A FIRE DEPARTMENT RUN
“Well, boys, how did you make out at the game?” asked Mr. Smith, as his
three sturdy sons tramped into the house a little later.
“Fine,” answered Pete. “It was a close game, but we won.”
“Good!” exclaimed the father. “I wish I’d been there.”
“What’s Mrs. Murdock got for supper?” demanded Bill, as he sniffed
various odors coming from the kitchen. “I hope it’s roast lamb!”
“I want sausage and potatoes!” cried Pete.
“Get out! It’s too early for sausage,” asserted Cap. “Guess again,
Pete.”
“What is it, Mrs. Murdock?” demanded Bill, as the housekeeper just then
entered the room.
“Roast beef and baked potatoes,” she answered, and there was a chorus
of delighted howls.
“Fine!” cried Bill a second afterward making a rush for the buxom lady
who had kept house for Mr. Smith, since his wife’s death some years
before. The other brothers, following Bill’s lead, tried to kiss her at
the same time, but she shut herself up in the pantry for refuge, and
declared that they would not only be the cause of making the potatoes
burn, but would also spoil the roast if they did not raise the siege.
So they capitulated, and a little later were sitting down to a meal,
with such appetites as only bless those who play ball.
And while the meal is in progress I will take the opportunity of
introducing you to the Smith lads a little more formally.
There were three of them, as you have guessed, John the eldest, then
William, or “Bill,” as he was always called, and Pete, the youngest.
They lived with their father and the housekeeper in a large, old
fashioned house in the town of Freeport, on the Waydell river. Across
the stream was the town of Vandalia, and, as told in the first volume
of this series, entitled “Those Smith Boys,” there was much rivalry
between the two places.
In the initial volume it was related how the Smith boys, who were
always getting into mischief, but who did not mean to do wrong, started
off a handcar, which ran away down grade on the new line of the Green
Valley Railroad.
The handcar rushed through the railroad construction camp, knocked down
a water tank, crashed into the tent of the chief surveyor, and made
such a rumpus generally that the Smith boys, fearing the consequences,
ran away.
It was a question whether the railroad would locate a station at
Vandalia or at Freeport, and the decision was almost in favor of
Freeport when the Smith boys, played their unfortunate trick. Then
the chief surveyor determined to place the depot in Vandalia, out of
revenge.
The Smith brothers had many adventures during the time they were away
from home. They were looking for a thumbless man, whom they suspected
of having robbed their father, and in their journeyings fell in with
Theophilus Clatter, a traveling vendor of patent medicines, patent
soap and a patent stain remover. They also met with Duodecimo Donaldby,
who posed as a rain-maker, or a horse doctor, as suited his convenience.
The boys became traveling showmen to aid in the work of selling the
patent medicine and soap, after their friend, Mr. Clatter, had been
arrested for telling fortunes, and all the while the lads kept a
lookout for the thumbless man.
How they found him, and overheard him discussing a plot to rob the
paycar of the railroad, how they frustrated his plans, saved the car
and won the gratitude of the railroad officials is told of in the book.
Also how it was decided, as a sort of a reward for what the Smith boys
had done, to locate the railroad depot in Freeport after all. So the
thoughtless prank of the lads turned out well after all.
Part of the money stolen from Mr. Smith was recovered, and the boys
also received a reward from the railroad company. Their father had
planned to send them to Westfield Academy, immediately after their
return from journeying about the country, but his financial and other
matters prevented, so the boys had spent the winter helping him.
Mr. Smith’s business affairs were now in good shape, and he was quite
well off, so he determined that with the opening of the fall term at
Westfield, his sons should attend there.
All summer the boys had been having a good time at various sports, of
which baseball was chief. They were valued members of the Freeport
nine, and it looked as though they would do more than their share in
helping that team win the pennant. Only a few more games remained to
be played before the season would be over.
“And then for Westfield,” remarked Pete at the supper table that night,
as they talked over their plans.
“I hope we can get on the nine there,” said Cap.
“Oh, sure we can,” declared Bill.
“Well, just because you can pitch well in the county league, doesn’t
say that you’ll make good at Westville,” objected Cap. “They play big
college teams there, you know.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of a college team,” said his brother. “We’ll make
the nine—you see.”
“Hark! What’s that?” asked Pete suddenly, listening intently.
