AN ALARM OF FIRE
Maple Ridge and Chase were natural rivals. The schools were similar
in character and size and had been founded within five years of each
other, whatever advantage pertained to seniority belonging to Chase.
The rivalry was keen and healthy, being founded on mutual respect and
governed by a spirit of justice. Each school struggled hard every year
to wrest from the other the football, baseball and hockey supremacy,
but the best of feeling always prevailed. Some of the other schools
thereabouts, notably Dixon, poked sly fun at the brotherly attitude
displayed by the rivals and told funny stories about them, one being
that when in their football contests it became necessary for a Chase
man to tackle a Maple Ridge player, or vice versa, the tackler
invariably apologized profusely beforehand for the liberty he was about
to take!
When an athletic team from Chase visited Maple Ridge it was entertained
at dinner before the contest, and the same thing happened when Maple
Ridge went to Chase. But in spite of such amenities no two school teams
battled more determinedly for victory year after year. And because
Chase thought the Maple Ridge students a fine lot of fellows and
because Maple Ridge respected Chase in the same way, a victory over
its rival was something for either to be proud of and to celebrate
gloriously. Save in the matter of track and field sports, Chase and
Maple Ridge had always been pretty evenly matched. During the period
of athletic relationship, which had begun almost with the beginning
of Maple Ridge School, Chase had captured a majority of the football
contests and Maple Ridge had had the better of the baseball arguments.
Last year the Light Green had defeated Chase on the diamond without
much difficulty, and, since it seldom happened that either school won
twice in succession, precedent pointed now to a victory for the Brown.
But Dolph and his team weren’t bowing to precedent. Dolph believed
that this year’s Maple Ridge team was better than last year’s. Besides
which Maple Ridge had the advantage of playing on her own diamond. So
Maple Ridge went to bed on Friday night feeling hopeful and cheerful,
all thoughts fixed on the morrow.
But it is one thing to go to bed and another to sleep. So Jack
discovered that night. There had been no practice in the afternoon,
which, while it may have saved the players from becoming tired or
overtrained, left them at a loss for occupation. Jack had found the
time dragging sadly. He and Sam and Chester Harris had gone for a walk
along the Ridge, but it had been hot and close in the woods and they
had soon returned to school. For one he was heartily glad when supper
time arrived. Afterwards some of the fellows had visited Number 12 for
awhile and the next day’s game had been threshed out most thoroughly
until nine o’clock. Mr. Shay had prescribed bed at half-past for all
players and substitutes, and Sam and Jack obeyed the injunction. Sam
had fallen off into a sound slumber almost as soon as his head had
touched the pillow, for Sam had lived through other nights before the
battle and wasn’t troubled much with nerves, anyway. But with Jack it
had been different. For the first hour he had lain in bed with his eyes
wide open and his thoughts very busy with the morrow’s contest and
his chances of getting into it. His race with Will Watkins for right
field position had got on his nerves until now it seemed that to lose
the prize would be a bigger disappointment than he could stand. In the
morning he would have a saner view of it, but to-night, as he threshed
about on the bed, sleepless and flustered, the one thing in life was to
beat out Watkins.
Eleven o’clock sounded. By now he had worked himself into a condition
that made slumber quite impossible. It was a warm night, too, and his
constant tossing about had made him hot and uncomfortable. Near at
hand was the wide-open window. Disentangling himself from the single
sheet, which in his restlessness had become wound around him like the
wrappings of a mummy, he crept out of bed as quietly as possible, so
as not to disturb Sam, drew a chair to the window and, putting his
elbows on the ledge, leaned out into the cooler night air. That was
better. There was no moon, but the stars were bright and he could see
the strip of lawn that stretched between the back of South and the
stone wall, beyond which lay the Finkler orchard. The apple trees
had long since showered the ground with their pink petals and now
the leaves were well out and the trees massed themselves darkly. Yet
between them, in the direction of the Finkler house, a light shone,
and Jack wondered idly if any one were sick there or if the gruff old
farmer regularly kept such late hours.
