THE GREAT OIL DOCK FIRE.
After remaining near the Pollox mansion for some time, Larry walked
across town, took an elevated train and rode down to his own home, on
Second avenue.
As he passed up the semi-dark stairway he heard talking in the kitchen
of the rooms he and Kate occupied.
“Yer needn’t git on yer high-hoss about it,” came in the voice of Bill
Buck. “I ain’t goin’ ter hurt yer, Kate Barlow.”
“I want you to go away, Bill Buck,” was the reply from Kate, and her
voice trembled with emotion. “I don’t want your attentions, so there!”
“But why won’t yer be nice ter me? It won’t cost yer nuthin’.”
“I won’t—that’s why. Now go.”
“Not so fast, I ain’t goin’ just yet.”
As he spoke, Bill Buck stepped toward Kate, who started to retreat to
the next room.
He was close to the girl when of a sudden he received a blow in the ear
that all but paralyzed him.
“Leave my sister alone!” came in a stern command from Larry. “Leave her
alone, you impudent rascal.”
“Larry!” ejaculated Kate, much relieved. “Oh, how glad I am that you
are here.”
“Wot did yer hit me fer?” demanded Bill Buck, as he staggered away from
the table against which our hero’s blow had sent him. “Do you want ter
fight?”
“If you don’t get out in a hurry I’ll kick you down the stairs,”
returned Larry. “And don’t you dare show your face in this house again,
or dare to say a word to my sister on the street.”
“Won’t I? You t’ink——”
What Bill Buck thought Larry thought was never expressed in words, for
without further ceremony our hero caught him by the shoulder, swung him
around and started him for the hallway.
“Lem—lemme go!” screamed the big newsboy, but Larry’s blood was up,
and with a rush he carried Bill Buck to the stairs and gave him a
shove. Bump! bump! bump! down the stairs went the fellow, howling with
pain and fright. Before he could get up, Larry was on him again, and
down the next stairs went the newsboy, yelling louder than ever. Then
Larry finished by rushing him across the sidewalk and into the gutter,
with a parting kick that Bill Buck remembered for long afterward.
“I’ll wager he won’t come here again,” he said to Kate, on coming
upstairs again. “He’s scared out of his skin.”
“I hope he doesn’t come again,” she answered. “I was awfully frightened
when he came in.”
Kate was much worked up and it took some time to calm her down. She had
been expecting Larry, knowing it was his day off, and asked why he had
not come earlier.
When he told his story of what had occurred at the Pollox mansion her
face grew grave.
“What a villain he must be, Larry!” was her comment.
“That’s just what I think.”
“What shall you do next?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to think it over.”
“Be careful he doesn’t try to get you in his power.”
“I shall keep my eyes open—don’t fear,” he answered.
Larry spent a pleasant evening at home with Kate. Before retiring he
took another look at his model of an extension ladder.
“I’m going to do something with this before long,” he said; “just as
soon as I can get to the bottom of the mystery concerning father’s
disappearance.”
The following morning found Larry at the engine house as usual. During
the next three days there were several small fires, but nothing of any
importance.
“We’re having an easy spell of it,” said Randall, “but we’ll have to
pay up for it, mark my words.”
It was the truth, for on the following day, late in the afternoon,
a large and particularly nasty fire broke out on one of the docks
fronting the East River.
The dock was piled high with lumber and barrels of oil, and by the time
the firemen got there was burning fiercely in a dozen places.
“Here’s an all night job, boys,” muttered one of the men. “And
something hot, too.”
The oil made a fearful blaze and a roaring which attracted thousands to
the scene.
As the burning barrels burst, the oil floated out into the river and
set fire to several small craft which could not be gotten out of the
way quick enough.
Of course the river and harbor fireboats came to the scene, but they
had their hands full with boats, so that the fire on the dock itself
was left almost entirely to the land department.
Larry helped to stretch several lines of hose onto the dock and did his
full share at the front. It was hard work, and by midnight everybody
was all but exhausted. Yet the firemen had to stick to their duty, and
they did, in the face of a heat which was fairly blistering.
“My, but this is a corker,” gasped Larry, as he ran back to get a
whiff of cool air. The sparks burnt him on the neck and the eyebrows,
and they would have burnt his clothing had he not been saturated with
water. The smoke caused the tears to run down his cheeks in streams.
“It’s a big one,” answered the foreman. “We’ll do well to keep it from
spreading.”
To the north of the dock was a long basin, separating that dock from
the next. In this basin several vessels had been lying, but all had
escaped save one, a two-masted schooner, of the square, old-fashioned
type.
The schooner now took fire above, her masts and tarred ropes burning
like so many huge torches and fiery wands.
“She’s a goner,” muttered Larry, as he saw the fire descend to the deck
and begin to lick up the tiny forecastle.
Of a sudden there came a loud cry from the schooner, as a sailor rushed
from the cabin.
“Save me!” roared the sailor, who had been sleeping so soundly he had
heard nothing of the conflagration.
Scarcely had he spoken when a number of barrels of oil close to the
edge of the dock began to explode. The burning fluid was carried in all
directions, and soon the whole forward part of the schooner’s deck was
in flames. The sailor went shrieking back to the cabin, thinking his
escape cut off.
“He must be saved,” cried the chief of the fire department, who had
come on the scene.
He called for volunteers, and Larry and another fireman named Burnam
stepped forward.
There was no time to argue the matter, and in a trice both our hero and
Burnam were making their way toward the schooner.
They had to leap over a stream of burning oil to gain the deck. The
smoke was thick, and the heat more intense than ever.
Keeping close together, they ran into the cabin and found the sailor
on his knees praying to Heaven that he might be spared the torture of
being burnt alive.
“Come quick!” cried Larry, and caught the dazed man by the arm.
“But the fire—it is all around the ship!” gasped the seafaring man.
“No—there is one way to escape—but you must hurry, or it may be cut
off,” said Burnam.
Together they got the sailor to the deck. The fire had now reached
another stack of barrels and again the oil was popping loudly and
sending the sheets of flame in all directions.
Then of a sudden came a heavy explosion, which lifted the schooner high
in the air. Down she came with a loud splash, and then began to sink.