A Heroine's Come-Down
MABEL, with the Janitor and four pursuing firemen at her reckless
heels, had made a bold dash through the long corridor that led to Miss
Bonner's room. Owing to a strong upward draft, there was surprisingly
little smoke in this corridor and none at all in Miss Bonner's distant
corner.
Still hotly pursued, Mabel, who had the advantage of knowing exactly
whither she was bound, darted down the narrow aisle, reached into her
desk, and, unselfishly passing by sundry dearly loved treasures of her
own, seized the fat brown purse. Such joy to find it when so many of
the desks had been stripped of their contents!
She was none too soon, for the next moment the Janitor's hands had
closed upon her and, plump as she was, the sturdy fellow easily
carried her out of the room, although Mabel protested crossly that she
would much rather walk. In this uncomfortable fashion they reached the
corridor.
[Illustration: THE STURDY FELLOW CARRIED HER OUT OF THE ROOM.]
"Not that way--not that way!" shouted the firemen, pointing towards
a glowing, spreading patch on the ceiling of the main hall. "It's
breaking through--you can't reach the door! It's not safe at that end."
"Down to the basement!" shouted the Janitor, nodding toward a narrow
doorway, through which the men promptly vanished.
Then, seemingly, a new thought assailed the Janitor.
"Open door number twelve," he shouted after the men.
Then, hurriedly pushing up a sliding door at the safest end of the hall
and murmuring "Quicker this way," the Janitor unceremoniously lifted
Mabel and dropped her down the big dust-chute.
What a place for a heroine! In spite of her surprise, Mabel felt
deeply mortified. It was humiliating enough for a would-be rescuer to
be rescued; but to be dropped down a horrid, stuffy dust-chute and
to land with a queer, springy thud on a pile of sliding stuff--the
contents of a dozen or more waste-baskets and the results of
innumerable sweepings--was worse.
In a very few seconds, the hasty Janitor had opened the lower door of
the chute and, with the firemen standing by, was calmly hauling her out
by her feet--Oh! She could _never_ tell that part of it.
And then, as if that were not bad enough, that inconsiderate Janitor
seized her by the elbow and hurried her right into the coal bin, forced
her to march over eighty tons of black, dusty, sliding coal and finally
compelled her to crawl--yes, _crawl_--out of a small basement window on
the safest side of the building. The only explanation that the rescuer
vouchsafed was a gruff statement that the fire was "More to the other
end" and that short-cuts saved time. Mabel tried to tell him what
_she_ thought about it, but the Janitor seemed too excited to listen.
Of course, by this time, the Bennetts, the Cottagers, the firemen, the
Janitor's wife and most of the bystanders were in a perfectly dreadful
state of mind; for the coal-hole window was not on their side of the
building--Mabel was glad of that--so none of her friends witnessed
her exit. The Cottagers, in particular, were clutching each other and
fairly quaking with fear when a familiar voice behind them panted
breathlessly:
"I saved it, girls."
Jean, Marjory and Bettie wheeled as one girl. It was certainly Mabel's
voice, the shape and size were Mabel's, but the color----
"Oh!" cried Jean, in a horrified tone. "Are you _burned_? Are you all
burned up to a crisp?"
But thoughtful Bettie, after one searching look to make certain that
it really was Mabel, had not stopped to ask questions, nor to hear
them answered. She remembered that the Bennetts were still anxious
concerning their missing daughter, and straightway flew to relieve
their minds.
"She's safe, Mabel's safe," she shouted, running to the Bennetts, to
Mr. Black, to the Tuckers, to all Mabel's friends, and completely
forgetting her own usual shyness. "Yes, she's all safe. No, not burned;
just scorched, I guess."
Then everybody crowded around Mabel. Mrs. Bennett was about to kiss
her, but desisted just in time.
"Mabel!" she cried, as Jean had done. "Are you burned?"
"No," mumbled Mabel, indignantly. "I'm not even singed. I--I just came
out through the coal hole, but you needn't tell. That horrid Janitor
dragged me out over a whole mountain of coal."
"Thank Heaven!" breathed Mrs. Bennett.
"Huh!" snorted Mabel, "that's a mighty queer thing to thank Heaven for,
when it was only last night that I had a perfectly good bath. That's
the meanest Janitor----"
"Where is he?" demanded Dr. Bennett, eagerly. "I must thank him."
"Yes," said Mrs. Bennett, "I must thank him too."
"And I," said Dr. Tucker, "should like to shake hands with him."
And would you believe it! Not a soul had a word of praise for Mabel's
bravery. Not a person commended her for saving that precious purse.
Instead, the local paper devoted a whole column to lauding the prompt
action of that sickening Janitor, Dr. Bennett gave him a splendid gold
watch, the School Board recommended him for a Carnegie medal--all
because of the dust-chute.
"Don't let me hear any more," Dr. Bennett said that night, "about that
miserable two dollars and forty-seven cents. I'd rather give you two
hundred and forty-seven dollars than have you take such risks."
"Yes, sir," rejoined Mabel, meekly. "But you didn't say anything like
that day before yesterday when I asked for three more cents to make it
an even two-fifty. I must say I don't understand grown folks."
"Mabel, you go--go take that bath. And when you're clean enough to
kiss, come back and say good-night."
"Yes, sir," sighed Mabel, "but I _do_ wish I _could_ raise three more
cents."
Mr. Bennett fished two quarters and three pennies from his pocket and
handed them to Mabel.
"There," said he, "you have an even three dollars, but I hope you won't
consider it necessary to rescue them in case of any more fires."
Fortunately, there were no more fires; but the original one made up for
this lack by lasting for an astonishing length of time. For seven days
the school building continued to burn in a safe but expensive manner;
for the eighty tons of coal over which Mabel had walked so unwillingly
had caught fire late in the afternoon and had burned steadily until
entirely reduced to ashes. It was a strange, uncanny sight after dark
to see the mighty ruin still lighted by a fitful glare from within.
Only the four walls, the bare outer shell of the huge structure,
remained. You see, all the rest of it had been wood--and steam pipes.
Every splinter of wood was gone; but the pipes, and there seemed to
be miles of them, were twisted like mighty serpents. They filled the
cellar and seemed fairly to writhe in the scarlet glow. It made one
think of dragons and volcanoes and things like that; and caused creepy
feelings in one's spine.
Even the dust-chute was gone. Mabel was glad of that. She hated to
think of the Janitor proudly pointing it out to visitors and saying:
"I once dropped a girl down there."