailing sound that was horrible to hear rose from the
spectators.