A BIG CROWD
Nothing causes quite so much excitement as does a fire. And when the
fire is on your own street, and near your house, and perhaps in the
home of some one you know--why, then there is excitement enough to
cause even the grown-ups to move about quickly.
And this is just what happened when Ted Martin called out:
“I guess your house is on fire, Mr. Cardwell!”
Mr. and Mrs. Martin, as well as their visitor who had brought the two
old photograph albums with him, ran to the door. And you may be sure
that Janet was there ahead of them, for she had heard what her brother
shouted. William, also, was right there, making his way in and out
among chairs until he finally pushed through between Ted’s legs as that
lad stood on the porch.
“I’m goin’ to fire!” cried the little fellow.
“No, Trouble! You stay here!” commanded Ted, catching hold of him just
in time.
“It is a fire, surely enough,” declared Mrs. Martin, when she had
looked down the street.
“And it’s near my house, if it isn’t in it!” exclaimed Mr. Cardwell.
“Excuse me!” he said hastily, as he pushed his way between Ted and
Janet on the steps. “But I’d better get down there!”
“I’ll come and help,” offered Mr. Martin.
“May I come?” asked Ted.
“No, Son, you stay with your mother,” directed his father.
As the two men hurried out of the front gate, joining the throng that
was running toward the scene of the fire, Mrs. Martin took Trouble by
one hand and Janet by the other and said:
“We’ll just walk down a little way to see what’s going on. Come along,
Ted.”
Much pleased that he did not have to stay away altogether from the
fire, the Curlytop lad followed his mother and the others. The engines
were already on hand, and it was their puffing and tooting of whistles
that had made some of the noise.
“It isn’t Mr. Cardwell’s house, though,” said Mrs. Martin, when she and
the Curlytops, with Trouble, had gone far enough down the street to see
just where the fire was. “It’s next door to him.”
“I wouldn’t want a fire next door to me,” sighed Janet.
“I would!” cried Ted. “You could see it fine!”
“A fire is a terrible thing,” said Mrs. Martin. “We shouldn’t want one
anywhere near us.”
“Oh, no, of course not! I don’t exactly _want_ one,” admitted Ted. “But
if one has _got_ to come I wish it would be near our house, but not in
it, so I could see it good.”
“This isn’t a very big fire,” observed Janet, when they had watched for
a few minutes. “I guess it’s out now.”
“I hope so,” said her mother.
And such proved to be the case, for in a little while the firemen who
had rushed into the home of Mr. Blakeson, next door to the residence of
Mr. Cardwell, came out with a long, thin hose. It was the hose from the
chemical engine, and not the big water hose.
“It was only a fire in the chimney,” said Mr. Martin, as he came
walking back with Mr. Cardwell. “No damage done, but the folks were
pretty well frightened. They put it out with chemicals.”
“How could a chimney be on fire?” Jan wanted to know. “A chimney is
brick, and bricks can’t burn.”
“It isn’t the bricks that burn,” her father explained. “But when a
chimney has been used a number of years it gets coated, or lined on
the bricks inside, with soot. Soot contains oils and other things that
burn. Finally, some day, a hot fire sets the soot inside the chimney on
fire, and it burns fiercely. And if it burned long enough it would make
the bricks so hot that they would set fire to the roof or the wooden
parts of the house near them. That’s why a chimney fire is dangerous,
even though the bricks themselves can’t burn.”
“Did they put salt on the fire?” asked Mrs. Martin.
“Ho! Ho!” laughed Ted. “I’ve heard of putting salt on the tail of a
wild bird to tame it, but I didn’t know you put salt on a fire.”
“Yes, you do, sometimes,” stated Mr. Martin. “Salt is said to put out
chimney fires. Some sort of chemical is released when salt is heated,
and this smothers the fire in the chimney. But the firemen put this
fire out, and without any damage being done.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Mrs. Martin, as they went back to the house.
“And I’m glad the fire wasn’t in my house,” remarked Mr. Cardwell. “If
it had been, and if those albums had burned, with those pictures of my
children and my brother’s boy--pictures we never could get again--my
wife and I would have felt very sad. My wife thinks a great deal of
those albums. I’ve been planning for a long time to send them out to my
brother, but we never dared trust them to any one before. I hope you
will take good care of them, Mr. Martin.”
“Oh, I surely will, Mr. Cardwell,” replied the father of the Curlytops.
That night, when the children were in bed and Mr. and Mrs. Martin
were quietly talking over their plans for the coming tour around the
country, Mrs. Martin said:
“I almost wish you didn’t have to bother with those two big albums of
pictures, Dick!”
