THE TENEMENT HOUSE PLOT.
Larry went back to his life as a fireman in a very serious mood. He
could not imagine what had become of Caleb Backstay, and the fact that
he received no word from the old sailor only served to deepen the
mystery.
“I am half inclined to believe our enemies have spirited him away,”
he told Kate. “But I can’t prove it, so there is no use of accusing
anybody.”
For several weeks Larry was kept too busy at his work to think of
anything else. An ordinary fireman in New York has to respond to from
three hundred and fifty to four hundred and fifty calls in a year, and
these calls are frequently bunched, so that on more than one day our
hero went out three, four and even five times, and got soaked through
and had to change his clothing from head to foot. This is the true
slavery of a fireman’s life, and a worker has to be about as tough,
physically, as a car-horse to stand it. Some of those who are not as
strong as they look to be, break down utterly before the first year is
over.
The regular fireman gets but little time to himself, usually some of
his meal hours, one night a week, and about one day a month, unless he
gets other time by special permission, as in the case of those who are
suffering from the effects of service.
What little time Larry had to himself he spent with Kate. Sometimes
he would take her to a concert or to the theater, and at others
he would work over his extension ladder model. The model was now
somewhat improved—he having got some new pointers since joining the
fire department—and was almost ready to be placed in the hands of a
reliable patent agent.
“It ought to bring us in a small fortune,” he said to his sister.
“If it does, you must promise me one thing, Larry,” Kate returned.
“What is that?”
“That you will give up being a fireman. The risk is too great.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the risks, Kate; I rather like them. But if the
patent is a success, I guess I’ll be in for spending all my time on
other inventions, and I’ll have to give up being a fireman on that
account.”
“And then I suppose you’ll marry pretty Mary Vern!” she laughed.
At this Larry got very red.
“She won’t have me, I’m thinking,” he returned, and started to walk off.
“Won’t she?” called Kate after him. “Well, if she don’t want you, don’t
you dare to ask her, that’s all.”
Unknown to Larry, Check Sluggers and Lank Possy were hanging around the
fire house, trying to get their chance at our hero on the sly.
One plan of Slugger’s had failed, and now he was trying to work a new
wrinkle.
He had taken rooms in a big tenement house, the lower rooms of which
were mostly empty.
After securing the rooms and fixing his plot with Possy, he went down
in the cellar of the tenement one night and started up a lively blaze.
The alarm reached the fire-house just as Larry, who was off watch that
night, was going to bed.
“One of our boxes!” murmured Larry to himself, and leaping from the
bed, jumped into his boots, putting on his clothing at the same time.
Then on went his hat, and he slid down the brass pole like greased
lightning. The horses were already in place and soon they were out into
the raw night, for fall was now coming on.
Down the silent street clattered the three horses, and as the engine
swayed from side to side over the uneven pavement, our hero managed to
slip on his coat.
“The third fire today,” muttered one of the laddies. “Never knew it to
miss.”
He meant that there was never a second fire without a third. Many
believe this old saying true, but I hardly think it is.
At last the tenement was gained, and the hose was quickly stretched
from the hydrant on the corner. Other engines were coming, and also a
hook and ladder company, and soon all was bustle and excitement.
Larry’s first duty was to go into the cellar, where the fire was
burning fiercely in the rear. It was warm work, and soon he had to go
out to get some fresh air.
Suddenly a man wearing a slouch hat drawn far down over his brow
brushed up against our hero.
“Safe mine vife!” he whispered, in something of a German dialect. “She
vos on der top floor of de house!”
And then the man disappeared in the crowd.
“By jinks, that voice sounded familiar!” mused Larry. Yet he did not
realize the truth, that the fellow who had spoken to him was Lank Possy
in disguise.
Thinking the man might be somewhat deranged in his mind because of the
fire, Larry hurried up the front stoop of the house.
“Where are you going?” asked Randall.
“A man told me there was a woman at the top of the tenement—I’m going
up to make sure.”
And away went Larry before anybody could stop him.
Lank Possy followed, for as yet the fire had gained no headway at the
top of the house.
Stairs after stairs was climbed by our hero, and at last he stood on
the top floor in the semi-darkness.
He tried one of the doors, and entered a room in which a dim light was
burning.
As he did this, Lank Possy gave a peculiar whistle. Larry did not
notice the whistle at the time, although he remembered it later.
Seeing nobody in the room he had entered, our hero passed on to the
next apartment. Suddenly he felt somebody at his shoulder.
He turned in time to catch a dim, uncertain look at Check Sluggers, and
then down upon his head came a swift blow from an iron bar.
It was Larry’s helmet which saved him. Otherwise his skull must have
been crushed in.
“What are you up to?” he gasped, and caught the bar.
Then Possy came behind him and tripped him up.
“Down with the rat!” hissed Check Sluggers, and pulling the bar away,
hit Larry a glancing blow on the back of the head.
“Don’t!” he groaned, but Sluggers only laughed at his appeal.
“We’ll fix ye!” he cried.
Again the bar was raised, and this blow made Larry go down as if shot.
“Good!” cried Sluggers. “That was a dandy!”
“Now what shall we do?” asked Lank Possy, in a trembling voice. “There
may be others coming up.”
“I’ve got it all fixed,” answered his companion in crime. “See that
closet?”
He pointed to one corner of the room.
“Yes.”
“We’ll lock him in that.”
“But——”
“No buts now, Possy. Catch hold, and be quick about it!”
Both caught hold of our hero’s motionless form and dragged it to a
clothing closet. He was bundled in roughly, and then Check Sluggers
closed the door and locked it.
“That settles you, Larry Barlow,” he cried, and threw the key away.
“But the fire may not reach this far,” said Possy. “The engines are
already hard at work.”
“The fire will reach this far,” chuckled Check Sluggers; “now run and
get to the roof of the next house just as soon as you can.”
As Possy began to climb out of a hallway window, Sluggers lit a match
and, from the doorway, threw it into some scattered straw on the floor.
For one brief instant there was but a tiny light. Then followed a
flash, and in a moment the room was ablaze from end to end. The man ran
after Possy with all of his might.
Sluggers had made his calculations with care. He knew all about the
tenement next door and had rightfully calculated that all the tenants
would be in an uproar because of the fire.
With a quick leap Possy gained the window next door, and let himself
into a room which was just being vacated.
Sluggers came after him.
“We’ve had a narrow escape!” cried Sluggers to a man who was carrying a
trunk downstairs. “I can tell you, it don’t always pay to try to save
your things.”
“Well, I’m going to save this trunk,” answered the man, doggedly, and
then he paid no more attention to Sluggers or to Possy.
In a moment more the two rascals were down the several stairs and out
into the street. Then both pushed their way through the gathering crowd
and left the vicinity as fast as their legs could carry them.