The sound of a tree toad came in through the opened window.
“Bateye Jones,” murmured Cap.
“Are you boys going out?” asked Mr. Smith, looking up quickly from the
paper he was reading, as he heard the name of the lads’ chum.
“We—er—that is we thought of it,” replied Bill.
“Well I do hope you won’t get into any more mischief,” went on their
father. “I’m about tired of hearing everything that happens in this
town laid to ‘Those Smith Boys.’”
“So are we, dad!” exclaimed Cap. “And half of the things that are done
aren’t up to us at all.”
“Well, perhaps that’s so. But be careful now.”
“Yes,” they promised in a chorus, as they hurried out to meet Bat-Eye.
And they really meant to do as they had said, but they were full of
life and energy, and—well, you know how it is yourselves. Things
don’t always turn out as you think they will.
A little later six figures might have been seen hurrying away across
lots in the rear of the Smith homestead. There had been some earnest
whispering before their departure, and from the manner in which they
hastened away it might have been argued, by anyone who knew the lads,
that something was going to happen.
Then, a few seconds after the six had melted away in the darkness, two
other figures rose up from the deep grass where they had been hiding.
“There they go, Beantoe,” whispered one lad. “I wonder what’s up?”
“We’ll soon find out, Spider,” was the response. “Come on, we can
easily follow them.”
Cautiously the two sped on in the blackness. Just ahead of them could
be seen the group of six, and, from time to time, the twain could hear
the voices of the Smith Boys, and their chums, Bateye Jones, Doc Lutken
and Norton Tonkin.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” whispered Beantoe.
“Naw, but we don’t need to. We’ll just follow ’em.”
The six led their shadowers quite a chase, and it was not until half an
hour later that the foremost lad turned into a vacant lot that stood on
the outskirts of the town. In the middle of the lot was a tumble-down
barn and shed, long disused, and useful only as an abiding place for an
occasional tramp.
“Gee whizz!” exclaimed Beantoe, as he and his crony sank down out of
sight in the grass, for the six had come to a halt in front of the
ancient structure. “Gee whizz! All this round-about way, when they
could have walked down the road to this place in ten minutes.”
“That’s all right,” argued Spider. “That shows that something is up.
They didn’t want to be seen coming here, and so they went around
through the lots. Say, do you know what I think?”
“No, but I know what I think! I think we’re chumps for coming after
them! What does it amount to, anyhow?”
“I’ll tell you,” whispered Spider. “They have a secret society, and
they hold meetings here. That’s why they go about it so carefully. But
they can’t fool us. We’re right here, and we’ll sneak up, hear all they
say, and then where will their secret society be, I’d like to know?”
“Do you really think so?”
“I’m sure of it. Look, they’re going in the barn.”
The two lads who were hiding in the grass, just beyond the fence that
enclosed the old shed, raised their heads and looked. Surely enough the
Smith boys and their friends were entering the deserted barn.
“Let’s go up and listen,” proposed Spider.
“No, wait awhile,” advised Beantoe. “Give ’em a chance to get started,
and we can hear all they say.”
“They’re making a light!” exclaimed Spider.
“Sure! Maybe they’re going to initiate new candidates into their
society. They think they’re great stuff, but wait until they find out
that we know all their secrets and passwords. Then they’ll come down
off their high horses.”
“Sure! Come on up now. They must be started by this time.”
Carefully getting up from their hiding places the two spies cautiously
advanced toward the old barn.
“They’re lighting up all over,” observed Beantoe eagerly. “Must be
going to have a regular celebration.”
“I guess so. Come on over on this side. There’s a little window that we
can look in.”
Spider was leading the way, and, just as he reached the window in
question, his companion, as was his habit, unfortunately stumbled over
a stone.
“Oh, there you go again, Beantoe!” exclaimed Spider wrathfully.
“I—I know it,” admitted his crony. “Gee horse, but it hurts!”
“Well, keep quiet and come on. I guess—”
But what Spider guessed he never told, for at that moment there was a
rush of figures from the barn, and the two spies were surrounded.
“We’ve caught ’em!” cried Cap Smith gleefully.
“Who are they?” asked Bill.
“I’ve got Beantoe Pudder,” announced Doc Lutken, making a grab for the
stumbling lad.