There wasn’t a sound to be heard save at a distance the incessant
barking of a dog. The night air cooled Jack’s hot head and his busy
brain quieted down. He was pondering the idea of returning to bed when
his attention was attracted again to the light between the trees. It
had brightened and reddened and now it showed above the orchard in
an orange colored glow. Could it be a fire? He looked intently and
listened. Once he thought he heard the sound of shouting, but the
barking of the dog drowned all other sounds. Suddenly the glow above
the trees changed from orange to a dull, ugly red and Jack could
discern smoke and sparks. With a bound he reached Sam’s bed and shook
that youth into waking.
“Sam, there’s a fire over here. Looks like Finkler’s house. Come and
look.”
Sam was out of bed in a second and leaning across the sill at Jack’s
side, rubbed his sleepy eyes into service.
“Fire! I should say so! And that’s Finkler’s place, sure as pop.
There’s no other house in that direction for a mile. Hoopla! Me for the
fire!”
Jack made a dash for his clothes, overturning a chair.
“But can we go?” asked Jack excitedly.
“Sure! Get your things on. I’ll run down and tell Talcott and he will
give the alarm.” Sam was hustling into his shirt and trousers as he
spoke, and the next instant he was out of the room and hurrying down
the stairs to the Physical Director’s room on the first floor. Jack
found his clothes and got into them hastily, watching meanwhile the
glow above the orchard. Every moment it grew and brightened. Sam came
running back.
“Where are my shoes?” he gasped. “Talcott says we can go ahead, Jack.
Are you dressed? There goes the alarm!”
At the head of the staircase the big fire gong was pealing lustily and
doors were being thrown open up and down the corridor.
“Come on!” shouted Sam. “Grab a bucket in the lower hall. The others
will follow. Talcott says he will send the extinguishers around by the
road. That’s Finkler’s as sure as fighting!”
The next moment, evading the excited questions flung at them from open
doorways, the two boys dashed downstairs, seized each a red bucket
from the rack and sped across the lawn toward the orchard. Shoes and
trousers and shirts constituted their attire, and getting through the
barberry hedge that lined the wall was a painful operation. But once
over and in the orchard the way was easy. They headed straight for the
glow of the fire, dodging the trees, but stumbling over an occasional
root. They didn’t try to talk, but saved their breath for running.
Jack could have outdistanced Sam, who had a good deal more weight to
carry, but he resisted his impatience and kept with his chum. Presently
the orchard thinned and then they were out of it, with only a little
expanse of turf and garden between them and the fire.
“It isn’t the house,” gasped Jack. “It’s beyond. See?”
“Stable or something,” answered Sam, plodding breathlessly along.
“We’ve beat the other fellows, all right!”
The scene was as light as day. The big white house stood out stark
against a glow of flame and a welter of smoke. Upward ascended a stream
of sparks that floated a moment in the still air high up against the
tops of the big elms. In the glare several persons were visible; Farmer
Finkler himself, two of his men, and, near the door of the house, his
daughter. Beside her, Rowdy, the dog, his nose in air, was protesting
loudly at the unaccustomed proceedings. The farmer and his men were
plainly in a condition of panic, for, although a garden hose lay on the
ground spouting water no one made any attempt to direct it against the
flames. The farmer held a bucket, but the fire had grown so hot that
buckets were no longer practical, since it was impossible to get near
enough to the flames to throw water on them. As Jack and Sam ran up the
farmer saw them.
“Seen the engines?” he shouted hoarsely above the roar and crackle of
the flames. “Are they coming?”
“I don’t know, sir,” answered Sam. “We ran across from school. The rest
will be here in a minute with buckets. Guess all you can do, though, is
to keep the house from going.”
“Buckets don’t do any good,” replied Mr. Finkler, tossing his aside as
he spoke. “I telephoned for the engines ten minutes ago. Why don’t they
come?”
“It’s two miles,” said Jack, “and I guess it will take them some time.
I hope you have insurance, sir?”
“Insurance? On the buildings, of course, I have! But there ain’t any on
my horses. Why don’t the engines come?”
