OFF FOR NEW YORK CITY.
“Kate, I’m going to be a New York fireman, after all!”
“How do you know, Larry?”
“Mr. Vern has given me a recommendation to Fire Commissioner Paul
Kessenger.”
“But that doesn’t make the place certain.”
“Doesn’t it? Well, if a Commissioner can’t get a fellow a job, who can?”
“The department may be full.”
“Well, of course, I’ll have to wait my turn—after I have passed the
examination and gone through the school of instruction.”
“Why, Larry, must you go to school?”
“That’s what they call it. Somewhere uptown in New York City they have
what they call a school of instruction for would-be firemen. Everybody
who joins the department has to go to the school for about three
months. Then they hold another examination, and if you pass you are
listed for a regular job as soon as there is an opening.”
“I see. I wonder what they do at the school?”
“Oh, they learn all sorts of things—how to tackle this fire or that,
how to lay down hose and take it up, how to use the regular and the
scaling ladders, how to jump from one building to another, how to carry
hose up a ladder, how to jump out of a sound sleep into your clothes
before you are fully awake, how to leap into nets——”
“Well, they can’t beat you at leaping into a net,” interposed Kate.
“I don’t think they can, come to think of it. But that isn’t all they
learn. They learn how to swing from window to window outside, and how
to form a human bridge by one man taking hold of the other’s ankles,
and how to care for folks who have been overcome with smoke until the
ambulance comes, and how to fight fires that are in cellars or at the
top of tall office buildings, and how to tackle a blaze where there is
gas or oil or something that is liable to explode, and——”
“Mercy on me, Larry, how you do go on! I declare, you’ve got the whole
thing on your finger tips already!”
“Why, Kate, I haven’t begun to learn yet. Ordinary folks haven’t any
idea what a fireman has to know and what he’s expected to do.”
“Well, if I know anything, a fireman has to face more perils than a
soldier.”
“He does, after a fashion—for he’s at it all the time. There isn’t an
hour of the day or night that he isn’t on duty, excepting when he has
his regular day off.”
“Do they have many days off?”
“No, only a few.”
The matter was talked over for some time and Larry decided to go down
to the city on the following Monday morning.
“If I get the job, of course we’ll have to move to New York,” he said.
“You won’t want to stay here alone.”
“No Larry, I’ll go where you go.”
The following Monday noon found our hero in the great metropolis. He
had previously ascertained where he could find the Fire Commissioner
and he called on the gentleman immediately after dinner.
Mr. Kessenger was a whole-souled man, who treated Larry very politely.
“Yes, I know Mr. Vern well,” he said. “We were once stockholders in the
same lumber company.”
Then he read the letter which our hero had brought along.
“So you wish to join the fire department?”
“I do, sir.”
“It is a life full of peril.”
“I know that.”
“Men have sometimes to take big risks.”
Larry nodded.
“I’ll not be afraid.”
“Have you had any experience?”
“A little sir.”
“I was reading of a young fellow the other day, who came from some town
up the river, who did a very brave thing. He would make just such a
fireman as our department is after.”
“What did the fellow do?” asked Larry, with a quiet smile.
“It was at the burning of a large hotel. He was acting as a volunteer
fireman and he saved a young lady’s life by leaping with her from the
roof into a net.”
“Did you read the article very closely, Mr. Kessenger?”
“Why, no; I didn’t have time. Why?”
“Because if you had you would know that the young man was myself and
the young lady who was saved was Mr. Vern’s daughter.”
“Bless my soul, you don’t tell me! Here wait a minute—I have the paper
still.” The Fire Commissioner began to fumble over a pile of papers
in the corner. “Here is the issue, and, yes, here it is. Sure enough,
Lawrence Barlow. Why didn’t you say so before?” And now he wrung
Larry’s hand warmly.
“I wanted to come into the department solely on my merits, Mr.
Kessenger. I don’t believe much in pulls, although I would like you to
give me just a show to get in.”
“You are certainly as modest as you appear to be brave, Barlow. I will
do what I can for you.”
“And when may I expect to hear from you?”
“Let me see, this is Monday. By Wednesday night at the latest.”
“Thank you.”
There were now others waiting to see the Commissioner, so Larry did not
take up any more of his valuable time.
As our hero stepped into the street he felt as though he was walking on
air.
“I know I’ll get in,” he murmured to himself. “And if I do, I’ll do my
best to get to be a captain and maybe the chief.”
Not having anything special to do, Larry decided to devote the
remainder of the day to sight-seeing.
He resolved to go up in the neighborhood where he had seen the two men
who had been talking about his father’s patent elevator lift.
“Who knows but what I may run across them?” he thought. “And if I do
I’ll take precious good care that they don’t get out of sight again in
such a hurry.”
As he walked along under the elevated railroad tracks his attention was
attracted to a copy of one of the big pictorial weeklies which had just
been issued and which a news stand keeper was in the act of spreading
out and tacking up on a bulletin board.
Liking pictures as well as anybody, Larry stepped up to the board and
began to look at them.
Suddenly he started back in surprise. There was a photograph of the
hotel fire with himself in the act of leaping from the roof with Mary
Vern in his arms!
An amateur photographer stopping at the hotel had taken a large
snap-shot of the affair and had sold it to the publishers of the weekly
for a good round sum.
“Well, I never!” gasped Larry, and read the lines under the picture.
They are: “Brave deed of Lawrence Barlow of Ferryville, N. Y. He saves
the life of Mary Vern by leaping from the roof into a net at the
burning of the Riverside Hotel. See page 198.”
And on page 198 was a full account of the fire, written in most glowing
terms and calling him a hero and more.
“Mighty interested in the paper, ain’t you?” said the stand keeper, as
he saw Larry reading all he could of it.
“I ought to be interested,” replied the youth. “There’s a picture of
myself.”
“By Jinks, so it is! Say, I guess you want a paper, don’t you?”
“I certainly do;” and Larry bought it on the spot.
“You ought to be a regular fireman,” went on the news stand keeper.
“I’m going to be—if I can get into the department,” said our hero, and
then he walked off.
With the paper tucked away in his pocket he continued his rambles to
the vicinity of the station where the two men had left the elevated
train. The sight of the city interested him greatly and he often paused
to note what was going on.
Suddenly a little newsboy ran into him full tilt, pitching sideways
into the gutter and spilling his stock of evening papers in all
directions. The little chap had hardly gone down when a big newsboy
lumbered up and collared him.
“Now I’ve got yer!” he cried, and began to cuff the little fellow right
and left.
“Lemme go, Bill Buck!” howled the urchin. “Lemme go! I didn’t do
anything to you!”
“Didn’t yer, dough? Didn’t I tell yer ter keep away from Rafferty’s
corner? Dat’s my beat, dat is!” and again the big boy began hammering
the little lad.
“The corner is public property. I’ve got as much right to sell there as
you have,” howled the little chap, and then he tried to twist himself
free, but the big boy held him tight and dragged him into a nearby
alley, intending to give him a worse drubbing than ever.
Before he could proceed Larry had him by the collar and was hauling him
back.
“Let the little fellow alone, you big brute!” he said sternly. “Let him
alone, or else you’ll have to settle with me!”