“And here’s Spider Langdon,” added Pete Smith, taking a tighter hold of
the struggling youth.
“What were they doing?” inquired Cap.
“Following us, of course,” said Norton Tonkin.
“We were not!” denied Beantoe, but the evidence was against him.
“I wonder what they want?” asked Bill.
“They must have known what we were going to do, and they want to squeal
on us,” suggested Bateye. “What shall we do?”
“Is it too late to stop it?” asked Bill, with a glance toward the barn.
Inside could be seen several flickering lights.
“Sure, it’s going hard,” answered Pete. “We can’t put it out.”
“Then let’s make ’em stand for it,” suggested Bateye. “They’ll squeal
anyhow, so let’s make ’em take their share of the blame. It won’t
amount to much anyhow, for dad was going to have the place pulled down,
and he won’t care what happens to it. We’ll tie Beantoe and Spider to
the fence here, and run and give the alarm. The firemen will loosen ’em
when they get here.”
“Oh, don’t tie us up!” pleaded Beantoe in alarm.
“No, don’t leave us here!” begged Spider. “We’ll never say a word about
your secret society. Not a word, honest we won’t!”
“Who said anything about a secret society?” demanded Bill.
“Why, ain’t that what you came out to the barn for?” asked Beantoe.
“And did you follow us to hear the secrets?” inquired Pete, beginning
to understand something.
Beantoe and Spider maintained a discreet silence.
“By Jinks! that’s it, fellows!” cried Bill. “Say, this is rich! Tie ’em
to the fence, and leave ’em. Then we’ll give the alarm! Say, this is
great!”
“Oh, don’t tie us! We won’t tell!” wailed Beantoe and Spider in a
chorus.
But their foes were relentless, and in a few minutes the two spies
were secured to the fence across the road from the barn. Meanwhile the
flickering lights in the old structure had increased. Smoke was pouring
from the windows and doors.
“There, you can tell any story you like now,” said Pete, as he fastened
the last knot. “Maybe they’ll believe you and maybe they won’t.”
“Oh, we Smith boys will be blamed anyhow,” was Bill’s grumbling opinion.
“Then we might as well have the game as the name. Come on, it’s going
good now. We’ll give the department something to do.”
With a final look at the barn, and the lads who were tied to the fence,
the Smith boys and their chums began to run down the road in the
direction of the town. As they left, the whole interior of the rickety
structure was lighted up, and the smoke poured out thicker than ever.
“They’ve set the barn on fire!” yelled Beantoe, as he struggled to get
loose.
“And they’re going to put the blame on us,” added Spider, threshing
about with his long legs.
“But we’ll tell who did it!”
“What good will that do, when they find us here. Besides those fellows
will give the alarm, and that will throw suspicion off them.”
“But look how we’re tied.”
“I know it, but they’ll say we did it ourselves. Oh, I wish we hadn’t
followed those Smith boys!”
“So do I!”
Swiftly running down the road, the boys in question, and their chums,
set up a loud cry:
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
They were on the outskirts of the town now, and the yell was soon taken
up by many voices.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
“Where is it?” demanded several.
“The barn on my father’s place,” answered Bateye Jones pantingly.
Some one rang the alarm bell on the tower of the hose house.
The few firemen on duty began to rush about, and hitched up the horses.
Other volunteers from nearby houses hastened to the hose house. A red
glare could be seen reflected on the sky. The fire department at last
had a chance for a run, and the members rejoiced in it, for there had
been many days of inactivity. It mattered not that the barn was a
worthless structure, better burned than left standing. It was a chance
to get out the new apparatus, and must not be missed.
The hose wagon and chemical engine combined rattled out of the house.
Men shouted various unimportant directions. The horses were scarcely
awake.
“There they go!” exulted Bateye as he and the others prepared to race
back to the scene they had so recently left.
“S’pose they find out we did it?” asked Pete.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Bateye. “I got leave from dad to burn the
barn, only he didn’t know I was going to do it to-night. He wants to
put up a silo for cattle fodder on the place, so the barn had to come
down, anyhow, and burning was the easiest way. But I thought we might
as well have some fun out of it while we’re at it.”
“Sure!” agreed Cap Smith.
And then the boys, and scores of others, ran on, while voices
multiplied the cry of:
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”