“Why?” asked her husband.
“Oh, just suppose something happens to them?”
“Nothing will happen to them. I’ll pack them in that small chest I have
down at the store, and we’ll put it in the back of the auto. When we
reach Bentville I’ll give the albums to Mr. Cardwell’s brother. That
will end the matter.”
“I shall be glad when it is ended,” said Mrs. Martin, as she carefully
carried the precious old books of pictures upstairs with her.
“What are you going to do with them, my dear?” asked her husband, as he
noticed what she was doing.
“I thought I’d have them handy so I could pick them up and run out with
them in case our house caught fire during the night.”
“Oh, nonsense!” laughed Mr. Martin. “Nothing is going to happen!”
But it did. Not that night, nor the next night, but before very long,
as you shall read.
Ted and Janet, with Trouble also, were very busy the next day, going
over their toys and playthings to pick out the things they wanted
to take on the tour with them. Jan had a number of dolls, a ball,
some books, a few things she thought her dolls might need and even a
carriage. Ted had picked out some books, his top, a pair of roller
skates and a bow and arrows.
“Why, children, you can’t take all those things!” laughed their mother.
“There wouldn’t be room in the auto, for one thing, and, besides, you
will have no time to play with your toys. We shall be traveling most
of the day, and at night you’ll want to sleep. Don’t take any of those
things.”
After some talk Ted and Janet agreed to limit the toys they would take
with them. Janet picked out the doll she liked best and one book, and
Ted took a ball and a book. As for Trouble----
Well, by the time Mrs. Martin had settled on what the two older
children could take, she had forgotten about Trouble. Then, all of a
sudden, she remembered him.
“Where is William?” she asked.
Ted and Janet looked at each other. They, too, had forgotten their
small brother. But a moment later a cry was heard:
“Come and get me out! Come and get me out!”
“There’s Trouble now!” exclaimed Janet.
“Oh, what has happened to William now?” sighed Mrs. Martin.
By this time Janet had run into the front yard, and from there she
shouted:
“Here’s Trouble! He’s all right! But he’s got his head stuck in the
fence and he can’t get loose!”
Mrs. Martin and Ted rushed out to find that the little boy had stuck
his head in between two pickets of the fence, at a place where one
picket was loose. His head had gone in easily enough, but when he tried
to draw back his ears stuck out so he couldn’t.
“Oh, my poor little William!” said his mother.
“I’ll get him loose!” exclaimed Ted, which he did, by pulling off the
loose picket so there was room enough for his little brother to draw
back his head.
Trouble was frightened, and the skin, back of his ears, was scratched a
little, but otherwise he was not hurt.
“What made you stick your head through the fence like that, William?”
his mother asked him.
“I--now--I was pickin’ a flower to take in the auto with us,” Trouble
explained. “I reached through the fence to get the posie.”
“Oh, the little darling!” murmured Jan, kissing him. “I’ll pick flowers
for you,” she offered. “Don’t stick your head through the fence again.”
She went out and found where her little brother had reached out to
gather some flowers that grew just beyond the fence. He could have
gone out of the gate to get them, but, instead, he reached through the
pickets. Jan picked some blossoms and took them to Trouble.
Such happenings as this did not worry Mrs. Martin much, for so many of
them took place each day that she was getting used to them. Trouble
soon stopped his crying and went out to play with Ted and Janet, while
their mother went on with the preparations for the auto tour.
Mr. Martin, that day, brought home the small, stout box to hold the
Cardwell albums, and they were put in and locked up, ready to be taken
to Mr. Reuben Cardwell of Bentville.
In a few days all was in readiness for the start. Mr. Martin left his
store in charge of his head clerk, the house was closed up, the auto
had been piled with valises, and the tent, for sleeping at night, had
been strapped on the running-board. In piled the Curlytops and Trouble
and Mr. Martin blew the horn.
“Good-by! Good-by!” called friends, neighbors and the playmates of the
children.
“Good-by! Good-by!” echoed the Curlytops.
Just then along came running Jack Turton, a funny little fat chap. He
was all out of breath.
“What’s the matter, Jack? Is there a fire?” asked Mr. Martin, as he was
about to start the auto.
“No, sir. But there’s a terrible big crowd down in the meadow near the
white bridge!” gasped Jack. “Oh, it’s a terrible big crowd, and I’m
going down to see. Maybe there’s somebody drowned!”
Away he rushed, as fast as his fat legs would take him.