Beyond the house, at the side, was an open woodshed some thirty feet
long which connected with a small stable. This was nowadays used only
as a carriage house. Beyond that again, with only a narrow cart-way
between, stood the big barn that was the farmer’s pride and delight.
The land sloped here and the lower floor of the structure, reached
from the back, was used for the cows and for storage. The main floor,
with entrances from the front and further end, held the horse stalls,
harness room, grain bins and farming implements and machinery. Above
were lofts for hay. It was the small carriage house that was in flames,
and even as the boys looked the roof crashed in with a mighty spouting
of sparks. On one side the roof of the woodshed was ablaze and on the
other the end of the big barn was blistering and here and there little
tongues of flame were already working in and out. Jack seized the hose
and pulling it toward the shed played the water on the roof. By that
time the rest of the boys from school began to arrive, and with them
Mr. Talcott. The latter took command of the situation in a minute. A
ladder was found and three boys were sent to the woodshed roof. Others
formed a bucket line from the hydrant in front of the house and water
was passed to the boys on the roof. The hose was directed against the
end of the barn in an endeavor to keep that wet until the engines
arrived. Luckily there was a good water supply from a tower tank a
little distance back of the stable which was filled by means of a
gasoline engine from the brook at the foot of the Ridge. Farmer Finkler
was induced to send one of his men across to the engine house and start
the pump up. The two chemical extinguishers arrived by way of the road
and streams from those were directed against the barn. Meanwhile the
cows on the lower level were being got out by a number of the boys
working under the direction of a farm hand.
To remove the horses, however, was more of a problem, for the main door
to the stable floor was at the corner next to the burning carriage
house and the flames rendered entrance there well-nigh impossible.
Had the big swinging door been open, or even unlocked, it would have
been possible to dash through, but it was secured with a padlock and
no one could have stayed there long enough to use the key. So far,
however, Mr. Talcott’s fire brigade had kept the barn from catching,
and if the engines from Charlemont arrived soon it was probable that
the big building could be saved. But the chemical extinguishers were
soon exhausted and only the hose was left. As by that time the woodshed
roof was pretty well wet down, Mr. Talcott ordered some of the boys to
the high sloping roof of the stable. It was risky work, but there were
plenty of volunteers, and the big ladder was placed against the side
of the barn and half a dozen boys swarmed up it. A new bucket line was
formed and the red pails were passed from hand to hand up the ladder
and along the sloping roof and the water was thrown on the smoking
shingles. Luckily most of the boys wore rubber-soled “sneakers,” which
helped them to keep their feet. Detailing a number of boys to keep
watch on the woodshed and the house, Mr. Talcott found Mr. Finkler.
“This is most unfortunate, sir,” he said. “But I think we can keep
things safe until the fire department arrives. At least, I don’t think
you need worry about the house, Mr. Finkler.”
“The house!” shouted the farmer. “Let it go! It’s the barn we’ve got to
save, sir! I’ve got nineteen horses in there, some of the finest horses
in this state, sir! Why don’t those engines come?”
“They must get here pretty soon now,” answered Mr. Talcott. “Meanwhile
I think we can hold our own. That small building will burn itself out
pretty soon.” He shielded his eyes from the heat and glare and looked
toward it. “The second floor is about ready to tumble in now. Don’t you
think, however, it would be best to get your horses out of the barn?”
“I would if I knew a way,” cried the farmer. “But that’s the only door
except the hay door at the other end, and Joe has the key, and he’s
away to-night. And if we break open the hay door we can’t get the
horses out there. There’s a wall between.”
“This door here is locked?”
“Tight. Here’s the key.” Mr. Finkler opened his hand and displayed it.
“I tried to get to it, but the heat beat me back.”
“Yes, that’s out of the question. Even if it was open I doubt if any
one could get in now. I’ll have a look at the other door you speak of.
You have axes handy?”
“Will’s got one. The others are in the barn.”
At that moment there came cries of alarm from the boys on the roof and
Mr. Talcott hurried toward the ladder.
“What’s the matter?” he called.
“It’s on fire inside, sir! The flames are coming up through the roof on
the back!”